Noah moved with deliberate swiftness through the dim corridors, his arms wrapped securely around Vivian, her weight pressing heavily against him. The shadows of the narrow passageways clung around them, the faint hum of fluorescent lights overhead flickering intermittently, casting fragmented pools of brightness onto the worn concrete floor. Every echoing step seemed amplified, reverberating through Vivian's already spinning senses.

  She drifted in and out of consciousness, her mind slipping like sand between fragments of memories that surfaced unbidden, vivid, and raw.

  Blood. Sticky and dark, covering her trembling hands. She saw her father's face, pale and strained, reaching out to her. His voice was faint, barely audible, yet somehow steady. "It's okay. They'll think I did it."

  Vivian's breath caught painfully, jolting her momentarily awake. She felt Noah’s arm tighten around her, anchoring her firmly as he guided her carefully down another unseen corridor. The intensity of his grip was protective, nothing like the cruel games he usually played. She blinked heavily, the edges of her vision blurred and distorted.

  A small boy sat quietly in front of an old television, back turned to her, shoulders thin and vulnerable beneath an oversized shirt. The room was worn and faded, but it felt oddly safe, peaceful. She remembered wanting to speak, but words had never come. The boy didn't seem to mind the silence.

  Noah pushed open a rusted emergency door, the sharp night air rushing to greet them. The sudden chill cut through Vivian's haze, briefly sharpening her awareness as Noah guided her swiftly through narrow alleys hidden from sight. She could hear the distant sounds of chaos—the muffled cries of panicked patrons spilling into the streets from the club behind them—but Noah's pace was steady and unwavering, leading her confidently through the darkness.

  Her mother's laughter filled her ears suddenly, clear and musical. Vivian saw herself as a young girl, frustration evident as she held up her attempt at a seven-knot bracelet, the knots hopelessly uneven and tangled. Her mother's voice had been warm, gentle, amused. "You'll get it, sweetheart. It just takes practice."

  Vivian stumbled slightly, her legs betraying her as she sagged further into Noah’s side. He paused immediately, catching her with a surprising gentleness, his face etched with genuine concern she'd never witnessed before. The hardness that usually masked his expressions had faded away, leaving behind only raw, vulnerable sincerity.

  "Almost there," he murmured quietly, his voice steady yet impossibly gentle, devoid of manipulation or hidden meanings. It was startling, almost jarring in its honesty.

  A flash of Serena's face, radiant and joyful, her eyes sparkling as she held up a hand adorned with a glittering engagement ring.

  Noah navigated carefully around another corner, their path obscured from view by towering dumpsters and crates. He moved like someone who had traced this route a hundred times before, his grip on Vivian firm but reassuring, ensuring she never felt lost or alone despite the maze of shadows surrounding them.

  Vince, younger and grinning widely, leaned casually against a wall, looking down at her with friendly curiosity. "So you're the baby, eh? You going to be as much trouble as your cousin?" His laugh was bright, easy, warm, a stark contrast to the brutal reality they now found themselves trapped in.

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  Vivian felt Noah slow, tension radiating subtly through him as he carefully checked their surroundings, ensuring their safety. He seemed to have shed all pretense; this wasn't the Noah who played sadistic games or wore masks of friendliness—this was someone real, unguarded.

  Then came the memory that struck her most sharply, clearer than all the rest. Blood and bruises on a boy, his breathing ragged and strained. He turned towards her, voice shaking yet strangely comforting, eyes dark and intense despite his pain. "It's okay, Doll-Face."

  Vivian's heart stuttered painfully, confusion and recognition mixing in her fractured consciousness. Noah’s voice, his movements, his fierce protection—they echoed the memory, aligning with something deep and long-forgotten within her. Yet, even as these thoughts unraveled, she couldn't fully grasp them, slipping again into hazy unconsciousness.

  Noah paused only briefly to glance down at her face, unreadable emotions flickering in his gaze. Without another word, he gently tightened his hold, pressing onward through the night, guiding her toward safety, away from the memories, the chaos, and the darkness that pursued them both.

  Vivian’s consciousness faltered, her eyes drifting shut as the world dissolved into shadows. Noah felt her weight shift suddenly and reacted instantly, his arms tightening protectively around her fragile frame. He lifted her gently, cradling her against his chest. Her breathing was shallow but steady, each quiet exhale pressing against his skin like a fragile heartbeat, grounding him.

  His car awaited them, a shadowed silhouette several blocks away, discreetly parked beneath the flickering amber glow of a neglected streetlamp. Each step echoed in the silence, punctuating the fierce rhythm of his thoughts, a clash between searing tenderness and the cold, relentless violence simmering beneath his skin.

  Noah carefully lowered Vivian into the passenger seat, his movements precise yet gentle, as if afraid any misstep would shatter her further. The dim light of the car illuminated her face, revealing the angry bruise blooming on her pale cheek, a smear of blood still fresh against her swollen lip. His jaw tightened involuntarily, fingers trembling slightly as he reached out to softly brush away a stray lock of her hair. Rage clawed at the edges of his mind, dark thoughts swirling—visions of Sammy's lifeless eyes staring blankly upwards, blood staining the walls, the raw satisfaction of violence mingling disturbingly with an overpowering, almost painful affection.

  He drew a ragged breath, pulling back abruptly, forcing himself away from the dark spiral. With calculated precision, Noah rounded the car and slipped behind the wheel. The engine purred to life instantly, the sound muffled, almost comforting in its mechanical consistency.

  The drive through the deserted city streets was swift, headlights slicing through the darkness, each turn executed with sharp, practiced efficiency. Noah’s gaze flickered constantly between mirrors, scanning for any indication of a tail, tension knotting his shoulders until finally, assured of their solitude, he allowed himself a shallow breath.

  When they finally reached the familiar sanctuary of his building’s car park, the car glided smoothly into a discreet spot, nestled comfortably within shadows. Noah opened the passenger door carefully, once more lifting Vivian into his arms. Her head lolled softly against his shoulder, the warmth of her breath brushing faintly against his neck—a small reassurance that ignited both relief and renewed guilt.

  As he turned, Lucas emerged from the darkness, his stance rigid, eyes blazing with restrained violence.

  “What the fuck did you do to her?” Lucas’s voice was a low, harsh growl.

  Noah met his fury with a cold, impatient glare. "Shut up and help me get her upstairs."

  They moved swiftly, tension thickening the air around them, each step echoing quietly in the sterile hallways. The apartment door opened with a faint whisper, the room enveloping them in its clinical calmness.

  Noah laid Vivian tenderly on his bed, his hands reluctant to leave her side. He braced himself instinctively, expecting Lucas’s wrathful strike. Instead, Lucas was beside Vivian in an instant, his fingers expertly checking her pulse, his eyes tracing the stark bruise marking her face with deadly, silent anger.

  Noah watched him in tense silence, recognizing the depth of Lucas’s fury mirrored in his own turbulent thoughts, both men united briefly in their protective rage.