The hallways of the Winston Amsterdam were quiet at this hour. When Rose and Leon returned, the streets outside were still bustling with people, people heading into the heart of the city of sinners.

  Their room was small but warm. They ended up getting a new room, one away from where Detective Lisa stayed. A single dim lamp in the corner cast amber light over the unmade beds and the shopping bags piled near the door. The window was half-open, letting in a ribbon of night air and the distant sounds of Amsterdam nightlife—soft, muffled laughter, a tram groaning somewhere, the city sighing as it settled towards midnight.

  Rose placed the bags on her bed and knelt beside them, carefully unpacking each item as if they were a delicate artifact. She laid out sweaters, dresses, a new pair of boots, a packet of sweets, and then—

  She paused.

  Her fingers brushed a piece of soft fabric. She pulled out a blue blazer, elegant, slightly formal, European cut. Her lips curled into a small, content smile.

  But as she held it closer to the lamplight, something tightened in her chest. A heat rose behind her eyes.

  Her expression trembled, then collapsed into a quiet, sorrowful frown.

  Her vision blurred—

  And the hotel room dissolved.

  ***

  It was late afternoon, and the sky mellowed into a soft wash of gold. They were sitting on a worn wooden bench outside a convenience store near the Zenkai QRI Lab. The kind of place where Kazou always insisted the sushi was “not good, but not bad enough to kill you.”

  Rose was nibbling on a sandwich, swinging her legs slightly, her shoes tapping the gravel. Kazou sat next to her, cheerful as always, eating with chopsticks like he had been born with them between his fingers, unbothered by the breeze.

  He caught her staring.

  He grinned, that easy grin that made the world feel lighter.

  “Want some?” Kazou asked, raising the small plastic sushi tray like an offering.

  Rose flushed and nodded shyly. He handed her the chopsticks. She held them awkwardly, concentrating far too hard, tongue slightly sticking out in a nervous habit. She tried to pick up a sushi roll, dipped it in sauce, but then the chopsticks crossed wrong in her hand.

  “Wait—no—no, no—!”

  The chopsticks slipped, clattering onto the gravel.

  The sushi fell like a tiny meteor.

  And landed squarely on Kazou’s blue blazer.

  The soy sauce bled instantly into the fabric—dark brown blooming across the chest pocket.

  Rose’s heart dropped.

  “Oh my God—Kazou, I’m— I’m so, so sorry— I’ll wash it— I’ll buy you a new one— I—”

  She scrambled, reaching for napkins, panicking.

  Kazou’s response was a loud, helpless laugh.

  “Rose,” he said, still chuckling, brushing the stain with his hand. “It’s fine. It’s just a blazer.”

  “But—”

  “It was given to me,” he said, tapping the pocket proudly, “by my Rose.” He leaned in closer, his voice softening into something warm. “Therefore… I will wear it no matter what.”

  Her cheeks heated. She lowered her eyes, smiling without meaning to.

  “You’re gonna look ridiculous walking around with that stain,” she murmured.

  Kazou shrugged.

  “Then I’ll be ridiculous. As long as it’s because of you.”

  They laughed.

  And then, with the late afternoon breeze blowing lightly through the maple leaves, they leaned toward each other almost at the same time.

  A brief, gentle kiss.

  A moment that felt like it belonged to another life entirely.

  ***

  Rose inhaled sharply.

  The memory shattered like a broken mirror.

  She blinked, unsteady, breath trembling in her chest. The blazer in her hands suddenly felt heavy, like a relic she wasn't supposed to be touching.

  Leon stepped forward, noticing the way her shoulders stiffened.

  “Rose?” he murmured. He reached out, almost touching her shoulder. “Are you—”

  She spun around so fast he reeled back a little.

  But she was smiling.

  Too brightly.

  Too suddenly.

  A smile sharpened by panic hiding under the enamel.

  “HERE, LEON!” she chirped, voice a touch too high. “This—this was a gift for you from me! Or—or maybe from you to you because you paid for all the things I bought anyway—”

  She thrust the blazer into his hands like she was trying to shove the memory out of her body.

  Leon blinked, then lifted it by the shoulders, letting the blue fabric hang in the warm lamplight. It was beautiful. He whistled under his breath, running a thumb along the edge.

  “Why?” he asked quietly.

  Rose swallowed. Her hands twisted at her sides.

  “Because…” She forced herself to meet his eyes. “Because you deserve it.”

  The room fell quiet for a moment.

  Leon smirked, softly, not arrogantly. Something smug, but also something like concern.

  “You’re acting strange,” he said, but not unkindly.

