A Blindfolded Warrior

Dave sat at the edge of the bed, bare feet on the cold wooden floor, his fingers idly stroking Gina's bare back as she lay on her stomach, dozing in the warmth of the morning light. Her breath was even. Peaceful. It was a rare sight.

And one he cherished.

But even here, in this hidden place, he couldn't silence the images running through his mind.

He knew Gina was more than she let on. He wasn't stupid.

There were files that disappeared when she touched them, names that fell silent when she walked into a room. He had seen hints of power, whispers of wealth, flickers of a life far beyond the one she pretended to live.

But still, he didn't know the heart of the battle.

Only ideas.

Only pictures.

She told him pieces. Enough to understand that she was once hurt by the same man who raised him. But never the whole truth.

He wasn't ready to press her. Not yet. Not when he was only just beginning to hold her again.

So for now, he settled into her arms each night and allowed her to calm the storm he didn't know how to fight.

And she never said no.

---

He closed his eyes and let himself drift into the haze of memory.

The scent of his mother's perfume. Soft lavender. Warm hands brushing through his hair. She used to hum when she cooked. Folk songs he never learned the words to, but the melodies still lived in his bones.

Her laugh. It was gentle, never loud. The kind that made him feel safe, even when the walls around them cracked with his father's anger.

She had a way of shielding him from the harshness of the world. She never let his father's cruelty reach him directly—not when she could help it. She was always there between them. A buffer. A wall of calm in a house that shook.

She used to say, "Love, my darling, will rule the world. Even when it feels like hate is winning, remember—it's love they fear most."

Those words stuck to his ribs.

Even when he didn't believe them.

Then one day, she was gone.

A crash, they said.

No funeral.

No body.

Just silence.

He remembered screaming. Crying until he threw up. He remembered his father's cold explanation: "She didn't make it."

That was all.

No mourning. No tears.

Only absence.

He missed her every day after that. Missed the way she smoothed his shirts. Missed how she used to sit by his bed when he had nightmares. Missed the way she whispered, "You're safe now," even when the world wasn't.

Now, as a man, the ache remained. She had been his compass. His calm. And without her, he drifted. He often wondered what she'd think of him now—if she'd be proud. If she'd tell him she still believed love would rule the world, even when everything around him was on fire.

He hoped so.

He needed to believe that.

---

Later that day, Gina had gone off for a meeting—quiet, secretive, something to do with relocation plans and laundering routes. She didn't offer details. Dave didn't ask.

He wandered the villa alone, his hands in his pockets, until he found himself sitting in the sunroom, phone in hand.

He scrolled until he landed on a name he hadn't dialed in five years.

Lena.

His sister.

She had left before she turned twenty. Ran far from their father's empire and never looked back. He remembered how she shouted the last time they saw each other: "If you stay, you'll become him!"

She had settled in a small town in Oregon, married a mechanic, had two kids. Lived simply. Quietly.

He used to think she abandoned them.

Now, he thought she might've been the only one who escaped.

He stared at her name.

Thumb hovered over the call button.

But he didn't press it.

Not yet.

"I'll call her," he muttered. "Soon."

He wasn't sure if she'd even pick up.

But he knew he had to try.

Too many lies had already buried their family. He wouldn't let silence bury what little they had left.

He looked up as Gina stepped back into the room.

She didn't speak at first, just met his eyes and gave a small nod. Whatever the day had thrown at her, she had handled it.

He reached for her hand.

She let him take it.

For now, their silence was a balm.

For now, they were each other's shelter.

But beneath it all, they both knew—

The storm wasn't over.

It had only just begun.