This Means War

15. - RAFAEL -

fifteen

- RAFAEL -

W e’dbeen holed upin a nondescript storage facility—one of those cold, utilitarian spaces meant for holding what peopledidn’twant seen, not suited for proper hiding. Itbelonged to some NGO Monica had ties to, the kind of connection that spoke to her quiet authority, her ability to slip seamlessly into any situation and make it work. Shewas too good for a place like this.

The concrete walls felt oppressive, the flickering overhead light casting long, restless shadows that danced with every movement.Itwasn’tglamorous or comfortable, butthere wassomething about therawness of the space, the unpolished edges,thatmade the tension all the more palpable.Everybreath felt heavier, every glance more charged, as if the warehouse stripped back every thought until Iwas leftwith only one: I could see Luis here.

I could picture him moving through the halls like it was just some paperwork he had to sort through. Hissharp edges and restless energy matched the roughness of the space.He’dlean back against the cold concrete, armscrossed, eyes daring me to step closer, to break the unspokenrulewe’dboth clung to for so long. Therewas something so dangerous in the thought—something that pressed against my chest, making the air feel thinner.Ifwe gave in, especially in a place like this, itwouldn’tbe gentle.Itwould be like this place: raw, half-ignored, and locked away from the rest of your life.The kind of place that stripped everything down to its essentials and the truths you couldn’t hide from.

Over our heads, the hum of flickering fluorescent lights and the smell of dust filled the air, and for the first time in days, I allowed myself to let the stillness settle around me. Therewas no luxury here.Nopolished marble floors or glitzy power brokers to hide behind.Thiswas about survival.

And we needed to survive.

Monica was at the far end of the unit, making a phone call, while Luis paced near the exit,hiseyes scanning the street outside. Hisrestlessness had become my own. Wewere running out of time. ButIdidn’tknow if it was from the dangers outside orthe oneswithin. Becausethere was something else now simmering unspoken but undeniable. We both felt it.Theway wecouldn’tstop watching each other, the tension growing every time our eyes met.

Thiswasn’tjust the competition for a girl anymore. Itwas something more complicated. Somethingthat was becoming harder to ignore.

I opted to watch Monica for a moment—herconcentration unwavering as she read off her phone.Shewascalm,always calm, but I could see the faintest tension in her posture.Sheknew what we were up against. Sheknew the stakes were rising.

“Rafael,”she said, breaking my thoughts.“We need to talk.”

I walked over to where she was standing.“About what?”I asked, my gaze still flicking toward Luis.

“I’mofficially expected to turn myself in as a… suspected murdersuspect now. Toldto turn myself in for questioning by the end of the week,”Monica said, tapping the screen to bring up a local news article about it.“My boss thinks an official recall from work might come soon.”

“Hecan’tthink you actually did it, does he?”

“No,”she said, shaking her head as she secured her phone away.“That’swhya recall might be sentquickly.”

I nodded, already processing the information.“We’lladjust. Wealways do.”

“We could leave the city,”Luis said, stepping toward us.“Call in, get toan actually safe location where we can think, reset.Stop playingtheirgame since their way makes us sitting ducks.”

“At least we know their true game now,”Monica said with enough graceitdefused a bomb Ihadn’teven noticed we neared.

Thiswasn’ta bad idea. Iwasn’texactly in love with calling into our handlers again, but the bigger question was wherewe’dgo next. Wehad options, butall of theminvolved leaving behind any pretense of normalcy.

Monica looked between us, her eyes calculating.“Where do we go? Wecan’tjust disappear into thin air.”

Luis smiled.“We can pull it off.”

“We?”

Luis lifted his phone, the glow catching the lines of his face as if to remind me thatthe fragile quiet of just the three of uswasn’tmeantto last—that the outside world could pull us all apart with a single call.

He stepped a few paces away, his voice low as he placed the call.WhileMonica and I stayed by the battered metal desk, surrounded by shelves crammed with mismatched boxes labeled in bold black marker—“medical kits”, “water filtration”, “disaster relief”.The ironywasn’tloston me. Wewere standing amid supplies meant to keep people safe, yet safety felt like a distant dream.

