The woods were an oppressive blanket of darkness, the towering trees standing like sentinels blocking out any light from the pale moon above. Every step I took sent echoes of my presence rippling through the still air, my heavy boots snapping twigs and crunching leaves beneath them. Each sharp crack seemed louder than the last, a betrayer's drumbeat marking my panicked escape. Somewhere far behind me, muffled shouting broke the silence. 

The sound twisted through the forest, growing louder and more distinct with each passing second. They were coming. I could feel it. My legs burned with effort as I pushed myself harder, faster, desperately trying to put more distance between myself and whoever—or whatever—was pursuing me.

Each breath came in ragged gasps, the cold night air searing my lungs. My chest heaved, struggling for more oxygen, but no matter how much I tried, it felt like I could never get enough. My head throbbed, the world spinning in dizzying circles, yet I couldn't afford to slow down. Trees blurred into dark, indistinct shapes as my vision narrowed, my focus shifting only to the uneven ground ahead.

Suddenly, as if the woods themselves conspired against me, I collided with something solid. The impact was jarring, sending me sprawling backward and knocking the air from my lungs. For a brief, bewildering moment, I thought I had hit a tree. But then I noticed the sharp flash of gold catching the faint light. As I blinked through the daze, the figure before me resolved into something unmistakably human. A body clad in a golden jacket.

The person I had collided with seemed just as startled, their breath catching as they stumbled back. For a moment, we both stood frozen, locked in a tense silence. My heart hammered in my chest as adrenaline spiked anew. Was this an ally—or another threat?

The distant shouts grew louder, reverberating through the trees like the haunting cries of predators closing in. My instincts screamed at me to run, but the presence of this stranger forced a split-second decision.

*Seven hours earlier*

Stitch's one remaining eye burned with a mix of pain and fury, the raw emotions etched into every line of his face. His chest heaved as he stormed through the narrow barracks, the tension radiating off him like heat from a wildfire. Without warning, he grabbed a nearby chair and hurled it over the bunks, the wooden frame clattering loudly as it splintered against the wall. His boot connected with a leather case resting on the floor, sending clothes spilling across the cold, tiled surface in a chaotic mess.

"Calm the fuck down, Stitch," I said, my voice firm but cautious as I knelt to gather the scattered clothes. My hands moved quickly, folding and stacking the garments as I tried to keep my focus off the storm raging in front of me.

He didn't respond immediately, his breathing heavy and ragged as he ran a hand through his hair. When he finally spoke, his voice was raw, his words dripping with venom. "Do you fucking see me, Bell?" he spat, his tone a blend of anger and something far more vulnerable. He jabbed a finger toward the darkened patch where his left eye had once been. "I've got one goddamn eye because of Russell fucking Adler."

His fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white, and his jaw tightened to the point I thought his teeth might shatter. The raw anger in his words felt like a physical force, filling the small room with an oppressive weight. I looked up from the clothes, meeting his glare for a brief moment.

"You think I don't know?" I said, my tone softer now, though I made sure not to let it falter. "But throwing shit around and breaking things isn't gonna change what happened."

For a moment, Stitch said nothing, his shoulders rising and falling as he fought to steady his breathing. His anger wasn't just rage—it was pain, betrayal, and a need for revenge all twisted together into something barely contained. I could see it in his eye, in the way his body trembled from the effort of holding himself back.

I stood, the folded clothes in my arms, and carefully placed them back into the leather case. "We'll deal with Adler. But not like this," I added, my voice steady, even as the tension hung thick between us.

The stories about Adler swirled endlessly in my mind, carved into my thoughts like etchings on stone. Truth be told, Stitch and Adler sounded like two sides of the same coin—both ruthless, both haunted, and both capable of destruction. But that was something I would never dare say aloud. Especially not to Stitch. If I did, I might not live to see another sunrise. Conversations with him were like walking on a field of glass shards; every word had to be chosen carefully, crafted with precision, and carried on a threadbare whisper. Stitch had a way of twisting words, hearing what he wanted to hear, and using it against you.

