You think you're helping me

Silence.

He set the brush down and grabbed a palette knife from the table—a poor weapon, but better than nothing. The studio was too open, too vulnerable. He backed toward the far corner, his eyes scanning every shadow.

“Relax,” a voice said from the darkness.

Kai’s heart nearly stopped.

Ethan stepped into the light, his hands raised in mock surrender. “It’s just me.” The journalist looked entirely too at ease, his hands in his pockets and a faint smirk on his lips.

Kai’s grip on the palette knife tightened. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I needed to ask you something,” Ethan said, his tone calm but firm.

“So you broke into my studio?”

“I knocked. You didn’t answer.” Ethan shrugged. “I figured you wouldn’t mind.”

Kai’s eyes narrowed. “Leave. ”

“Not until you tell me what’s going on.” Ethan’s gaze flicked to the envelope on the table. “Who was the guy you met at the café?”

Kai stopped just short of him, his voice low and dangerous. “You have no idea who you’re dealing with, Cross. ”

Ethan didn’t flinch. Instead, he stepped closer, his gaze locked on Kai’s. “Neither do you.”

For a moment, they stared each other down, the tension between them thick enough to cut with the knife in Kai’s hand.

“Get out,” Kai said, his voice deadly calm.

“Not until you tell me what’s going on,” Ethan countered, his tone just as firm.

Kai’s laugh was bitter, sharp. “What’s going on is that you’re sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong. And if you don’t stop, you’ll end up regretting it.”

“Maybe,” Ethan said, taking another step forward. “But I’m not leaving until I get answers.”

Kai raised the knife slightly, not in a direct threat, but as a warning. “You think I won’t use this?”

“I think you’d rather talk than stab me,” Ethan replied evenly. “And I think you’re scared. Not of me—but of whoever has you wrapped up in this mess.”

Kai’s expression flickered, just for an instant, but it was enough for Ethan to see the crack in his armor.

“I’m not scared,” Kai snapped. “I’m smart. Smarter than you, obviously, since you’re walking into something you don’t understand.”

“Then help me understand,” Ethan said, his voice softening. “You think I’m just here for an art story? I know there’s more to it. And if I can see that, so can the people who want to hurt you.”

Kai’s jaw clenched, his knuckles white around the knife handle. He wanted to throw Ethan out, to tell him to mind his own business and leave. But a part of him—the part that had been screaming for help for years—hesitated.

“You think you’re helping me?” Kai asked, his voice laced with sarcasm. “You don’t even know what you’re walking into.”

“Then tell me,” Ethan pressed. “Because if you don’t, someone else will—and they might not be as patient as I am.”

Kai barked a short, humorless laugh. “Patient? You broke into my studio.”

“And I’ll leave,” Ethan said. “But only after you stop dodging the truth. Who was the man you met today? What’s in the envelope?”

Kai’s heart pounded. He couldn’t tell Ethan the truth—not without dragging him into something dangerous. But Black Thorn wasn’t exactly the type to let a nosy journalist slide under the radar.

“Fine,” Kai said, lowering the palette knife but keeping it in his hand. “You want answers? Here’s one: if you keep digging, you’ll get yourself killed. This isn’t some game, Cross. This is my life.”

“And I want to help,” Ethan said earnestly.

Kai’s laugh was sharp. “You don’t help people like me. You use them, write your little stories, and move on. Do yourself a favor and move on now.”

Ethan stepped closer, lowering his voice. “You want me to leave? Then convince me you’re safe. Convince me that whatever you’re caught up in won’t swallow you whole. Because right now, it looks like you’re barely holding on.”

Kai froze. The words struck deeper than Ethan could have known, and for a moment, he couldn’t speak.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Kai said finally, his voice quieter now.

“Then make me understand,” Ethan said.

Kai stared at him, the knife slipping from his fingers and clattering to the floor.

“Get out,” he said again, his voice barely above a whisper.

Ethan hesitated, then nodded. “I’ll go. But this isn’t over.”

Kai didn’t respond, and Ethan turned and walked away, leaving the studio silent except for the faint hum of the city outside.

Kai leaned against the table, his hands trembling as he stared at the envelope.

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