Luis’voice cut through the stillness, steady but clipped.“I need an update on the situation.”He paused, listening, and I could see the faint twitch in his fingers where they rested on the edge of a shelf.

The reply was inaudible, but whatever they said made his posture straighten, and his shoulders stiffening as though bracing for impact.“I’mnot donehere,”Luis said, his tone firm.“If that is what you think is best.”Another pause, longer this time. Thefaint hum of distant traffic outside was the only sound filling the silence between his words.

Monica crossed her arms, her brow furrowing as she glanced at me, but I shook my head. Icouldn’thear the other side of the conversation either.

Luis’nextwords came quieter, butthere was a sharpening edge to them.“Who’shandling the local case?”His question hung in the air like a weight, heavy and foreboding.

Anotherpause, and then I sawit—the slight widening of his eyes, the way his hand tightened around the phone like it might shatter.“Detective Rourke?”he repeated, the name rolling off his tongue with the kind of restrained fury thatmade my pulse quicken.

Luis’voice dropped lower, but the steel in it was impossible for me to miss.“Okay, thanks. Wewill come in,”he said, each word covered with a silkiness I could never muster.

He tossed the phone on the shelf, his movements controlled but radiating frustration. Heturned to face us, his jaw tight. “Detective Rourke,”he said, his voice flat.“I saw him at the summit.Hejust as easilycould have beenframed,but is choosing to aid this mess.”

Monica’seyes widened, but shedidn’tsay anything, waiting for him to continue.

“They want us to turn ourselves in too?”I asked.

His gaze flicked to mine, pointed and furious.“Just Monica and I.”

The realization hit me like a punch to the gut.“No.You two arenot submitting to the police,”I said, my voice low butabsolute.

Luisdidn’treply, but the look in his eyes said he agreed. Theair in the room felt heavier, the oppressive weight of the situation settling overall of us.“Wecan’tstay here,”he said finally.

Monica nodded. “Let’s get moving.”

I snatched the nearest duffel bag, my heart racing as I hurriedly stuffed whatever we might need, thenadded a few extra things to make it look like it was holding clothes for three.

Luisgave Monica a quick recap ofhow we could be tracked.Herface shifted between the things she already knew and the horrifying new truths she was just learning.

“Phone,”I said, nodding as I tossed mine next to his and slung the bag over my shoulder.

Once Monica did the samewemoved quickly, pulling closed the storageunit’sside door, and moving into the cold night air. The street outside was quiet, almost unnervingly so.

“How do you feel about a sudden vacation?”I asked Monica.

“With two strapping young men like you?” She arched an eyebrow, her lips curving into a teasing smile.“Countme in.”

An hour later, we were on the road again, leaving behind thesafeconvenient ease ofMonica’scar and our comfortable lifestyles for something more luxurious —a high-end hotel with two beds in a penthouse suite, hidden in plain sight. Soft gold accents glimmered under the recessed lighting, and the panoramic windows offered a sweeping view of the city skyline. A place that screamed the type of wealth that people envied but rarely ever targeted.

Luis stepped inside first, his sharp gaze sweeping the room like he was searching for hidden threats, even here. Monica followed, her heels clicking softly against the polished marble floors. I stayed near the door, taking a slow breath as I scanned the space.

The penthouse was immaculate—built for experience, not for living. It was a jewel designed to be looked at, envied, and enjoyed for a weekend. Perfect for what we needed.

Monica sat her purse down on the low glass coffee table. “We couldn’t have picked somewhere more conspicuous if we tried.”

“Definitely not our usual style,” Luis replied, his voice low. He moved toward the windows, his silhouette outlined against the city lights.

I dropped my bag near the sofa and glanced around. The suite held two queen beds separated by a sleek nightstand, and a kitchenette stocked with overpriced snacks that we had no reason not to touch. Wasn’t like this room was in our name or under our real cards. If you were a spy, you always had secrets. Even from your own government.

