Hotel Sacher Salzburg
Aaliyah
The walk back to the hotel was quiet, the lively energy of the club still buzzing faintly in Aaliyah’s mind. The streets of Salzburg were bathed in soft golden light, the river glinting like a ribbon of stars beside them. The air was crisp but not cold, and for the first time in days, Aaliyah felt a little lighter. The music, the drinks, the laughter—all of it had carved out a small pocket of normalcy in a life that had been anything but.
Cruz walked beside her, hands in her jacket pockets, her usual alertness softened by the calm of the evening. She wasn’t scanning every shadow, wasn’t bracing for an attack. For the first time, Cruz seemed almost at ease.
Aaliyah risked a glance at her, her stomach doing an odd little flip. The faint neon glow of a sign caught Cruz’s profile, highlighting her sharp jawline, the strong curve of her neck. Aaliyah quickly looked away, her cheeks heating.
Get a grip, Aaliyah.
“You really surprised me back there,” she said, her voice light. “I didn’t think I’d ever get you on a dance floor.”
Cruz huffed softly. “That makes two of us.”
“You weren’t bad, though,” Aaliyah teased, nudging her gently. “I mean, for a bodyguard-slash-super-spy who probably hasn’t danced since prom.”
“I didn’t go to prom,” Cruz said, her tone matter-of-fact.
That admission caught Aaliyah off guard. She glanced at Cruz, searching her face, but Cruz didn’t offer anything more. It was a small crack in her otherwise impenetrable armor, and Aaliyah felt a sudden, inexplicable need to know more.
“Well, then I’m glad I got to be your first dance partner,” Aaliyah said, grinning.
Cruz shook her head, but there was a faint smirk tugging at her lips. “Don’t get used to it.”
--
The hotel came into view, its stately façade glowing softly against the dark sky. Aaliyah felt a pang of regret as they climbed the steps to the entrance, wishing the night could stretch just a little longer. She wasn’t ready to let go of this side of Cruz—the side that laughed, danced, and seemed almost… human.
But as they passed through the lobby, Cruz suddenly stiffened. Her steps faltered, and her hand brushed against Aaliyah’s arm in a subtle but urgent motion.
“What is it?” Aaliyah whispered, her heart beginning to race.
Cruz’s voice was low, steady. “Don’t look back. Just keep walking.”
Aaliyah’s pulse quickened. She forced herself to move forward, her thoughts racing. She didn’t dare turn her head, but she could feel the weight of Cruz’s tension like a tangible thing.
“Are we in trouble?” she asked, her voice barely audible.
“Maybe,” Cruz said. “Just stay calm.”
--
They stepped into the elevator, and Cruz positioned herself in the corner, her back to the mirrored wall, her eyes fixed on the door. Aaliyah felt the air grow heavy with unspoken possibilities, each one more terrifying than the last.
“Cruz,” she said, her voice trembling. “What’s going on?”
Cruz didn’t answer immediately. Her eyes flicked to the small screen displaying their floor numbers. “Someone was following us,” she said finally. “Might have been nothing, but…”
Aaliyah swallowed hard, her heart pounding. “But you don’t think it was nothing.”
Cruz shook her head, her jaw tight. “I don’t know. We’ll find out.”
When the elevator doors opened, Cruz stepped out first, her movements controlled and deliberate. Aaliyah trailed behind her, her chest tight with fear. The hallway was empty, but Cruz moved as though she were walking into a battlefield.
She opened the door to their suite, motioning for Aaliyah to wait. Aaliyah stood frozen in the hallway as Cruz disappeared inside, the sound of her footsteps echoing faintly. Seconds stretched into what felt like hours before Cruz reappeared, her expression unreadable.
“Clear,” she said, her voice clipped. “Come in.”
--
The room was quiet, but the silence between them felt loud. Aaliyah perched on the edge of the bed, her pulse still racing from the moment outside the hotel. Cruz moved around the suite with her usual methodical precision, checking locks, windows, and corners like she was defusing a bomb.
“False alarm,” Cruz had said, but the tension in her body told a different story.
Aaliyah wrapped her arms around herself, watching Cruz as she double-checked her gear on the couch. The night had felt almost magical before—lighthearted, full of laughter—but now it was as if someone had snapped their fingers, pulling them back into reality.
“You’re still on edge,” Aaliyah said finally, her voice cutting through the quiet.
Cruz didn’t look up. “It’s habit.”
“That doesn’t mean it’s healthy.”
