Nobody's Daughter

Aaliyah

The night was too quiet, the kind of silence that felt alive, as if it were waiting for something to happen. Aaliyah lay on the bed, her eyes fixed on the ceiling, trying to will herself to sleep. The soft glow of the bedside lamp cast faint shadows across the room, and the rhythmic tap of Cruz’s fingers against her phone filled the air.

It had been days since they arrived in Salzburg, and while the tension of the first few days had started to ebb, Aaliyah couldn’t shake the feeling that it was only a matter of time before their fragile sense of safety crumbled.

“You should sleep,” Cruz murmured from her spot by the window, her voice low and steady.

“I’m not tired,” Aaliyah replied, though the exhaustion tugging at her limbs told a different story. She shifted under the blanket, glancing toward Cruz, who sat with her back to the wall, her eyes flicking between her phone and the street below.

“You’re lying,” Cruz said without looking up.

Aaliyah huffed softly, sitting up. “Maybe I just don’t like the idea of waking up to find someone kicking down the door.”

Cruz’s gaze flicked toward her, sharp and assessing. “They won’t get that far.”

The certainty in her voice should have been reassuring, but it only made Aaliyah’s chest tighten. She wanted to believe Cruz could handle anything, that she could keep them both safe, but the weight of what they were running from felt suffocating.

Aaliyah was about to respond when Cruz suddenly tensed. The movement was subtle—her shoulders stiffened, her head tilted slightly, as if she were listening to something only she could hear.

“What is it?” Aaliyah whispered, her voice barely audible.

Cruz raised a hand, signaling for silence. Her eyes narrowed, focusing on the door. The tap of her phone stopped, and the room felt heavier, the silence now thrumming with unease.

Aaliyah strained her ears, her heart pounding. At first, she heard nothing. Then, faintly, the soft scrape of something against the door. Her stomach dropped.

“Get behind the couch,” Cruz ordered, her voice low but commanding.

“What?” Aaliyah whispered, panic threading her voice.

“Now,” Cruz said, already moving to grab the knife tucked into her belt. The look in her eyes left no room for argument. Aaliyah scrambled off the bed, crouching behind the couch as her pulse roared in her ears.

The door creaked softly, followed by the faint click of the lock being tested. Aaliyah’s breath hitched as fear clawed at her throat. She clenched her fists, trying to steady herself, trying to remember everything Cruz had taught her.

The lock clicked again, louder this time, and the door swung open just enough for a shadow to slip inside.

Cruz moved like lightning, her movements fluid and precise. She was on the intruder before they could react, slamming them against the wall with enough force to make Aaliyah wince. There was a muffled grunt of pain, then silence as Cruz pinned them, her knife glinting in the dim light.

Another shadow appeared in the doorway, and Aaliyah’s heart lurched. The second intruder stepped inside, a crowbar in hand. Cruz didn’t seem to notice, her focus on subduing the first. Aaliyah’s pulse spiked as she realized the second man was heading straight for Cruz.

Her mind raced. She couldn’t just sit there, couldn’t let Cruz handle it alone. Without thinking, Aaliyah grabbed the heavy floor lamp beside her. She rose from behind the couch, her hands trembling but steady enough to lift the base.

The man froze when he saw her, but only for a moment. He lunged toward her, and Aaliyah swung the lamp with all her strength. The base connected with his side, sending him sprawling to the floor with a loud crash.

Pain shot up her arms from the impact, but she didn’t let go of the lamp. She stood over him, her breaths coming in shallow gasps as adrenaline surged through her veins.

Cruz turned at the noise, her knife still pressed against the first man’s throat. Her eyes flicked to Aaliyah, widening slightly when she saw the second man on the ground. “You okay?” she asked, her voice calm despite the chaos.

Aaliyah nodded, though her legs felt like jelly. “I… think so.”

“Good,” Cruz said, her lips twitching into the faintest hint of a smirk. “Stay there.”

