The Thin Line Between Duty and Desire

At what point does a mission become something more?

Celeste.....

The room was silent except for the sound of Adrian's ragged breathing. My hands were stained with his blood, my heart hammering against my ribs as I pressed harder against the wound. He was losing too much, and I couldn't stop it.

"Stay awake," I whispered, my voice shaking. "You don't get to check out on me now, Adrian."

His lips curled in that damn smirk, even as pain flickered behind his half-lidded gaze. "Bossy as ever, Ogonëk."

A lump formed in my throat at the nickname. I don't know what it means but it just. feels right. Something thats between us only. His voice was weaker than before, his usual arrogance dulled by exhaustion. That scared me more than the blood seeping between my fingers.

I had seen death before—had been the cause of it more times than I cared to count. But this was different. This was Adrian.

And for the first time, I realized I didn't want him to die.

I forced a steady breath, pushing past the surge of panic rising in my chest. It's just a mission. That's what I kept telling myself. That's what I had to believe.

But it didn't feel like a mission anymore.

It felt like something else—something dangerous, something I had no control over.

I swallowed hard, shifting my position to keep more pressure on the wound. He let out a sharp hiss, his body tensing under my touch. "I know it hurts," I murmured. "But if you die on me, I swear I'll—"

"What? Kill me?" he rasped, amusement flickering in his eyes despite the pain. "Little late for that, isn't it?"

"Don't joke," I snapped, my voice sharper than I intended. "Not now."

His smirk faded slightly, his gaze softening. "You're scared."

I hated how easily he saw through me. How he could read me even when he was bleeding out in my arms.

"I'm not scared," I lied. "I just don't feel like explaining to your men why their boss bled out in some abandoned warehouse because he was too stubborn to let me help him."

Adrian exhaled a short laugh, though it quickly turned into a grimace. His fingers twitched, barely brushing against my wrist. "Liar."

I clenched my jaw, refusing to acknowledge the weight of his words. Instead, I focused on the rising heat in my chest—the frustration, the fear, the undeniable pull between us that was getting harder and harder to ignore.

How had it come to this? How had I gone from planning his downfall to desperately trying to keep him alive?

His breathing was getting shallower, and I hated the helplessness creeping into my bones. I pressed my forehead against his for the briefest second, grounding myself, grounding him.

"You don't get to die," I murmured, barely above a whisper. "Not like this. Not now."

His fingers curled weakly around my wrist, a ghost of a touch. "Worried about me, Ogonëk?"

I lifted my head just enough to meet his gaze. "Don't flatter yourself."

His lips parted, but before he could reply, his breath hitched—pain lancing through him. His grip on me tightened for a split second before going slack.

"Adrian?" My voice was sharp, desperate.

His eyes fluttered, struggling to stay open. "Still here... just enjoying the way you're fussing over me."

I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. "You're impossible."

A ghost of a smile tugged at his lips. "And you... you're still holding onto me like I might disappear."

I stiffened, my fingers flexing against his skin. Because maybe I was.

Before I could reply, a sharp knock on the door shattered the moment. I tensed, immediately reaching for my gun. Adrian let out a quiet chuckle. "Relax, Ogonëk. That's our help."

I didn't lower my weapon. Not until I heard Dante's voice on the other side. "Boss? We're coming in."

Relief coursed through me, but it was mixed with something else—something I couldn't name.

As the door swung open and Adrian's men rushed in, I let out a slow breath. I should have felt relief.

But all I felt was conflicted.

Because I had just crossed a line I wasn't sure I could come back from.

And I wasn't sure I wanted to.