Cruz shot her a look, one brow arched. “Neither is running from a hit squad, but here we are.”
Aaliyah let out a small huff of laughter despite herself. “Touché.”
--
The adrenaline coursing through Aaliyah’s veins made her feel jittery, restless. Sitting in the dimly lit suite with Cruz, both of them too keyed up to relax, she realized there was no way she’d be able to sleep. She doubted Cruz could either, no matter how much she tried to pretend otherwise.
“You know,” Aaliyah said, leaning back against the headboard, “you don’t have to be like this all the time.”
Cruz frowned, glancing at her. “Like what?”
“Like… this,” Aaliyah said, gesturing vaguely toward her. “Always on. Always ready to fight.”
“It’s my job,” Cruz replied, her tone clipped.
“But it’s not who you are,” Aaliyah countered, her voice softer now. “Not completely.”
Cruz stared at her for a long moment, her dark eyes unreadable. Aaliyah felt her cheeks flush under the weight of that gaze, but she didn’t look away. Finally, Cruz let out a slow breath, leaning back against the couch cushions.
“Who I am doesn’t matter,” Cruz said quietly. “What matters is keeping you alive.”
Aaliyah frowned, her chest tightening. “You can’t just—shut yourself off like that.”
“I’ve been doing it for years,” Cruz said, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. “Seems to be working.”
Aaliyah rolled her eyes. “I’m serious, Cruz. You don’t have to carry everything by yourself.”
Cruz’s smirk faded, replaced by something quieter, heavier. She glanced at the window, her expression distant. “What choice do I have?”
Aaliyah opened her mouth to respond but stopped herself. The weight of Cruz’s question settled over her like a blanket, and for a moment, she didn’t know what to say. The vulnerability in Cruz’s voice was subtle, almost imperceptible, but it was there. And it made Aaliyah’s heart ache.
“Well,” Aaliyah said finally, her voice soft, “you don’t have to do it tonight. We’re safe here. For now.”
Cruz’s gaze flicked back to her, something unreadable flickering in her eyes. She didn’t respond, but the tension in her shoulders eased slightly.
Minutes passed, and neither of them moved. The silence was no longer uncomfortable, but it was charged, filled with the echoes of words left unsaid. Aaliyah found herself studying Cruz again—the way her leather jacket stretched over her shoulders, the faint sheen of sweat still glistening along her collarbone from their time at the club.
“You know,” Aaliyah said suddenly, a small smile creeping onto her lips, “you didn’t look half-bad on the dance floor.”
Cruz snorted. “That’s a low bar.”
“No, seriously,” Aaliyah said, leaning forward slightly. “You surprised me. You were good.”
Cruz shook her head, but there was a faint smirk tugging at her lips again. “Don’t make me regret agreeing to that.”
Aaliyah laughed, the sound light and unrestrained. “Too late.”
The laughter faded, but the warmth lingered. Aaliyah felt the urge to say more, to bridge the growing distance between them, but her nerves held her back. She tucked her legs up onto the bed, wrapping her arms around her knees as she watched Cruz settle into the couch.
“You’re staying on the couch?” she asked after a moment.
“Better vantage point,” Cruz said, already pulling out a small pillow from her bag.
Aaliyah rolled her eyes. “We’re in a locked hotel room, Cruz.”
“Exactly,” Cruz said with a smirk. “Perfect place for someone to try something stupid.”
Aaliyah sighed, letting her head fall back against the headboard. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet, here we are,” Cruz quipped.
They stayed like that for a while longer, neither of them making a move to end the night. Aaliyah felt the weight of her exhaustion tugging at her, but the adrenaline wouldn’t let her go. And as she watched Cruz sit there, calm and steady, she couldn’t help but wonder what it would take to crack that armor again.
“Goodnight, Cruz,” Aaliyah said softly, her voice carrying more weight than she intended.
Cruz glanced at her, her expression unreadable. “Goodnight, Aaliyah.”
But neither of them moved, and the night stretched on.
Cruz
The walk back to the hotel was quiet, and for the first time in a long while, Cruz didn’t mind the silence. The crisp night air brushed against her face, cooling the lingering heat from the club. Her hands stayed in her jacket pockets, her stride steady but unhurried. The streets of Salzburg were peaceful, bathed in soft, golden light that reflected off the river. It was almost enough to let her forget the reality of their situation.
Almost.