  Rose’s face heated. Her eyes dropped to the floor.

  She was blushing.

  Her fingers curled into the hem of her own sleeve, trying to anchor herself, trying to stop her heart from climbing up her throat.

  Leon’s smirk lingered as he admired the blazer again, as if realizing it meant more than she was willing to admit. He draped it over his arm and sat on the bed next to hers.

  Rose stood there for a moment, the echo of Kazou’s laugh still burning somewhere behind her ribs.

  Her smile wavered.

  But she kept it on.

  Because letting it fall would mean letting everything else through.

  And she wasn’t ready for that.

  Rose’s cheeks were pink, her eyes still lowered as if she were trying to gather herself. She cleared her throat, brushing invisible dust from her sleeves.

  “I’m… going to bed,” she muttered. Then added quickly, “But I’ll shower first.”

  Leon, seated on the edge of his bed with the blue blazer draped casually over his arm, barely looked up. His tone was nonchalant, dry as sandpaper.

  “Choice is yours.”

  Rose felt heat rise to her face again, from irritation this time. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. He always did that. Responded without responding. Spoke like he lived in a different timeline where everything was slightly slower and slightly more sarcastic.

  She turned sharply and walked toward the bathroom.

  The room was dim except for the corner lamp, so her eyes were adjusting slowly, too slowly. She didn’t see the boot she had kicked off earlier, lying on its side right in her path.

  Her foot caught.

  Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

  The world yanked sideways.

  “Ah—!”

  Before she even registered falling, something solid collided with her, hard, warm, fast. Leon had moved without thinking, intercepting her mid-fall.

  Their combined weight slammed them both against the wall with a heavy thud.

  The lamp flickered.

  Rose found herself pressed to Leon’s chest, breath knocked out of her. His arms were around her back, one hand splayed between her shoulder blades, the other braced on her waist where he had caught her.

  Leon exhaled sharply, the breath brushing the top of her head.

  Rose blinked up at him, stunned, wide-eyed, face burning. Her fingers were curled unintentionally in the fabric of his shirt. His scent, cologne with a hint of cigarette smoke from earlier outside, hit her all at once, dizzying and too close.

  He was looking down at her with a raised brow, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

  “You good?” he asked, voice low, amused.

  Rose swallowed, butterflies detonating in her stomach like shaken soda cans.

  “I—I wasn’t expecting you to… catch me like… that,” she stammered, then immediately cursed herself internally for sounding like a flustered high schooler.

  Leon shrugged, still not moving.

  “You were on a direct collision course with the floor. I intervened.” His tone was matter-of-fact, as if he had simply stepped on a piece of trash to throw it away.

  Rose narrowed her eyes, heat rushing to her head for a different reason.

  “Sooo…” she said slowly, her sass crawling back out to protect what was left of her dignity, “your first instinct was to… let me body-slam you into a wall?”

  He snorted.

  “My bad. Next time I’ll let gravity handle it.”

  “Don’t you dare,” she shot back immediately — then realized what she’d said and felt her face go hot again. “I mean— just—”

  Leon’s fingers flexed slightly on her back.

  Not inappropriate. But intimate enough that she felt it.

  “No apology?” he said, voice dipping into something slightly teasing now.

  She lifted her chin, leaning in closer without meaning to. Their noses were inches apart. Her breath brushed his jaw.

  “For what?” she asked sweetly. “For falling into you so dramatically?”

  “Mm.” Leon’s smirk deepened. “You practically tackled me.”

  “You stepped in the way.”

  “You were falling.”

  “You didn’t have to catch me,” she said, her tone softer now, but edged with something bold.

  Leon tilted his head, eyes narrowing in quiet amusement.

  “And you didn’t mind it at all.”

  Rose froze.

  Then, slowly, very slowly, she let her arms relax against his chest, her palms spreading flat against him for balance. She felt the steady rhythm of his breathing and heartbeat beneath her hands, warm and solid and far too easy to lean into.

  She looked up at him with a sly, rosy smirk.

  “…No,” she whispered. “I didn’t.”

  For the first time, Leon’s expression flickered, a subtle shift, a small break in his shield of sarcasm. Something warm, curious, almost sly slid into his gaze.

  “Oh?” he said quietly. “So you want to stay like this?”

  “Yes,” she said without hesitation. “Actually… let’s.”

  Leon’s laugh was low — a soft exhale, not mocking, not loud. Just amused.

  “Careful,” he whispered, his fingers lightly pressing against her back as if testing whether she meant it. “You sound like you’re flirting.”

  Rose raised a brow, her blush deep but her voice steady.

  “What if I am?”

  Leon’s smirk sharpened.

