The night air hung heavy with humidity, clinging to my skin as if it carried secrets of its own. Above us, the stars shone with a brilliance that felt otherworldly, as though they had gathered for a grand performance just for tonight. Maybe it was just my imagination, but Adler kept sneaking glances at me, his eyes darting away from the road more often than I was comfortable with.

I shifted in my seat, finally breaking the silence. "I appreciate you looking, Ad, but I'd really prefer it if you kept your eyes on the road."

He chuckled, a soft, disarming sound. "Right, sorry."

The wind from the open window swept through the car, twisting strands of my hair into a wild dance, while the cool breeze prickled my skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps. The rhythm of the night, combined with the hum of the engine, created an unexpectedly serene backdrop. As if in harmony with the mood, Adler began to sing along to the music playing on the tape.

At first, I was startled—Adler singing wasn't something I had anticipated. But his voice, warm and a little unpolished, wrapped around the lyrics with a soothing ease. It was beautiful, in a quiet, unassuming way, and it added to the calm that was steadily settling over me.

The drive led us to a small, lively restaurant nestled in the heart of the town. As we pulled into the lot, I noticed the vibrant scene outside. Laughter bubbled up from groups of people gathered around, their glasses clinking in cheerful toasts. The sound of light-hearted conversation and the occasional burst of music spilled out into the night.

It was a picture of joy and connection, a warmth that seemed to defy the humid air. I watched it all unfold, realizing just how much I had missed this kind of environment—alive, happy, and brimming with energy.

"We're here," He said as I eased myself out of the car, the warm air brushing against my face. Adler was already on the other side, waiting for me. He extended his arm, and I took it without hesitation. "Let's go," Russell added with a small smile.

His arm was steady beneath mine, a comforting anchor as I moved forward, my steps still unsteady. The dull throb of pain in my side reminded me that I should've taken more meds before we left. But with Adler beside me, his presence solid and reassuring, I felt a little less vulnerable.

"Thanks for this," I murmured as we waited near the restaurant entrance to be seated. My voice was soft, almost swallowed by the lively buzz of the place. Each step I took was deliberate, cautious, but his patience made the pace feel natural.

"No problem," Adler replied, his voice as gentle as his gaze when he looked at me. His scent, crisp and woodsy with just a trace of spice, was enough to unsettle me. It had been there from the moment I got in the car, subtle yet impossibly magnetic. I wanted to sink into it, to let it pull me closer, but the thought made my chest tighten. I wanted him—but it was wrong, wasn't it?

A waiter approached, interrupting my thoughts. Adler spoke up smoothly, "Table for two, please?"

The waiter nodded and guided us through the bustling restaurant. People's voices filled the air, animated and cheerful, mingling with the clink of glasses and the faint strains of music. The ambiance was alive, pulsing with energy, but I couldn't help feeling like the world had narrowed to just the two of us.

We were shown to a small booth tucked into a cosy corner. The table was simple yet elegant—a pair of candles flickered softly, their light casting a warm glow over the polished surface. A bouquet of fresh flowers sat in the centre, delicate and fragrant, flanked by two pristine wine glasses.

It was beautiful—romantic even. The kind of setting I hadn't allowed myself to experience in what felt like ages. My heart swelled, and yet a sliver of unease lingered. Could I let myself enjoy this moment? Could I let myself enjoy him? It had been so long since I'd felt anything, I didn't allow myself to. 

I eased myself into the seat, careful not to jostle my side too much, while Adler stepped behind me to take my coat. His movements were gentle, deliberate, as if he could sense the discomfort I was trying to hide.

"You look amazing tonight," he said, his voice warm and sincere.

A soft laugh escaped me, a mix of bashfulness and amusement, but even that tiny motion sent a sharp ache through my side. I winced internally and quickly masked it with a smile. "Likewise," I replied, meeting his eyes as he settled into the seat across from me.

The candlelight flickered between us, casting a golden glow that softened the lines of the booth but seemed to highlight the ones etched into his face. My gaze lingered on the scars that marked his skin, a web of deep grooves and jagged lines. They spoke of battles fought, of wounds that must have run as deep as the flesh. The stubble growing around them softened their edges, but it couldn't erase the story they told—a story of pain, struggle, and survival.

Yet, despite the scars, Adler wore a smile. It wasn't the polite, distant kind people put on for show; it was genuine, easy, and strangely comforting. But that only made me wonder more. What had he endured? What moments had left their mark so profoundly? And why did he seem determined to carry on as if none of it mattered anymore?

Maybe it was a time he didn't want to remember. Or maybe it was something he had accepted long ago. Either way, I found myself drawn to the contradiction of it all—the scars that spoke of past pain and the smile that radiated present peace. It was hard not to want to know more, to want to understand the man sitting across from me, shrouded in both light and shadow.

