Chapter 33 : Safe Enough
The storm had passed. Not forever, but enough.
Rina sat on the edge of a worn but clean cot, her knees drawn to her chest, a soft blanket wrapped around her shoulders. The safehouse smelled like old wood and warm tea. It was quiet—eerily so after the chaos that had led her here.
She wasn't sure when she'd fallen asleep in the car. Or who had carried her inside. All she remembered was Audrey's face when the door opened. Calm. Steady. Familiar.
Now she stared at the floor, blinking slowly, trying to piece together her own heartbeat.
Audrey knelt beside her, a cup of chamomile tea in hand. "It's okay to breathe now. You're safe."
Rina took the cup with shaking hands but didn't drink. Her eyes darted toward the shadowed hallway, as if expecting footsteps that weren't coming.
Audrey noticed. "He doesn't know where you are. And he won't find out. I promise."
Behind them, Hana leaned against the doorway, arms crossed. She had a quiet way of observing, her eyes sharp but not unkind.
"We put blockers on your phone," Hana added. "He won't be able to track anything."
Damian wandered in a beat later, barefoot, carrying a tray with toast and scrambled eggs. "And in this house, breakfast is a requirement. No one gets through trauma on an empty stomach."
Rina blinked at him, startled.
He gave her a gentle smile. "Name's Damian. I do dumb things and make the food."
"That's not true," Hana said flatly. "You rarely make food."
"That's because I burn 70% of it. But today, I'm feeling lucky."
Rina gave a small, hesitant laugh. It escaped before she could stop it.
Audrey smiled faintly. "That's Hana. She doesn't do hugs. And this—" she gestured toward the corner, where Kenzo was typing behind his laptop, "—is Kenzo. He sees everything, even when you think he's not looking."
Kenzo looked up this time. His gaze met Rina's—not with judgment, but with a quiet sort of curiosity.
"Hi," he said, his voice softer than expected. "I know it's a lot right now. But... you're not alone anymore."
Rina blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity in his tone.
She didn't know what she had expected. Maybe uniforms. Weapons. Cold detachment.
But this?
They were just... people.
And yet, not.
"Where am I?" she asked quietly.
"Somewhere he'll never look," Audrey replied, her voice steady but warm.
"And if he does, we're ready," Damian added with quiet confidence.
Rina looked at them all. "Why are you helping me?"
There was a pause—one of those silences that wasn't empty, but full of weight.
Audrey leaned forward slightly, her eyes soft. "Because once, we were lost too. And someone reached for us. We never forgot that."
"And because you matter," she added, more gently this time. "Not because of what you've been through. But because of who you are—someone who fought to survive even when it hurt."
Damian nodded. "Everyone deserves a second chance. Even if the world tells them otherwise. Especially then."
Rina opened her mouth, closed it. For a long while, no one spoke.
Then Hana stepped forward and handed her a small pouch. Inside was a burner phone, some cash, and a folded set of instructions.
"No pressure," she said. "You're not a prisoner here. You can stay as long as you need. Or go. But if you stay, you heal. That's the deal."
Rina stared at the bag in her lap. It felt heavier than it looked.
Audrey reached over, gently squeezing her hand. "You did the hard part already. You chose yourself."
Rina's lips trembled. Then, softly: "It doesn't feel real yet."
"That's okay," Audrey said. "Neither did survival. At first."
That night, when everyone else had gone quiet, Rina found herself unable to sleep. The couch she curled up on felt safer than any place she'd been in months, but her mind wouldn't rest. Every creak of the floor, every gust of wind outside the window, made her flinch.
Audrey noticed. She entered the room silently, carrying two mugs of warm milk and honey. "Thought you might be up," she said softly, handing one to Rina.
They sat in the quiet for a few minutes.
Audrey stared into her mug for a moment, then said quietly, "Rina... I wish I was as brave as you."
Rina looked at her, startled. "What do you mean?"
Audrey's voice was steady, but there was a tremble beneath it. "Because you left. You made the choice. I didn't—not really. My body left, sure. But my heart... it's still trapped with him. I never got the chance to run. He made sure of that."
