Prologue
The hum of the computer fans filled the room, a constant static in the background that’s almost loud enough to drown out the pounding of my heart. Rain lashed against the window, dripping down in streaks that blurred the city outside.
I stood behind him, the soft ache in my back reminding me why we were doing this — why everything felt heavier now. One hand rested over the gentle curve of my stomach, still it barely showed, but to me it felt enormous. Real. Alive.
The smell of leftover pastries rose from the plate I carried, and for a moment, I hesitated — like offering him something sweet might make this easier, might make us softer again.
He didn’t look at me, fingers flying over the keys. The screen’s light cast sharp shadows across his face, making him look older than nineteen. Older than both of us.
“You should eat something,” I whispered, my voice cracking the cold.
“In a minute,” he muttered, eyes never leaving the screen.
My stomach twisted. We had coded together before, line by line, every late night fueled by cheap coffee and quiet desperation. It had been our language. Until it became something else.
“What are you doing?” I asked, my hand tightening around the edge of the plate.
“Finishing up,” he said, too calm. “The transfer’s already running.”
“You promised me,” I whispered, the words barely holding together.
“And you promised you’d trust me,” he shot back, still typing.
I set the plate down, my hands shaking so badly a pastry almost slipped off.
“We said we wouldn’t touch the general budget,” I snapped, louder now. “That was the line, remember? No one gets hurt. They just lose bets they can afford to lose.”
“And they still won’t,” he hissed, finally looking up at me. His eyes were dark, exhausted, and burning. “We’re not taking enough to break anyone.”, his voice lowered, “...just enough to survive.”
“Survive?” My voice broke. “We’re stealing, even if it’s from gamblers. Even if they never know. And what if someone does lose more than they can afford?”
“Then that’s on them,” he bit out. “We need the money, do you get that? We really do. This isn’t just about you and me anymore.”
Lightning flickered outside, throwing his face into sharp relief — the stubborn line of his jaw, the fury in his gaze, the fear beneath it all.
“And what if we ruin someone else’s life to save ours?” I whispered.
“Someone always pays,” he snapped. “At least it won’t be you. Or us. You really think the world gives a shit about soft hearts? It doesn’t.”
The words felt like a slap, even though part of me had always known he believed that. Maybe it still hurts to hear it being said outloud.
“I can’t watch you become this,” I shook my head, voice trembling. “I can’t watch us become this.”
He stood up so quickly his chair slid back, the screen behind him blinking with confirmation.
Transfer Complete.
My heart sank.
“I’ve always been this,” he growled. “You just didn’t want to see it.”
I blinked.
The words burned through me, shame and guilt twisting tight in my chest.
Without another word, I turned and fled, bare feet slapping against the cold floor, past the flickering monitors and out the door. The rain outside hit me like ice, soaking through my clothes in seconds. I felt too much to even care.
The street was empty, dark, and endless. I barely saw it through the tears. For a breath, I thought maybe I could just keep running — away from the code, from the guilt, from the economy and this society that created the very fucked up situation we’re in.
Then his hand closed around my wrist, iron-strong, yanking me back so hard I almost fell.
“Don’t you dare walk away from me,” he snarled, rain dripping from his hair, voice raw and cracking. “You think you can just leave — after everything? After giving me every damn reason to burn for you?”
I froze, heart hammering. The rain ran down between us, cold and merciless.
“Go ahead babe, hate me. Scream at me. But don’t you fucking leave me. You’re not allowed to leave. Not tonight. Not ever.”
His grip trembled, his breath ragged. And softer, broken, barely above the rain, he said, “If you run, I’ll follow. And if it ruins us, so be it. But you’re mine — even in your worst days, even when you want to disappear into the dark. You hear me? Mine.”
And in that second, I hated him.
And loved him.
And hated myself for both.
And I remembered why we’d crossed every line in the first place: not for the money, not even for each other — but for the tiny heartbeat inside me, the only thing in this world that is still innocent.