"Why are you going after him?" I finally asked, my voice even, but my chest tightened as I dared to tread into dangerous waters. "Is it really worth it?" As I spoke, I busied myself, picking up the overturned chair and setting it upright before closing the leather case with its contents neatly tucked away.

The room seemed to hold its breath. I barely had time to react before Stitch lunged toward me, grabbing me roughly and slamming me against the cold wall. The force left my head spinning, my heart racing in a panicked staccato. His one eye burned with fury, and his grip on my collar was iron. "Of course it's fucking worth it!" he snarled, his words venomous, his face inches from mine.

Fragile words, Bell. Fragile words. The mantra echoed in my head as I stared at him, trying not to flinch.

Just as suddenly as he'd grabbed me, he released me, letting me drop to the floor. My heart was thundering against my ribs, my breath coming in shallow, frantic gasps. I scrambled to my feet, anger and frustration bubbling up despite every instinct screaming at me to stay silent.

"Fuck you, Stitch," I spat, my voice trembling with emotion but steady enough to carry my words. My patience snapped like a rubber band stretched too tight. "I'm sick of this. You blame Adler for everything that's wrong, but have you ever looked in a mirror? You're not too fucking nice yourself."

I jabbed my finger into his chest, ignoring the heat rising to my ears and the way my pulse hammered in my head. "I'm close to walking out, Stitch. Don't fucking test me."

For a moment, the air between us was electric, every nerve in my body screaming for fight or flight. Stitch's fists slowly relaxed, his knuckles losing their deathly white hue. He dropped his hands to his sides and let out a deep, shuddering breath. His face softened, but only just. The tension in his shoulders loosened like a taut wire snapping under too much strain.

I saw it—the flicker of vulnerability behind his anger. The thought of losing me was something he couldn't face, no matter how much rage boiled beneath the surface. He'd pulled me out of my own personal hell, given me purpose when I had nothing. But right now, that wasn't enough to make me stay.

I stared him down, my hands trembling with adrenaline and anger. His silence spoke volumes, and I turned away before either of us could say another word that couldn't be taken back. Fragile words, Bell. Fragile words. But even glass can cut when it breaks.

"I'm sorry, amor. Forgive me, please?" Stitch's voice was softer now, almost a whisper, as his hand reached up to cradle my cheek. His thumb brushed against my skin, and before I could reply, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to my lips. It was gentle—an apology wrapped in fleeting tenderness, a stark contrast to the rage that had consumed him moments ago.

I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. "I will," I murmured, my voice cautious. "But please, don't do that again. Adler isn't worth it. Just... let it go."

He stepped back, his jaw tightening as his gaze drifted to the floor. Without another word, he turned and walked toward the door, his hand resting on the frame as if he needed to steady himself. "I can't let go, *amor*," he said finally, his voice low and unyielding. He glanced back at me, his one eye glinting with a fire that refused to be extinguished. "He ruined me... and I'm going to ruin him."

The words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. I sighed as he disappeared through the doorway, leaving me standing there alone. My eyes drifted to the leather case on the floor, its contents haphazardly packed. The weight of everything pressed against my chest, and I muttered under my breath, "I'm so close to taking that offer. I can't do this anymore, but... he'd fucking kill me."

It wasn't an exaggeration. Stitch's toxicity clung to me like smoke, filling my lungs and clouding my thoughts. It was suffocating, an invisible poison that was slowly eating away at my resolve. Every decision I made felt like a gamble with my life, and every misstep could be the one that ended it.

Helen Park's letter had arrived like a lifeline, even if it was tied to its own set of dangers. The MI6 agent had reached out with a mission in West Berlin, though the details were frustratingly sparse. I wasn't even sure if she knew about my connection to Stitch, and that ignorance might've been the only thing keeping me alive. MI6 and Stitch were like fire and gasoline—volatile and destructive. He'd clashed with them repeatedly, and their mutual hatred had led to more than a few close calls. Just weeks ago, MI6 had almost captured him, and we'd barely managed to slip off their radar in time.

