THE CAR HUMMED STEADILY ALONG THE DARKENED STREETS AS CHARLIE DROVE THEM BACK TO HIS APARTMENT. The silence between them was heavy, thick with unspoken words, but neither of them seemed to know how to break it. The only sounds were the soft click of the turn signals and the rhythmic beat of the tires against the asphalt. Charlie's hands gripped the steering wheel, her knuckles white, her mind racing, but she kept her gaze fixed on the road ahead.

Johnny sat next to her, staring out the window, his expression unreadable. The tension in the air was palpable, and neither of them could find the words to bridge the gap that had opened up between them. The ride felt longer than it was, every minute stretching into eternity. Charlie could feel the weight of the silence pressing down on her, but she didn't know what to say. She didn't know how to make things better.

When they finally arrived at the apartment, Charlie pulled into the parking garage, the sound of the engine coming to a quiet stop. She cut the engine and sat there for a moment, her eyes flicking over to Johnny, who had already unbuckled his seatbelt and was reaching for the door.

They both got out, and Charlie led the way to the elevator. She punched the button, the soft ding of the elevator chiming as it arrived. The doors opened, and they stepped inside. Neither of them spoke as the elevator began its slow ascent, the soft hum of the machinery filling the otherwise quiet space. Charlie could feel the tension tightening between them, but she kept her gaze on the doors, unwilling to meet Johnny's eyes just yet.

When the elevator doors opened on their floor, they walked down the hall in silence. Charlie fumbled with her keys for a moment before unlocking the door, pushing it open.

She stepped inside, immediately scanning the room as she always did. She checked the windows, the corners of the room, the bathroom—everywhere. She had to be sure no one had gotten in. She had learned the hard way to always be cautious, to always stay alert.

Her gaze then shifted to the bed. Her clothes were folded neatly on top of it, freshly washed, the familiar scent of fabric softener wafting through the air. Her maid must have come by while they were out. It was a small comfort, but it felt like a tiny piece of normalcy in a world that had been anything but.

She walked toward the bed, her fingers brushing lightly over the fabric. As she reached for her clothes, she felt a sudden jolt, and she stumbled backward, bumping into someone.

She turned quickly, her heart leaping in her chest, only to find Johnny standing there, looking at her with an unreadable expression. His face was impassive, his eyes giving away nothing.

Charlie straightened herself, her face flushing with embarrassment. "Sorry," she murmured, stepping around him. "I'll be right back."

She walked toward the kitchen, the familiar warmth of the space a small comfort. Her mind was still racing, but she pushed the thoughts aside as she grabbed a mug from the cabinet and filled it with milk. She set it on the stove and turned the heat on, the soft hiss of the milk beginning to heat up filling the silence. As it warmed, she grabbed the cocoa powder from the pantry and mixed it in carefully, the rich smell of chocolate soon filling the air.

When the hot chocolate was ready, she grabbed the mug and walked back toward Johnny's room. She knocked softly on the door, her heart racing again as she waited for his response.

"Come in," he called from inside.

Charlie opened the door and stepped inside, her gaze immediately falling on him. He was sitting on the bed, wearing a pair of dark pajamas, his legs stretched out in front of him. His posture was casual, but there was a tension in the way he held himself. She could tell he was still processing everything, just like she was.

She walked over to the bed, setting the mug on the nightstand beside him. "Here," she said softly, offering him a small, tentative smile. "Hot chocolate."

Charlie asked softly, her voice gentle but persistent, "Are you okay?"

Johnny took a deep breath, and for a moment, the weight of her question seemed to hang in the air between them, thick and unspoken. "I'm fine," he replied, but the slight tremor in his voice betrayed him. Charlie could see through his mask, the cracks in his facade too evident to ignore. It made something stir inside her, a fierce protectiveness that pushed her to step closer.

"Johnny," she said, her voice quieter, more coaxing now. "You don't have to pretend with me. I didn't mean to bring up something that hurt you. I just... I wanted to understand."

For a long moment, Johnny didn't say anything, his gaze distant, like he was weighing whether to let her in or retreat once more. But then, slowly, his eyes met hers, and for the first time in a while, there was vulnerability in them—bare and honest. "It's just hard to talk about," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

Charlie nodded, her heart aching with the weight of his words. "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," she said, her voice soft with understanding.