She paused, swallowing hard. "The last thing I remember before I woke up in this in-between world was him hitting me so hard I couldn't even stand. And I still don't know how it ends. I don't know if he's out there. If he's waiting. If he's moved on or planning something worse."
Audrey turned her eyes to Rina's. "So believe me when I say—I admire you. You chose yourself while you still had the chance.""
Rina's throat tightened. "So how did you find yourself again?"
Audrey took a long sip before answering. "Piece by piece. With people who didn't expect me to be okay right away. Who just stayed. Quietly. Like we're doing now."
Rina stared down into her mug, the warmth slowly sinking into her.
Audrey reached over, gently resting her hand atop Rina's. "It'll still feel impossible tomorrow. Maybe even next week. But one day, you'll look back and realize you did it. Not all at once. But enough."
Rina didn't answer. Her lip quivered, and her eyes welled up. The tears slipped out faster than she could stop them, soft and silent at first—then shaking, breath catching, her hands gripping the mug like a lifeline.
Audrey moved closer and wrapped an arm around her, pulling her into a quiet, steady embrace. Rina didn't resist. She folded into the warmth, the weight of the past months pressing against her chest all at once. The tears fell—hot, aching, and silent at first, then ragged with breathless sobs.
Audrey said nothing at first. She just held her, rocking ever so slightly.
"I'm sorry," Rina whispered, her voice breaking. "I just... I've been holding it in for so long. I didn't know how much it hurt."
"You don't have to apologize for surviving," Audrey whispered back. "You did everything you could. And now you don't have to do it alone."
Rina clung tighter. "I was so scared he'd win. That he'd be the last thing I ever saw."
"But he isn't," Audrey said. "You made it out. You're here. That's what matters now."
The silence that followed wasn't heavy—it was sheltering, like being wrapped in something soft for the first time in forever.
"You're allowed to fall apart here," Audrey added. "And we'll be here to help you build it all back."
Rina nodded into her shoulder, trembling but a little steadier now.
The kettle whistled faintly in the kitchen. Someone's phone buzzed again and went silent.
But in that room, with that moment shared, something in Rina's chest eased for the first time in a long time.
They wouldn't fix everything. Not overnight. Not ever completely.
But for the first time in a long time, Rina was safe.
And that was enough—for now.
In the other room, lit only by the pale glow of surveillance monitors, Kenzo hunched forward, focused. One screen showed the exterior of Takumi's upscale apartment complex—the same place Rina had walked out of just days before.
At precisely 9:42 p.m., a black sedan pulled into the driveway. Kenzo clicked to zoom in. Takumi.
He watched in silence as the man exited the car, briefcase in one hand, coffee in the other, phone pressed to his ear. Confident. Unbothered.
Until he stepped inside.
Takumi walked down the hallway, approached the apartment door—and froze. Kenzo leaned in, reading every flicker of confusion and mounting tension on the man's face.
Takumi tried the door. It opened. He stepped in.
The hallway camera caught it: the sudden halt, the realization, the storm gathering in his posture as he looked around the empty apartment. No shoes at the door. No coat on the rack. No presence left behind.
Kenzo's jaw tightened.
Takumi stormed through the rooms. First confused. Then furious. He grabbed the phone from the wall, shouting something out of range. Slamming drawers. Pacing.
On another screen, Kenzo pulled up Takumi's phone data. Call attempts to Rina. Four. All unanswered.
And finally, Takumi dropped onto the couch—but only for a second. His breaths came in sharp bursts, then a scream ripped from his throat. He grabbed the nearest lamp and hurled it across the room, the crash echoing through the apartment like a warning bell.
He stormed back to the hallway, kicking over a chair, ripping open the closet to find Rina's shoes gone. Her coats—gone. Her toiletries—gone.
"No, no, no," he muttered, spinning in place.
Drawers flew open, their contents scattered. He knocked over the kitchen table, sent plates clattering to the floor. The mug she always used shattered against the wall.
Takumi backed into the center of the apartment, chest heaving. Rage turned into something else—something closer to fear.
He stood surrounded by the wreckage of the life he thought he owned, and for the first time, Takumi looked like a man undone.
Kenzo sat back slowly, eyes never leaving the screen.
No words spoken.
But in his silence, there was a promise:
This is only the beginning.