If Stitch discovered I was even *considering* the offer, it wouldn't just be anger. It would be the end. No one crossed him and lived to tell the tale. Fragile words. Fragile actions. Everything had to be handled with a level of precision that was draining me from the inside out.

I walked over to the bed, my hands trembling slightly as I reached under the quilt and retrieved the letter. The paper was slightly crumpled now, creased from how many times I had unfolded it, read it, and folded it back again. My eyes scanned the familiar words, dissecting every line, weighing the risks and rewards. Over and over again.

"Bell?" Stitch's voice suddenly echoed up from the stairs, sharp and impatient. "You coming?"

My pulse spiked, and I hurriedly shoved the letter back beneath the quilt, tucking it deep into the folds as if it could bury the secret it carried. "Yes!" I called back, forcing steadiness into my voice. "Be there in a minute!"

I took a deep breath, steeling myself, and grabbed the leather case. For now, I had to play the role, tread the line. Fragile words, fragile actions. Always. As I descended the stairs, I couldn't shake the gnawing thought that this game I was playing was a deadly one—and my time was running out.

-----

Stitch pummeled the sandbag with relentless fury, each punch landing with a force that reverberated through the training room. His movements were sharp, precise, but fueled by a tempest of rage that burned brighter than it had earlier. Twenty punches in quick succession, and still, it wasn't enough to bleed the anger from his system. I stood at a distance, watching silently, unable to fully grasp the depth of the pain coursing through him.

Russell Adler.

The name played on a loop in my head, like a haunting melody I couldn't escape. Stitch had said Adler was a mystery, a ghost cloaked in secrets, but his obsession with the man had turned him into someone I hardly recognized. Whatever Adler had done to Stitch had cut him deeply, and while I couldn't understand it, I could feel the weight of it pressing down on both of us.

Shaking the thoughts away, I decided to focus on something I could control: food. It had been days since I'd eaten properly, my appetite eroded by the tension that hung between Stitch and me like a storm cloud. Every conversation, every glance, felt like walking a tightrope, and it left me too exhausted to care about meals. But I couldn't ignore my body any longer—I needed to eat.

As I made my way to the dining area, one of Stitch's soldiers sidled up beside me. His presence startled me slightly, his elbow nudging mine in a gesture that felt oddly casual for someone in Stitch's ranks.

"Bell!" he greeted with a grin, his scar catching the light. It stretched from his lower cheekbone down the side of his neck, a jagged reminder of whatever battles he'd faced. His thick, unruly eyebrows arched upward, giving him a curious expression.

"Yes?" I replied, keeping my tone neutral. I wasn't in the mood for small talk, but Stitch's soldiers could be unpredictable. It was best to handle them with care.

"Is there something between you and the boss man?" he asked bluntly, his grin widening as though he already knew the answer. "Sorry if I'm intruding, but, well... I'm intrigued."

His question caught me off guard, and I frowned, my jaw tightening as I processed his words. "No, there isn't," I said firmly, keeping my tone even. "He's just a good friend. Now flee—I'm hungry."

The soldier laughed, the sound rough but amused, and gave me a mock salute before jogging back to his table. I watched him for a moment, shaking my head. People like him thrived on chaos, and I wasn't about to give him any more fuel.

After hastily grabbing a tray of food, I found a quiet corner to eat, forcing down each bite despite my stomach's protests. Training was next on my schedule, but the thought of spending another hour in that suffocating room, surrounded by Stitch's anger and his soldiers' prying eyes, was too much.

Instead, I wandered toward the small, dusty library tucked away in the farthest corner of the compound. The shelves were sparse, the selection of books limited to a handful of battered volumes, but it was enough. Books were my sanctuary, a way to escape the chaos of Stitch's world, even if only for a little while. He hated that I loved books, thought they were a waste of time, but I didn't care. I'd learned long ago that reasoning with him was pointless.

I trailed my fingers along the spines of the books, letting their faded titles transport me somewhere far away. For the first time in what felt like days, the tension in my shoulders eased, and I allowed myself to breathe.