There was a long silence between them, a quiet lull filled with shared emotions that neither of them knew how to voice. But just as she turned to leave, Johnny's voice stopped her. It was fragile, almost like he wasn't sure if he should say anything at all.

"Wait," he said, his voice catching slightly, his words layered with a kind of desperation. "Please don't go."

Her heart skipped a beat at the plea, and she turned back to him, meeting his gaze again. "Are you sure?" she asked, not wanting to push him if he needed space.

Johnny nodded, his expression softening just enough for her to see the rawness in him. "I'd rather not be alone right now," he admitted, his voice barely audible, almost as if the words were too heavy to carry. "I know I can be a lot, but... I don't want to push you away."

Charlie's chest tightened as she took in his words, the weight of them settling into her. He was hurting, but it wasn't just the weight of whatever had happened in the past that he couldn't shake—it was the burden of thinking he was pushing everyone around him away. She stepped closer, her hand brushing against his as she sat down beside him.

He let out a quiet breath and, almost as if he'd been holding it in for too long, added, "Thank you."

Charlie assumed it was for the hot chocolate, her small gesture, but he quickly added, "Not for that."

Her brows furrowed, a small sense of confusion creeping into her mind. Johnny's gaze dropped to his hands, fidgeting slightly before he continued.

"I've made this job harder for you than it needs to be. I thought the helicopter ride would be an easy way to apologize, to try and make things right, but I was wrong," he said, his voice quieter, his words laced with a kind of self-loathing. "Everything I do feels like a failure. I couldn't even apologize right."

His confession hit her like a soft wave, subtle but powerful. She could feel the weight of his guilt, how deeply he believed he had failed, and how much he struggled to let himself accept any kind of help, or even the possibility of forgiveness. But Charlie wasn't about to let him stay in that darkness alone. 

Charlie took a deep breath, her voice steady as she began to explain, "Johnny, you're not alone in this. I've been there too. I wasn't completely drunk that night; I remember telling you about trusting someone."

She paused, gathering her thoughts, then continued, "His name was Evan J. Carter. He was brilliant—great at intelligence analysis and cryptography. The CIA recruited him for his skills. But during an undercover mission in Eastern Europe, Evan became a target, and I was assigned to eliminate him."

Charlie's gaze softened as she spoke about Evan. "I was cold, trained to do my job without hesitation, and all I was given about Evan was that he was an American asset. But the moment we met, something changed. He saw through me, saw past the walls I built. We didn't trust each other at first, but over time, we found something real—something more than just two people stuck in a dangerous world. We formed a close bond."

She hesitated, remembering the moments they shared. "Evan started to let his guard down, and I did too. We knew the truth of our situations, but in those weeks together, we became each other's escape. Despite my mission, I couldn't go through with it."

Charlie's eyes darkened as she continued. "As the pressure built and the danger closed in, Evan realized he could never go back. He suggested we run, disappear, and start over—build a life where the lies and the shadows couldn't touch us anymore. We made plans, dreamed about it. We even started the journey to a cabin, a place where we could hide."

Her voice faltered for a moment, the pain of the memory still fresh. "But it all ended that night. The Widow—my former mentor—tracked us down. She knew I was getting too attached, and she saw it as a betrayal. To her, eliminating Evan wasn't just about silencing a threat; it was about punishing me for showing weakness. She was going to make sure I knew the price of caring."

The room was dark, the soft hum of the wind outside barely reaching Charlie's ears. Her pulse hammered in her throat as she gripped the gun tighter in her hands. Her eyes darted around the cabin, the oppressive silence too heavy for comfort. It had been their safe house for weeks, the one place she had promised Evan would be safe. But now, in the cold, eerie stillness of the room, Charlie's instincts screamed that danger was closing in on them.

Her fingers trembled as they brushed over the trigger, the weight of the gun a constant reminder that she had made a promise to protect him. Evan was safe, or at least, she had convinced herself that he was. But a feeling gnawed at her insides, like the calm before a storm. Something wasn't right.

A sudden gust of wind rattled the windows, and that's when she heard it—the unmistakable sound of a door being kicked open. The heavy, splintering crash of wood sent Charlie's heart racing, and she spun around, her breath catching in her throat.

There, standing in the doorway, was a figure Charlie knew all too well. Yelena Belova. Her former mentor. Once someone she had trusted—trained under—had been a guiding force in the brutal world they had both inhabited. But now, Yelena was a ghost from Charlie's past. A cold, heartless ghost that she had to face.