  “Then,” he murmured, eyes locked on hers, “you’re getting good at it.”

  She scoffed, pretending to be offended, though her heart hammered with something thrill-like.

  “I’ve always been good at it.”

  “Mm. Sure.”

  He lifted one hand from her waist, brushing a loose strand of hair from her cheek with exaggerated nonchalance.

  “You tripped on your own shoe, Mrs Rose Brook.”

  “That has nothing to do with flirting,” she fired back instantly.

  Leon’s smile grew as he leaned just a fraction closer, just enough for her breath to hitch.

  “Doesn’t help your case, though.”

  Rose’s mouth parted, half a retort, half a gasp; she barely swallowed.

  She held his gaze, the room around them silent except for the faint sound of nightlife filtering through the cracked window.

  “Leon,” she whispered.

  He raised a brow.

  “Hm?”

  “Shut up.”

  He laughed, quietly, warm, genuine, and didn’t let go of her.

  Not yet.

  Leon’s quiet laugh faded, leaving only the low rumble of the hotel’s ventilation and the distant clatter of nightlife drifting up from the streets below. Rose stayed in his arms a moment longer, their breaths brushing, neither quite willing to pull away.

  They didn’t look like two people who’d just collided by accident.

  They looked like two people trying not to admit they didn’t hate how close they were.

  Rose steadied herself, fingers still curled lightly into his shirt. She searched his face — the dry calm, the guarded amusement, the flicker of something he fought to hide.

  Her voice softened.

  “Leon…”

  He raised a brow again, but this time it wasn’t teasing; it was careful.

  “Yeah?”

  She wet her lips, nerves, and something like hope tangling messily in her chest.

  “Can… can we stay like this a little longer?” she whispered.

  He didn’t move at first.

  His grip didn’t tighten, but he didn’t let her go either.

  “As long as you want,” he said quietly.

  It wasn’t flirtation anymore. It was honesty.

  Rose exhaled, her forehead brushing his chest. A moment passed. Something inside her swirled, nudging her forward, urging her to lean just a little more into him.

  She lifted her head slowly.

  Their eyes met.

  His eyes were darker than before, softer too, like the edge had dulled for a moment. She lifted one hand, fingers brushing the side of his jaw, feather-light.

  Leon stiffened, barely, but enough for someone perceptive like her to notice.

  “Leon…” she murmured again, her voice barely sounding. She leaned in, lips parting, closing the last inches between them.

  But just before she could reach him—

  Leon’s hand moved.

  His palm pressed lightly to her collarbone, guiding her backward with a careful, steady pressure.

  Rose froze mid-motion.

  Her eyes widened. Her lips parted, hovering somewhere between surprise and pain.

  Leon’s expression changed; the amusement vanished. His jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing in something far more complicated.

  “No,” he said quietly.

  Rose didn’t step away yet; she only stared at him, her breath trembling out in a thin, fragile exhale.

  “…Why not?” she whispered. Her voice cracked on the last word.

  Leon held her gaze for a long, silent second.

  Something flickered behind his eyes, guilt, restraint, fear, something old and bruised that didn’t belong in a moment like this but had barged its way in anyway.

  “Don’t,” he muttered.

  Rose’s face tightened, her mouth curving downward despite her effort to hide it.

  She took a small step back on her own this time.

  Her shoulders dropped.

  Leon watched her carefully, guarded now, distant in a way that felt suddenly cold.

  Rose swallowed hard.

  “O-okay,” she said softly, nodding though her eyes were glassy.

  “I… I understand.”

  But she didn’t.

  Not really.

  And Leon knew that.

  He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose for a second before letting his hand fall back to his side. He opened his mouth, maybe to explain, maybe to apologize, but nothing came out.

  Rose hugged her own arm with her opposite hand, looking anywhere except at him.

  Silence filled the space where their almost-kiss should have been.

  Leon finally spoke, low, steady, serious.

  “Rose… I’m not someone you should want.”

  Rose looked up slowly.

  “Don’t decide that for me,” she whispered, voice trembling.

  Leon’s eyes narrowed further, not in irritation, but in conflict so deep it made his expression look carved, pained in a way he would never admit.

  He didn’t respond.

  Rose stepped back again, giving him space he hadn’t asked for but clearly needed.

  The distance between them was only a few feet, but it felt like miles.

  And both of them felt it.

  ***

  The room slept in shadows.

  Only the thin neon glow from the Amsterdam street signs below seeped through the blinds in fractured stripes, painting pale blue lines across the carpet, the walls… and Rose, sleeping on her side, her breathing soft and steady.

