The city seemed quieter as the car approached the safe house, its tires crunching softly over uneven asphalt. The faint glow of dawn painted the horizon in hues of orange and pink, a deceptive promise of serenity. Izzy’s eyes, heavy with exhaustion, caught the subtle shift in the skyline. A sunrise she might’ve appreciated under different circumstances now felt like a cruel mockery—a reminder that her world had been irrevocably turned upside down.

Antonio parked the car with practiced ease, stepping out and motioning for her to follow. The safe house was unassuming, a two-story building nestled in a forgotten corner of the city. Its facade, though weathered, bore the subtle signs of reinforced security—a steel-reinforced door, high fences, and windows that revealed nothing. It wasn’t the penthouse, but it was still undeniably his domain.

As she stepped out of the car, Izzy winced, her arm throbbing in protest. The bandage Antonio had hastily applied during their escape had done little more than stave off the worst of the bleeding. Her jacket stuck to her skin, the dried blood binding the fabric to the wound.

The chill of the early morning air bit at her exposed skin as Antonio unlocked the door.

“This is it,” he said curtly, stepping aside to let her in.

Izzy crossed the threshold, her eyes scanning the sparse interior. The living room was modest but functional—a couch, a coffee table, and a small kitchenette. The curtains were drawn tightly shut, sealing them off from prying eyes. The space smelled faintly of antiseptic and old wood, a mix of practicality and disuse.

Antonio nodded toward the couch. “Sit. The doctor will be here soon.”

Izzy hesitated, her instincts urging her to keep moving, to stay alert. But the weight of exhaustion pressed down on her, and she sank onto the couch, her body protesting every movement. Her mind wandered back to the department, to the faces of her colleagues—people she had once trusted.

By now, they would’ve seen the evidence Miller planted. Her betrayal, as they would see it, would be the talk of every precinct. She could almost hear the whispers, the accusations. Even the ones who might’ve believed in her wouldn’t dare to speak out. The web Baylor had spun was too intricate, too suffocating.

Her fingers tightened into a fist on her lap, her nails digging into her palm. She wasn’t just running from the department or Baylor’s men; she was running from the very system she had sworn to protect.

The sound of a knock pulled her from her thoughts. Antonio opened the door, and a tall, wiry man stepped inside. His salt-and-pepper hair was combed back neatly, and he carried a leather bag that looked older than Izzy herself.

“Dr. Ferris,” Antonio greeted him with a nod. “She’s in here.”

The doctor’s sharp eyes swept over Izzy, taking in the blood-stained bandage and her pale complexion. He set his bag on the coffee table, his movements efficient and precise.

“You’re lucky you didn’t lose more blood,” Dr. Ferris said, his tone matter-of-fact as he pulled on a pair of gloves. “Let me see.”

Izzy shrugged off her jacket with Antonio’s help, biting back a hiss of pain. The bandage came off next, revealing the jagged gash on her upper arm. Dr. Ferris made a sound of disapproval but said nothing, focusing instead on cleaning the wound with practiced care.

“This is going to sting,” he warned, not waiting for her acknowledgment before dabbing the area with antiseptic. Izzy gritted her teeth, her fingers digging into the couch cushion.

“The Mafia leader sent you?” she asked through clenched teeth, her eyes flicking to the doctor.

Dr. Ferris glanced at her, his expression neutral. “He values his investments,” he replied simply, his words neither comforting nor dismissive.

Antonio, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, smirked faintly at the comment. Izzy ignored him, focusing instead on the rhythmic motions of the doctor’s hands as he stitched her wound. The pain was sharp but oddly grounding, tethering her to the present and momentarily drowning out the chaos in her mind.

When the doctor finished, he wrapped her arm in a fresh bandage and packed his supplies with military precision. “You’ll need to rest,” he said, his tone brooking no argument. “Keep the wound clean, and don’t overexert yourself.”

Izzy nodded, though she doubted she’d follow his advice. Rest wasn’t a luxury she could afford.

As Dr. Ferris left, Antonio pushed off the wall, his gaze settling on Izzy. “You’re lucky the Mafia leader’s feeling generous,” he said, his voice low and pointed. “Don’t make him regret it.”

Izzy met his eyes, her exhaustion giving way to a simmering defiance. “I didn’t ask for his generosity,” she replied evenly. “I asked for refuge. Don’t confuse the two.”

Antonio’s smirk widened, but he said nothing, retreating to the kitchen and leaving her alone in the quiet living room. Izzy leaned back against the couch, her eyes drifting to the window where the faint light of dawn seeped through the edges of the curtains.

She was still a long way from safety, but for now, she had a moment to breathe. And she would use it to plan her next move.