Yelena's face was emotionless, her eyes locked onto Charlie's, but there was something different about her this time. Something darker.

Behind her, Evan was frozen, his confusion evident as he looked between Charlie and the woman standing in the doorway. He didn't understand what was happening—he didn't know who Yelena was or what she meant to Charlie. All he knew was that he trusted Charlie, that he had put his faith in her to protect him.

But that trust was about to be shattered.

Yelena's voice broke the silence, cold and detached. "You thought you could hide him?The moment you chose him, you signed his death sentence." Her words stung with a familiarity Charlie had once felt in her bones, but now it only felt like betrayal.

Charlie's chest tightened, her pulse racing. She knew what was coming. Yelena was ruthless. No one escaped the Widow's wrath. No one.

"Stay back," Charlie whispered, her voice barely audible as she aimed the gun at Yelena. Her fingers trembled as they tightened around the grip. But Yelena didn't flinch, didn't move a muscle. She simply stood there, watching Charlie with calculating eyes.

"Put the gun down, Charlie," Yelena's voice was calm, as if they were discussing something trivial. But there was nothing trivial about this moment.

Charlie's hands shook as she steadied the gun, her breathing coming in shallow bursts. "I won't let you hurt him," she said, her voice stronger this time, though doubt crept into her mind. She knew Yelena. She knew how skilled she was. And right now, with Evan's life on the line, Charlie wasn't sure if she could protect him.

Without warning, Yelena lunged forward, fast and relentless. Charlie barely had time to react, her body moving instinctively, trying to sidestep the attack. But Yelena was too fast. Her hand shot out, gripping Charlie's wrist with unyielding force, twisting the gun from her grip. The weapon hit the floor with a sharp clatter, and before Charlie could recover, Yelena's fist collided with her jaw, sending her staggering back.

Charlie's head spun as she struggled to regain her balance, but Yelena was already on her, her movements fluid, precise. It was like fighting a shadow—impossible to keep up with, impossible to land a blow.

Charlie gritted her teeth, her body burning with frustration and fear. She had no choice but to fight back, her instincts kicking in as she lashed out, landing a punch to Yelena's ribs. But the blow barely fazed her. Yelena retaliated, knocking Charlie to the ground with a brutal shove, the wind knocked out of her as her back slammed against the cold floor.

Desperation flooded Charlie's chest as she scrambled for the gun, her fingers brushing the cold metal. But before she could reach it, Yelena was on top of her, straddling her and pinning her arms to the floor.

"You're too weak, Charlie," Yelena sneered. "Too sentimental. You're not cut out for this."

Charlie's breath came in ragged gasps as she tried to buck Yelena off, but the weight of her was too much. Every movement felt like it was in slow motion, as if the world around her was deliberately holding her back.

She could hear Evan's voice now, asking questions, his tone full of fear. She glanced over her shoulder, seeing him standing at the edge of the room, looking helpless, uncertain.

Evan had no idea who this woman was. He had no idea how deep the betrayal ran.

But Yelena did.

With a sudden, vicious motion, Yelena twisted Charlie's arms above her head, her face hovering inches from Charlie's. "This is how it has to be," she whispered coldly. "Time to say goodbye."

Charlie fought back, her blood running cold as she realized the truth—there was no escaping this. She had failed Evan. She had failed him in the worst possible way.

Before she could react, Yelena rose to her feet, her movements swift and calculating. Charlie barely had time to process what was happening before she heard the distinct click of a gun being cocked.

"Evan!" Charlie screamed, but it was too late.

Evan, who had been frozen in place, his confusion now turning to fear, tried to reach for the door, tried to escape. But Yelena was already ahead of him. Her hand raised, her aim never wavering. Evan turned toward Charlie, his eyes wide, a question hanging on his lips.

In that instant, time seemed to slow. Charlie saw the fear in his eyes—the realization that he couldn't outrun this, that no matter how fast he moved, he couldn't escape the hell they had become tangled in.

Evan's gaze met hers, confusion flashing across his face, followed by a fleeting moment of understanding. He mouthed her name, the single word a plea, a final wish that she could save him.

But Charlie couldn't move. She was pinned to the floor, helpless, watching as Yelena's finger tightened on the trigger.

"No!" Charlie's voice was strangled, desperate, but it was drowned out by the deafening sound of the gunshot.