  Leon wasn’t asleep.

  He stood beside her bed like a ghost caught between two worlds, motionless, shoulders tense, eyes fixed on her.

  His expression had none of the smirking sarcasm he wore like armor during the day.

  He looked older.

  Dead inside.

  Like a man who had already dug a grave and was trying to convince himself not to fill it.

  His hand moved slowly, almost unconsciously, toward his right pocket, where the cold shape of his handgun sat beneath the fabric. His fingertips brushed against the outline.

  Then—

  He jerked his hand back like it had burned him.

  His eyes widened.

  His jaw clenched so tight that a muscle twitched in his cheek.

  His mouth trembled in a way he couldn’t stop.

  He swallowed hard.

  “Fuck…” he whispered under his breath.

  Barely audible. Barely anything at all.

  His pulse thudded at his throat, uneven, broken.

  Then—

  RING.

  A sharp, shrill sound cut through the silent room.

  Leon flinched.

  The phone on the nightstand vibrated violently against the wood. Rose didn’t stir, only shifted and let out a soft sigh in her sleep.

  Leon exhaled shakily.

  He moved fast, quietly, carefully, snatching the phone before it could ring a second time. He steadily raised it with hands like something dangerous as he brought it to his ear.

  His stomach dropped into a hollow pit.

  His breath froze.

  He didn’t need to ask who called.

  He already knew.

  Anders.

  The man to whom he had stupidly given the room number and hotel phone earlier. The man who owned Leon’s life and death with a single sentence.

  Leon’s fingers shook around the device.

  Before he could speak—

  A voice poured through the speaker, low and cold and already irritated.

  “Leon,” Anders said. “Have you killed Rose Brook yet?”

  Leon’s throat closed.

  He looked down at Rose, asleep, peaceful, a soft curl of hair falling over one cheek.

  His eyes narrowed in pain.

  He clicked his tongue once, exhaling slowly through his nose, slipping into the persona that always saved him, indifferent, dry, slick.

  “Yeah,” he answered flatly.

  A lie.

  Too easy.

  Too rehearsed.

  “Then why,” Anders growled, “didn’t you call me the moment it was done?”

  Leon leaned his back against the wall, tilting his head slightly, expression flattening into that careless, almost taunting boredom he used like a shield.

  “Well,” he muttered lightly, “maybe because I’m not an intern, Anders. I don’t clock out and file a report when I’m done.”

  His voice was smooth. Almost amused.

  Anders was not amused.

  “Leon,” he hissed, “stop playing smart with me.”

  Leon smirked just enough that it could be heard in his breathing.

  “Just saying,” he murmured, tapping a silent rhythm on the wall with two fingers, “I handle the job first. Debriefing can wait a minute.”

  Silence crackled through the line.

  Then—

  A sound from behind him.

  A soft, unexpected—

  Snrrk.

  Rose snored, suddenly, loudly, a small, warm, absolutely unmistakable sound.

  Leon’s heart jumped into his throat.

  He almost slipped, his shoulder knocking lightly against the wall. His hand flew up to his mouth, covering it.

  Shit.

  Shit, shit, shit—he thought.

  On the other end, Anders’s voice sharpened instantly.

  “What was that?”

  Leon said nothing.

  “Leon,” Anders repeated slowly, dangerously. “That sounded like a woman. That isn’t Rose. Is it?”

  Leon closed his eyes.

  He inhaled.

  A long, slow, steady breath, the way a con man steadies his hand before slipping a card under a cuff.

  Then he spoke.

  Cool. Nonchalant. Slick.

  “Relax,” he said, voice low, almost bored. “I had to reward myself, didn’t I? City of sinners and all that.” A smirk curled on his lips, convincing even himself. “You didn’t really expect me to spend the night alone after a job like this, did you? Hah!”

  A short pause.

  Then Anders exhaled, not pleased, but accepting.

  “Very well,” he muttered. “Try not to be sloppy.”

  The call cut off.

  Leon lowered the phone slowly.

  His hand trembled once.

  Just once.

  Then he forced it still.

  He looked back at Rose.

  Sleeping. Breathing softly.

  Unaware of how close she had come to having her fate decided by a single phone call.

  Leon pressed a hand to his forehead, dragging his fingers back through his hair.

  Quietly, barely above a whisper, he muttered to himself:

  “Fuck am I doing…”

  He stood there a long moment more, watching her.

  Then he sank into the room’s shadows, unable to sleep, unable to leave, trapped between two truths:

  He was supposed to kill her.

  And he couldn’t.

  "Don't worry, Rose Brook. I won't kill you. I'll let them kill me instead."