Cruz cast a sideways glance at Aaliyah, who seemed lighter now, her steps softer and her expression unguarded for once. The tension that usually clung to her had eased, replaced by something almost playful. Cruz felt a faint tug in her chest at the sight but quickly pushed it aside.
The club had been… different. She hadn’t expected to enjoy herself, but Aaliyah’s insistence had dragged her into a moment of levity she hadn’t allowed herself in years. She’d danced. Actually danced. Not because she had to, but because she wanted to. And for a brief moment, it had felt good. Almost normal.
But the memories came back now, sharp and unwelcome. The last time she’d danced, it wasn’t for fun. It was under harsh lights, on a sticky stage, with eyes on her that made her skin crawl. Those nights at the strip club were a lifetime ago, but the shame and guilt still lingered, clinging to her like smoke she couldn’t wash off. She’d danced then to survive, to escape, to forget. And it had nearly destroyed her.
Tonight had been different. Aaliyah had been different.
“You really surprised me back there,” Aaliyah said, her voice breaking into Cruz’s thoughts. There was a lightness to it, a teasing edge. “I didn’t think I’d ever get you on a dance floor.”
Cruz smirked faintly, keeping her gaze ahead. “Neither did I.”
Aaliyah chuckled softly, and Cruz felt a warmth in her chest that she couldn’t quite explain. She didn’t like being the center of attention, didn’t like being vulnerable, but somehow Aaliyah’s laughter made it feel… okay. Almost worth it.
“You weren’t bad, though,” Aaliyah added, nudging her lightly. “I mean, for someone who probably hasn’t danced since, what, prom?”
Cruz stiffened slightly, the humor draining from her thoughts. “Didn’t go to prom,” she said simply, her tone flat. She didn’t offer anything more, and Aaliyah didn’t press, though she felt Aaliyah’s gaze linger on her, curious.
“Well,” Aaliyah said after a moment, her voice warm. “I’m glad I got to be your first dance partner.”
Cruz shook her head, letting a faint smirk tug at her lips. “Don’t get used to it.”
--
The hotel came into view, its grand façade glowing softly against the dark sky. Cruz’s guard began to rise again, the peace of the night fading as her instincts took over. She stepped ahead slightly, her eyes scanning the lobby as they entered. She wasn’t expecting trouble here, but that didn’t mean she could afford to relax. Not entirely.
Then it happened—an unmistakable twinge in her gut, the sensation of being watched. She glanced subtly over her shoulder and caught a flicker of movement. Someone, just beyond the entrance, lingering where they shouldn’t have been.
Her body tensed, and she brushed her hand against Aaliyah’s arm—a silent signal. “Keep walking,” she murmured, her tone calm but firm.
Aaliyah hesitated for a split second, her breath catching. “What’s wrong?” she whispered.
“Not here,” Cruz said, her voice low. “Just keep moving.”
Her focus narrowed as they approached the elevator, her mind already calculating contingencies. She hated this—putting Aaliyah in the crosshairs again—but there was no room for hesitation. No room for error.
--
Inside the elevator, Cruz positioned herself in the corner, her back to the mirrored wall, her eyes fixed on the door. She was acutely aware of every sound, every shift in the air. Her thoughts raced through possibilities: Was it one of Amrohi’s men? A freelancer? A false alarm?
“Cruz?” Aaliyah’s voice was small but steady, cutting through the haze of her focus. “What’s going on?”
She didn’t answer right away, her gaze flicking to the screen displaying the floor numbers. “Someone was following us,” she said finally, her tone neutral. “Could be nothing. Could be something.”
Her jaw tightened at Aaliyah’s sharp intake of breath. She hated seeing her like this—afraid, unsure. But it wasn’t something Cruz could fix. She could only keep moving forward, one step at a time.
When the elevator doors opened, Cruz stepped out first, scanning the hallway with practiced precision. She moved silently, every muscle coiled with tension as she checked the suite. Every corner, every shadow, every hiding place.
It was clear. She exhaled slowly, but the knot in her chest didn’t ease.
--
As the night stretched on, Cruz found herself sitting on the couch, staring out the window while Aaliyah tucked herself into bed. She should have felt relief that the day was over, that they’d made it through unscathed. But all she could think about was how close they’d come—how close Aaliyah had come—to being caught.
And how much worse it would feel if she failed to protect her.
The warmth of the club, the laughter, the brief glimpse of something softer between them—it all felt distant now. Cruz clenched her fists, grounding herself in the cold reality of their situation.