The blast rang through the cabin, shattering the fragile hope Charlie had clung to. She watched in horror as Evan's body jerked backward, the bullet striking his chest with brutal precision. Blood bloomed across his shirt in a violent, unforgiving splash. His eyes locked with hers, confusion and fear turning to something much deeper, much more heartbreaking.

"Charlie..."

His voice was faint, so faint, but it reached her nonetheless. It was a whisper, a sound so soft, so final, that it made her heart break in a way that no wound could. The world around her was spinning, twisting, warping as she reached for him.

His eyes met hers one final time, filled with confusion, with fear, with an unspoken apology.

And then, just like that, he was gone.

Charlie's mind screamed, her body thrashing, but nothing could stop the finality of it. Yelena stood above her, cold, uncaring, as Evan's lifeless body crumpled to the floor.

Charlie's chest constricted with a crushing wave of guilt, of failure. She couldn't move, couldn't breathe, as everything she had worked for—everything she had believed in—came crashing down around her.

She had promised to protect him. And now, he was dead.

Johnny sat quietly as Charlie finished, his face unreadable at first. He shifted slightly, his fingers tapping absently on the edge of the blanket. His usual cocky demeanor had melted away, replaced by something quieter, something heavier. His jaw tightened, and he ran a hand through his hair, staring at a spot on the floor like it held all the answers he couldn't find.

"So..." he finally muttered, his voice low and rough, "this guy—Evan—he sounds like a good guy. Someone who deserved better." He lifted his eyes to meet hers, and for a moment, there was something unspoken there. 

A flicker of something like regret or frustration—maybe both—but it disappeared just as quickly as it came. He swallowed hard and leaned back against the headboard. "You really were ready to throw everything away for him?"

Charlie nodded, her expression calm but honest. "Yeah. I was."

Johnny's lips pulled into something that was almost a smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. He dropped his gaze again, fiddling with the hem of his pajama sleeve. "Guess I'm starting to see why you think I've got it all wrong. Compared to that? I'm just... what? Some guy with a bunch of bad jokes and a big ego."

Charlie blinked, surprised at the crack in his voice. She sat on the edge of the bed, leaning toward him. "Johnny, that's not what I meant, and you know it."

He shook his head, letting out a breathy, humorless laugh. "Nah, it's fine. I just—" He gestured vaguely with his hands before dropping them to his lap. "I mean, I screw things up all the time. You've seen it. Hell, half the time, I don't even know what I'm doing. And the one time I try to make things right—like the stupid helicopter ride—it just blows up in my face."

"You're human," Charlie said softly, echoing her earlier words. "It's normal to screw up. It's what we do. Some of us are just dealt a bad hand at life."

Johnny looked up at her, his expression softening, though his brows were still furrowed. "Yeah, well, I don't know about you, but I've been burning through a whole deck of bad hands lately."

Charlie smiled faintly, shaking her head. "You're not alone in that."

Johnny exhaled, his shoulders sagging as a hint of vulnerability slipped through the cracks of his usual bravado. "It just gets to me sometimes, you know? I joke around, act like none of it matters, but... it does. More than I let on." His voice softened, his gaze falling to his hands. "And hearing your story..." He hesitated, his words catching in his throat before he dared to glance at her. "It makes me wonder—what if I screw up when it counts? What if someone actually needs me, and I let them down?"

The raw honesty in his voice sent a ripple through Charlie, something she wasn't prepared for. She watched him, her heart tightening at the sight of his usually confident face tinged with doubt. His words stirred something inside her, a quiet but undeniable realization. She wanted to be there for him—not just as someone who could reassure him in this moment, but as someone he could truly count on.

Charlie felt a warmth in her chest, a soft pull she couldn't quite put into words. For so long, she had tried to keep herself detached, tried to deny the depth of her feelings. But seeing him like this—open, unsure, and looking to her for some sense of steadiness—it broke through the walls she had carefully built around her heart.

She leaned forward slightly, her voice gentle but steady. "Johnny, you care—that's what matters. That's what makes you the person people can rely on. You might screw up sometimes. We all do. But the fact that you care enough to worry about it? That says everything."

His eyes flickered to hers, searching her face for something, and she held his gaze, hoping he could see the truth in her words. In that quiet moment, she let herself accept what she had been avoiding for so long—she cared about him more than she had ever allowed herself to admit.