The quiet after the storm was deceptive. In the dim light of Dmitri's private study, papers lay scattered, maps marked with red ink and secrets waiting to be uncovered.
Elías sat across from Dmitri, exhaustion shadowing his sharp features. "You hid this from me," he said softly, voice cracked with betrayal and fatigue. "Why?"
Dmitri's eyes darkened, fingers tightening around a glass half-filled with whiskey. "Because some truths are weapons. Used too soon, they kill the wielder."
Elías leaned forward, frustration breaking through his carefully composed demeanor. "We're supposed to be partners. Allies. How am I meant to trust you if you keep me in the dark?"
For a long moment, Dmitri said nothing. Then, his voice was low, almost a whisper. "Because if you knew everything — all of it—you might walk away. And I can't risk losing you."
Elías looked away, anger routed by a raw vulnerability they rarely allowed themselves. "You don't get to decide that for me."
Dmitri's hand shifted across the table, hesitating for a heartbeat before resting lightly over Elías's. "Maybe not. But I want you here. With me. Through everything."
Their eyes met, the walls between them trembling but not yet falling.
Outside, the night carried a fragile promise—danger still lurked, but so did hope, tangled in the shadows of obsession.