Under the Shadows

Elyne descended the creaking wooden stairs, her hair still slightly damp, the faint sheen of moisture catching the dim light as it clung to her back in places, though most of it had begun to dry into soft waves. The cool air from the open window in the hallway brushed against her skin, carrying the faint scent of wet earth from the evening's rain. She tugged her sleeves into place as she rounded the corner to the living room, her steps quick and light.

Dante was seated at the table, his back to her, sorting through a scattered array of items. A bag lay open before him, its contents meticulously arranged—maps, spare clothing, a small first aid kit, and a few tools she couldn't name but knew were meant for emergencies. His hands moved with practiced efficiency, every gesture deliberate, every motion grounded in purpose.

She leaned casually against the table's edge, her arms crossed loosely over her chest. A small smile played on her lips. "Need any help?" she asked, her tone light, teasing.

Dante glanced up briefly, offering her a faint smile before shaking his head. "Thanks, but I've got it," he replied, his voice calm but unusually steady. He returned his focus to the task at hand, carefully folding a map along its worn creases.

Elyne tilted her head slightly, her smile fading as she caught the shift in his tone. There was a weight to it, an undercurrent of something unspoken that made her chest tighten. She studied him for a moment—his furrowed brow, the subtle tension in his shoulders. Her instincts prickled, warning her that something was off.

Her first instinct was to ask, to press him, but she hesitated. Dante was meticulous, especially when it came to their safety. It made sense that he'd be focused tonight, preparing for their departure in the morning. She told herself it was nothing, that her mind was simply overanalyzing the quiet.

"You're really taking this whole packing thing seriously, huh?" she quipped, hoping to lighten the mood. "You know we're not trekking through the Himalayas, right?"

Dante chuckled softly, but the sound lacked its usual warmth. "Better to overprepare than get caught off guard," he said without looking up. His hands moved to zip the bag shut, the motion firm and final.

Elyne's stomach twisted, her unease growing. There was a finality in his movements, in his words, that she couldn't shake. She felt an invisible wall between them, one she couldn't quite name but knew was there.

She forced a laugh, her fingers drumming lightly against the edge of the table. "Alright, Mr. Boy Scout. Just don't forget the marshmallows."

This time, Dante didn't respond, his hands now busy adjusting the strap of the bag. The silence that followed felt heavy, almost suffocating, as if the room itself had drawn in a deep breath and refused to let it out.

Elyne shifted her weight, her heart beating a little faster as she tried to dismiss the growing knot of unease in her chest. He's just focused, she told herself firmly. Tomorrow was a big day, and the stakes were high. Of course, he'd be serious.

Dante straightened in his chair, his hands resting briefly on the table before he turned his gaze toward Elyne. His voice was calm, deliberate, as he began, "I'm leaving the tapes with Greaves. I don't want to take them with me—too risky if the NYPD decides to play with fire again." His words carried an edge, the memory of their near-death escape still fresh.

Elyne frowned, her fingers brushing absently against the wood of the table. "You trust him that much?" she asked softly, already knowing the answer but needing to hear it anyway.

"I do," Dante replied without hesitation. "Greaves will hold onto them until the dust settles. Then he'll release them—to the media, the networks. Whatever it takes to make sure Harlow pays for what he did to you." His eyes darkened, a quiet but fierce determination sharpening his features. "I don't want him walking away from this."

Elyne felt a pang in her chest, the weight of his words settling deep. She nodded silently, her throat tightening as she thought of how he was willing to fight for her, even after everything. His unwavering resolve to see Harlow brought to justice stirred something she couldn't name, something raw and fragile.

Greaves's voice echoed in her mind: "You take care of him without even thinking. And he does the same for you."

Needing to shake the heaviness of the moment, she pushed herself up and perched on the edge of the table, her legs swinging slightly. She tilted her head toward Dante, her lips curving into a teasing smile. "So, what's the new hideout like? I hope it's got better decor than the last one."

The question was lighthearted, but as the words left her mouth, Dante stilled. His hands, mid-motion as he reached for the strap of his bag, froze. His expression shifted, the teasing glint in his eyes replaced by something unreadable. For a moment, he seemed caught between words, his mouth opening slightly before closing again.

Elyne's smile faltered, her pulse quickening. "Dante?" she asked, her voice soft but tinged with growing concern. "What is it?"

He murmured her name, his voice barely audible, but it was enough to send a jolt through her. Her heart sank like a stone, her stomach twisting with dread. "What's wrong?" she pressed, her tone sharper now, her fingers gripping the edge of the table as though bracing herself.

Dante hesitated, his jaw tightening. Then, with visible effort, he met her gaze, his green eyes heavy with something that made her breath catch. "You're not coming with me," he said quietly.

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ooh, i fear yall gonna hate for me for this 🏃🏼‍♀️💨