----

The night unfolded effortlessly, each moment blending into the next as we ate, drank, and talked about everything and nothing at all. The conversation flowed like the wine in our glasses—warm, rich, and full of subtle surprises. I felt my chest flutter with a feeling I hadn't allowed myself to indulge in for a long time: pure, unfiltered happiness. It wasn't just a fleeting emotion; it was something deeper, as though my heart had been reminded of how to feel alive.

"Have you known Sims for long?" I asked, leaning forward slightly, my arms crossed as I focused on Adler's response. I didn't want to miss a single word.

Adler had been regaling me with stories about Sims, someone I'd never met but who seemed to be an integral part of his life. From the way he spoke, it was clear Sims was more than just a colleague—he was a trusted ally, someone Adler could count on in ways that felt rare and valuable.

"For years," Adler replied with a nod, his tone carrying a quiet respect. "Great guy, keeps it clean."

That simple statement made me feel a little better, a little more trusting. If Sims was someone Adler trusted, maybe I could, too.

"He seems cool," I said with a small smile.

Adler returned the smile, but then his expression shifted slightly, a mix of curiosity and focus. "He is. So tell me," he began, leaning forward just a bit, "how did you meet Stitch? We've been trying to pin that fucker down for months."

His eyebrows furrowed, his tone turning sharp at the mention of Stitch. It wasn't anger, exactly, but there was an edge to it that hinted at unfinished business.

I sighed, rolling my eyes as I picked up my glass and took a slow sip of wine. "And I fucked it up, didn't I," I said, more as a resigned statement than a question.

Adler shook his head immediately, his voice steady. "You didn't fuck it up. You ran into me just as we were about to make a move, yeah, but chances are, they would've bolted anyway. That's just how they operate—always on the move."

His words were meant to reassure me, but I couldn't shake the feeling of guilt that lingered beneath the surface. Stitch wasn't just a name to me; he was a piece of a tangled web I hadn't fully unraveled yet. Adler's calm, though, was grounding. He wasn't blaming me, and maybe, just maybe, I could start forgiving myself too.

I set the glass down, meeting his gaze. "Well, here's hoping we get another shot."

Adler nodded, his lips curving into a small but confident smile. "We will." And for the first time in a long while, I believed it. 

"Yeah, I definitely fucked it," I groaned, leaning back in my seat and running a hand through my hair. The annoyance in my voice was impossible to miss, and the guilt weighed on me like a heavy blanket. No matter how much Adler tried to reassure me, the knot in my stomach refused to loosen.

Adler tilted his head, watching me with a calmness that was almost infuriating. "You didn't," he said again, his tone steady but firm. "Trust me, they've been slipping through cracks for years. It's not on you."

I shook my head, staring down at the flickering candlelight between us. "I should've been smarter. Quicker. Something. Instead, I walked right into your operation and blew it to hell."

He chuckled softly, the sound surprisingly warm. "You didn't blow anything to hell," he said, leaning forward slightly. "If anything, you just sped up the inevitable. They've got a habit of vanishing the second they catch wind of trouble. You couldn't have stopped that."

"Doesn't make me feel any less like a screw-up," I muttered, swirling the wine in my glass but not drinking it. The frustration in my chest felt sharp, relentless. I hated feeling like I'd been the weak link, the one who let things fall apart.

Adler leaned back, his gaze steady and unyielding. "Look," he said, his voice quieter now, "I've had my fair share of mistakes—ones that actually were my fault. This? It's not one of those. Stop beating yourself up over something you couldn't control,"

I glanced up at him, the sincerity in his expression catching me off guard. For a moment, the guilt loosened its grip just enough for his words to sink in. Maybe he was right. Maybe, for once, the blame wasn't mine to carry.

"We need more information from you, Bell," he said, his eyes steady on me. "Jason wants to interrogate you tomorrow."

The words sent a shiver down my spine. Jason. The interrogator with a reputation for digging out the truth, no matter how deeply it was buried. I tried to keep my expression neutral, but the thought alone tightened my shoulders like a vice. My head felt light, almost detached, while my arms seemed weighed down, dragging my whole body into the abyss of exhaustion.

I opened my mouth to respond but hesitated. Telling Mason that I couldn't remember much would undoubtedly make its way back to Hudson, and I wasn't ready for that fallout. My knife wound throbbed, sharper now, as if to remind me that even my body wasn't on my side tonight.

But I was stuck. I couldn't recall much—fragments, shadows of what had happened—and saying that out loud felt like walking straight into the lion's den. My knife wound throbbed, a reminder of the mess I was already in.

"That's fine," I said, my voice quieter than I intended. "But I can't remember much, Russell."

He frowned slightly but didn't argue. "Just tell him what you do remember. He'll take it from there." There was a pause before he added, "Did that medic see you today?"

"No," I said, shaking my head. "I stayed at the house, but no one showed up."

He let out a short, exasperated sigh, his concern barely masked. "Alright. You need to get checked out. Don't let this get worse."

I nodded in agreement, though my mind was elsewhere. As much as my wound hurt, it was nothing compared to the dread pooling in my chest at the thought of Hudson. He was the kind of man who didn't tolerate excuses—or weakness. And a faulty memory? That wasn't going to fly with him.

