Leo hadn't slept.
The night had stretched thin, like a line pulled too tight between breath and guilt. He sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the faint light filtering through the blinds, the sound of the sea below like a pulse he couldn't escape. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her: her hands trembling, her eyes, the soft sound of her breathing when he'd lost control for a moment too long.
"Stupid," he whispered to himself. "You're a damn soldier, not a man."
But even as he said it, his jaw clenched, because he knew that wasn't true anymore. Somewhere between the lies and the mission, Naiara Moreno had slipped under his skin like saltwater.
He rubbed his face, feeling the burn in his muscles, the weight of exhaustion and something deeper, longing. He'd been trained to resist everything. Pain. Fear. Temptation. But not her voice. Not her silence.
"Error," he told himself again.
And yet, when he said it, it sounded hollow.
Morning came quietly.
Naiara woke late, sunlight dripping through the curtains, the sound of waves brushing the glass. Her body remembered before her mind did. The heat of a touch that hadn't fully happened, the echo of a voice that still lingered in her chest.
She sat up, clutching the sheet. "Stop," she whispered to herself, as if she could command her thoughts the way Leo commanded his soldiers.
She tried to shake the memories away, but they followed her to the mirror, to the brush sliding through her hair, to the air that seemed to hum differently now. And when she stepped out of her room, he was there, standing at the end of the corridor, uniform neat, expression unreadable.
"Good morning, Miss Moreno," he said.
Her throat went dry. "Good morning."
That was all. But it was enough to send a tremor through her.
The galleria smelled of fresh paint and sea breeze. Clara was hanging the last frame when Naiara arrived.
"Finally!" Clara exclaimed, waving her arm like she'd been waiting forever. "You look like you've slept ten minutes and dreamed for twenty hours. What's going on with you, huh?"
Naiara smiled faintly. "Just tired."
Leo stood by the door, silent, his presence steady and heavy as always. Clara shot him a playful glance. "Your bodyguard's getting more handsome every day. Is that even allowed?"
"Clara," Naiara warned.
"What? It's true. He looks like he eats discipline for breakfast."
They both laughed, but Naiara's laugh was thin, stretched around the unease in her chest. Every time she turned, she could feel him, his gaze, his awareness, the way he seemed to move when she did, without a word.
Hours passed in quiet rhythm: hammering nails, adjusting lights, brushing dust from frames. When Naiara bent to pick up a box, her shoulder brushed against his arm. The touch was accidental, barely there, but her breath caught anyway. He didn't move, didn't look at her. Only his jaw flexed, one small, silent betrayal.
When they finally closed the gallery, the sky was a broken glass of violet and gold.
Clara slung her bag over her shoulder with a mischievous grin. "Okay, Tigna," she said, using the nickname she'd stolen. "Tonight, no excuses. Two spritzes, the sea, and me pretending not to notice that you're gorgeous."
"Clara, I'm not…"
"No arguments. I need this, so you're coming. Friend's orders."
Leo's voice came from behind them. "I'll drive."
"You don't have to," Naiara said quickly.
"I can't leave you alone."
"She won't be alone," Clara chirped. "She'll be with me."
He gave no answer, just that calm, unreadable silence that meant resistance was pointless.
"Fine," Clara sighed, amused. "Then come with us, soldier. I'll buy you a tonic water and the joy of staring at the sea."
The beach was bronze and shadow.
Music played from a nearby bar, laughter blending with the sound of waves. Naiara and Clara took stools by the counter, the smell of citrus and salt thick in the air. Leo stood a few steps away, leaning against a pillar, his figure half in darkness.
"To us," Clara said, raising her glass.
Naiara clinked hers softly. The sugar from the orange stuck to her fingers; she licked it away absently, and caught Leo looking at her.
Just a glance. A heartbeat. But it burned through her like sunlight.
She turned away, pretending to check her phone.
"You're blushing," Clara teased.
"It's the drink."
"Right, and I'm the Queen of England."
They laughed, the sound fragile but real. For a while, Naiara felt almost normal, like the world hadn't turned into a maze of secrets.
But sometimes, between words, her eyes drifted to him again. Leo, standing there, the sea wind pushing through his hair, the faint sheen of light tracing the line of his jaw. He didn't look at her directly, yet she could feel it, the invisible string pulling tight between them.
Every time a man passed too close, Leo's posture changed: a subtle shift, a flicker of awareness.
Clara noticed. "He's watching you like you're a classified mission," she murmured.
"Clara…"
"What? You think I don't see it? He's not just guarding you, he's orbiting you."
Naiara smiled weakly, staring at the ocean. "He's… complicated."
"Complicated is just code for dangerous and irresistible," Clara said with a grin. "Trust me, I know the type."
They stayed until the lights dimmed and the crowd began to thin. Then they walked along the waterline, shoes in hand, the waves brushing their feet. Leo followed at a distance, quiet as the tide.
Naiara glanced over her shoulder once. He wasn't looking at her, but she could tell he knew she was looking. That strange awareness again, like sharing a secret neither dared to name.
When they reached the villa gate, Clara hugged her tightly. "Tomorrow morning, nine o'clock. Breakfast at my place. And this time, no chaperones, got it?"
"Got it," Naiara said, smiling.
Clara's grin softened. "Don't be afraid to live, okay?"
Leo opened the gate and stepped aside for her. The sea shimmered behind them, silver and alive.
"Goodnight, Leo," she whispered.
"Goodnight, Naiara."
He stayed outside as she disappeared inside the villa. The phone in his pocket vibrated. One message, encrypted. No name.
PHASE TWO. ORDER CONFIRMED. MAINTAIN POSITION.
Leo stared at the glowing screen, then at the window upstairs where her light was still on.
He exhaled slowly, knuckles tight around the phone.
How the hell am I supposed to take you away, Tigna.