We didn’t bring much. No phones, no laptops, nothing that could ping back to us. Largely just the bag from that NGO’s disaster relief stockpile. The juxtaposition was almost comical. In a room where the bed linens probably cost more than my monthly rent. No sense in unpacking bandages and water purifiers like we were preparing for the apocalypse.

Monica strode to the mini fridge. She opened it with a quiet hum, pulling out a sleek glass bottle of sparkling water and a delicate tin of imported chocolates. “Now this,” she said with a teasing smile, holding the sweets up like a trophy, “feels like the dessert we deserve after everything.”

I leaned back against the armrest of the leather sofa, smirking. “Five-star snacks at their finest,” I grinned, glancing past her at the rest of the neatly packed fridge shelves—artisanal cheeses, champagne, probably even jars of caviar, the works really.

“And I thought the fancy recyclable water bottles in the U.N. break room were bougie,” Monica laughed as she tossed the chocolates to Luis, who caught them easily, his expression unreadable as he set them on the nightstand without comment.

Monica eventually retreated to the bathroom, leaving me alone with Luis.

“You going to stay this quiet?” I asked.

He glanced over his shoulder, expression still unreadable. “Just thinking.”

“Dangerous habit.”

Luis turned fully, crossing his arms as he leaned back against the window. “Not all of us can get anything they want with nothing more than a clever quip.”

I pushed off the armrest and stood, closing the space between us just enough to feel the tension ripple in the air. “Don’t even need that.”

A flicker of amusement crossed his face, but it didn’t last. Luis’ eyes lingered on mine, searching, like he was trying to address something he wasn’t ready to say out loud. It wasn’t a heated look—no, it was something quieter, more intimate. The kind of look that slipped beneath, like a tentative hand brushing the edge of a hem, testing the boundary between hesitation and getting exactly what you want.

Monica emerged from the bathroom a few minutes later, her hair tied back and a look of exhaustion settling over her features. “Full shampoo bottles,” she announced, with a double thumbs up before heading straight for one of the beds without waiting for a reply. “I’m going to crash now though.”

Luis raised an eyebrow at me, his arms still crossed. “Guess it’s you and me, then.”

I shrugged, keeping my tone casual. “Just like old times.”

“Do you still snore?” he asked, his voice casual but with a dare I couldn’t quite place.

I smirked, tossing my jacket onto the back of a chair, eyeing that Monica was facing away before undressing down to my boxers and quickly sliding under the covers. The bed was absurdly comfortable, but I found it hard to relax.

Luis folded his clothes, and turned off the lights before settling down, his movements precise and deliberate, like he was trying not to disrupt the fragile peace. The distance between us both too small and too vast. I could feel the heat of his body, the faint shift of the mattress as he adjusted positions. It was maddeningly intimate, and yet neither of us said a word.

I tried to focus on before.

The way Luis had stood at the window, so serene and dominant, like he could hold the weight of the world on his shoulders. Maybe I did get art. Maybe he was Atlas with muscles I helped strengthen with wordless gym sessions. He’d fallen asleep in my place before, but this, here, now lying next to him in the quiet, was somehow so much closer to home. Our professional reputations had likely been ruined for a girl, and yet, it brought us closer.

I thought about everything we’d been through—the missions, the close calls, the endless tug-of-war. Beneath it all, there was something I couldn’t ignore. Something I didn’t want to ignore anymore.

Luis shifted beside me, and for a brief moment, his leg brushed against mine. The touch was fleeting, barely there, and accident for sure, yet I still suddenly wanted to tangled our lives up even more.

I closed my eyes, forcing myself to breathe evenly. All it would take is to reach out and close the distance.

But I didn’t.

The tension between Luis and me was thick enough to cut with a knife. But it wasn’t just rivalry anymore. We were in this, not just for the mission, but for each other.

We were on the run together. From the cops, the government, and the viral attention. But maybe most of all, from the truth that had been staring us in the face all along.