The day slipped by in a blur, and as night fell, exhaustion tugged at my every step as I made my way to my room. I pushed the door open, eager to sink into the sanctuary of sleep, only to stop dead in my tracks. Stitch was there, standing stiffly in the centre of my room, his face a mask of cold annoyance. My heart began pounding in my ears, each beat a warning drum.

"Hey," I said cautiously, forcing a smile as I crossed the room. My gaze darted to his hand, where he clutched a crumpled piece of paper. Panic surged through me, curling like a vice around my chest. I knew exactly what that was, and dread began clawing its way up my throat.

"Explain this. *Now!*" Stitch roared, shoving the paper against my chest with enough force to make me stumble. His voice reverberated through the small room, and I froze under the weight of his glare.

"I—" My voice caught in my throat, and my mind scrambled for a believable lie. "Stitch, I wasn't considering it." The words spilled out, unconvincing even to my own ears. My chest heaved as I struggled to keep my voice steady. I had been considering it, of course, but I'd kept that secret buried deep, far away from his wrath. Or so I'd thought.

His face twisted into a sneer, his eye narrowing into a dangerous glare. "I swear, Bell, if you even *think* about going, I'll fucking kill you." His words were a blade pressed against my throat, and my knees felt like they might give out beneath me.

A surge of defiance bubbled up, desperate and impulsive. "You don't get to control me, Stitch!" I shouted, snatching the paper from his hand before bolting for the door.

"Bell!" he bellowed, his voice thunderous as his heavy footsteps echoed behind me. My legs moved faster than they ever had, adrenaline pumping like fire through my veins. The narrow hallways of the bunker blurred past me as I dodged people and objects, desperate to reach the exit.

"Get her!" Stitch roared, his voice cutting through the chaos. My lungs burned as I pushed through the crowd, tears stinging my eyes. The panic was overwhelming, my chest tight with fear. I was almost at the main entrance when a sharp, searing pain erupted in my side.

I stumbled to a stop, gasping, and looked down. Blood was blooming across my army-green shirt, stark and bright. A deep, hot fury replaced my fear, and I turned to see one of Stitch's soldiers retracting a blade. "Shit. You *fucking bastard!*" I snarled, pulling my own knife from its holster. With a primal scream, I lunged at him, slashing across his arm with enough force to make him stagger back, clutching his wound.

"You even think about coming after me," I spat, my voice shaking with rage, "and I'll make sure you live in nightmares every night."

Without waiting for a response, I sheathed my knife and shoved past the onlookers who had gathered. Stitch's voice rang out again, hoarse and pained. "I will find you, Bell," he whimpered, clutching his injured arm, "and I'll make sure you never touch that offer."

I didn't stop. My body screamed in protest, blood soaking my side as I pushed through the bunker's entrance and into the freezing night. The woods stretched out before me, dark and foreboding, but they were my only escape. I ran, my feet pounding against the earth, my breaths coming in ragged gasps. The shadows grew longer, the air colder, and my strength began to wane. Pain lanced through me with every step, and I felt my consciousness slipping.

Just as my legs gave out, I collided with something solid—a man. His chest was firm, his jacket a flash of gold that registered in my foggy mind before everything went black.

---

I woke to the soft hum of a radiator, its warmth brushing against my aching body. A rhythmic beeping filled the air—a heart monitor. My mouth was dry, and my eyes blinked open slowly, adjusting to the dimly lit room. An IV bag hung beside me, its line trailing to my arm. But it wasn't the equipment that drew my attention—it was the cold, unyielding metal of a handcuff securing me to the bed.

"Hello?" I croaked, my voice hoarse.

Silence.

Panic swirled in my chest as I tugged weakly at the cuff, my mind racing. Where the fuck was I? What had happened after I passed out? My memories were a jumbled haze, and every breath felt like I was sinking deeper into a pit of uncertainty.

I swallowed hard, trying to steady myself as the weight of my situation pressed down like a crushing tide.