Russell watched me for a moment before turning his attention to the dessert that had just arrived. The sweet scent filled the air, but I barely noticed. My appetite had vanished, replaced by a gnawing fear I couldn't shake. Hudson was a scary bastard, and I was walking straight into his territory.

"I'll say it again—you look amazing," Adler said, his voice warm and sincere.

I couldn't stop the smile that spread across my face, nor the way my nose scrunched slightly in response. There was something about his words, his tone, that felt genuine. All in all, I was having a great time. The ambiance, the conversation, and most of all, Adler, made me feel both happy and at ease. Yet beneath the comfort was a persistent, almost fiery feeling in my chest—a reminder of just how much I liked him.

His eyes held a certain brilliance, like stars scattered across a midnight sky. They seemed to pull me in, reflecting a depth I couldn't quite grasp. His features were sharp and striking, effortlessly handsome in a way that left me momentarily breathless. Adler was charming in a way that felt natural, unforced, and his manners and thoughtfulness painted him as a true gentleman. To me, he was close to perfect—almost too good to be true.

"What do you think of Alex and Frank?" His voice broke the comfortable silence between us, pulling me from my thoughts.

"They're good," I said, chuckling softly. "Frank's a nut, but Alex seems like he's got some sense."

Adler laughed, the sound rich and easy. "You're right about that. Frank's a good guy, though—means well."

I nodded, still smiling. "Yeah, he does."

From there, the evening unfolded like a well-worn storybook. We swapped anecdotes, shared memories, and discovered little things we had in common. Our conversation wandered from lighthearted banter to stories of the past, and even the silences between words felt natural.

Eventually, the night drew to a close, and we left the restaurant, stepping out into the cool embrace of the evening air. As we reached the car, I turned to him, my heart still fluttering from everything that had transpired.

"Thank you for tonight, Ad," I said, my voice soft but sincere. "I had a really good time."

His smile widened, lighting up his features and sending a warmth straight through me. "So did I. Let's get back," he said, stepping ahead to open my car door with practiced ease. I slid into the seat carefully, mindful of my stitches as a faint twinge reminded me to move gently.

As I settled in, a sudden flash shot through my mind, sharp and disorienting. It wasn't a memory exactly, more like fragments—a burst of documents, their contents just out of reach but important, vital even. What did they contain? What did I know? The harder I tried to grasp at the details, the faster they slipped away, leaving behind only a faint thrum of unease.

I shook my head lightly, trying to clear it as Adler rounded the car and climbed into the driver's seat.

"I'm so tired," I muttered with a groan, my voice thick with the weight of the day. As if on cue, a yawn overtook me, pulling at the edges of my exhaustion.

Before I could adjust myself, his hand landed gently on my leg, grounding me, warm and steady. The unexpected contact sent a flicker of something I couldn't quite name through my chest, and I turned to look at him. His hand reached for mine, his grip firm but comforting as his thumb brushed lightly against my skin.

"You've had a long day," he said softly, his eyes glancing toward me briefly before returning to the road ahead. "Rest if you need to. I'll get us back safely."

For a moment, I just stared at him, his presence filling the quiet space between us. The mix of calm assurance in his voice and the way his hand lingered on mine made the gnawing tension in my chest ease, just a little. There was something about Adler—something steady, reliable, and yet entirely disarming.

"Thanks," I said finally, leaning my head back against the seat and letting my eyes flutter closed. Maybe I could let go of everything, just for a little while.

"Get a good rest, okay? Don't stress out about Hudson. It's only a few questions," Adler said softly, his voice reassuring. Before I could respond, he leaned over and kissed me quickly on the cheek. The light, fleeting touch left me stunned, frozen for a moment as my heart raced. My cheeks immediately flared with heat, burning red in the sudden rush of emotions.

"Why do you have to do that?" I asked, flipping my hands up in frustration, though the words came out more flustered than anything else. "Leave me stuck for no words, knowing full well what you have over me. It's not funny."

Adler laughed softly, the sound light and teasing. He rolled his eyes, clearly amused. "You're funny when you get all worked up," he said, his grin widening.

I groaned, exasperated. "You're annoying."

Without thinking, I jabbed him in the shoulder, a playful retaliation for his teasing. He let out a dramatic groan but laughed again, the sound full of warmth and amusement. It felt like a light hearted moment, a break from the tension that had followed me all day.

Adler's laughter faded to a soft chuckle, and for a moment, we were just two people sharing a simple, carefree moment. And, despite everything that was weighing on my mind—Hudson, the unknown, the fear—I felt a little lighter, a little less burdened.

"Guess I can't help it," he said with a smirk, nudging me back gently. "It's just too easy."

I couldn't help but smile, even though a part of me still felt that burning question in the back of my mind: what exactly was going on between us? But for now, I'd push it aside, enjoying the easy, simple moments with him.