The next few minutes passed in a blur. Cruz disarmed the first man with practiced efficiency, binding his hands with zip ties she pulled from her bag. The second man groaned on the floor, clutching his ribs, but Cruz made quick work of him too.

When it was over, the suite was eerily quiet again, the only sounds the men’s labored breathing and Aaliyah’s pounding heart. Cruz leaned against the door, her knife still in hand as she studied the two intruders.

“Petty thieves,” she said finally, her tone laced with disgust. “Probably thought this was just another tourist room to ransack.”

Aaliyah’s shoulders sagged with relief, though the fear still lingered. “So… they’re not—?”

“They’re not your father’s men,” Cruz said, cutting her off. She glanced at Aaliyah, her expression softening slightly. “You did good.”

Aaliyah blinked, caught off guard by the unexpected praise. “I just… did what you taught me.”

Cruz nodded, her gaze lingering on Aaliyah for a moment longer before she straightened. “Get your shoes on. We’re taking them downstairs.”

Aaliyah frowned. “What?”

“They’re not staying here,” Cruz said, her tone brooking no argument. “And the cops will be very interested to know what they were up to.”

As they dragged the thieves down to the lobby, Aaliyah couldn’t help but steal glances at Cruz. The way she handled the situation—the precision, the calm in the face of chaos—was unlike anything she’d ever seen. It left her both awestruck and… something else. Something warmer, deeper.

But there was no time to dwell on it. At least not right now.

--

The walk back to the suite was heavy with unspoken tension. Cruz moved with the same deliberate purpose she always did, her steps steady, her eyes sharp. Aaliyah, however, couldn’t shake the adrenaline still coursing through her veins. Her arm throbbed faintly, the cut sharper now that the heat of the fight had faded.

Inside the suite, Cruz dropped her bag by the chair and motioned toward the couch. “Sit,” she said, already unzipping her first-aid kit.

“I’m fine,” Aaliyah started, but Cruz shot her a look that stopped her mid-protest.

“Sit,” Cruz repeated, her voice calm but commanding.

With a reluctant sigh, Aaliyah sank onto the couch, leaning back against the plush armrest as Cruz knelt in front of her. The first-aid kit opened with a soft click, and Cruz began laying out supplies with the kind of precision that made Aaliyah’s chest tighten for reasons she didn’t quite understand.

“Let me see,” Cruz said, nodding toward her arm.

Aaliyah rolled up her sleeve, revealing the shallow cut along her forearm. The sight of it made her wince—it looked worse under the warm glow of the room’s light. Cruz’s brow furrowed slightly as she leaned in, her fingers brushing against Aaliyah’s skin.

“Hmm,” Cruz murmured.

“What?” Aaliyah asked, the sound catching in her throat.

“Well,” Cruz said, her tone carrying the faintest hint of amusement, “we might have to amputate.”

Aaliyah’s eyes widened, and she pulled her arm back slightly. “What?”

Cruz raised an eyebrow, her lips twitching. “Relax. It’s just a scratch.”

“Oh my God,” Aaliyah groaned, slumping back against the couch. “You’re impossible.”

“I’ve been told that,” Cruz said, reaching for the antiseptic. “Hold still.”

The sting of the antiseptic made Aaliyah hiss softly, but Cruz’s grip on her arm was steady, grounding. Her touch was firm yet careful, her fingers warm against Aaliyah’s skin. Aaliyah found herself watching Cruz as she worked—the faint line of concentration on her brow, the way her jaw tightened ever so slightly. Cruz’s presence filled the room, steady and unshakable, and Aaliyah couldn’t look away.

“You’re really good at this,” Aaliyah muttered, her voice softer than she intended.

Cruz shrugged, not looking up. “Had to be. You learn fast when it’s life or death.”

The words hit harder than Aaliyah expected, their weight pulling at something in her chest. She opened her mouth to respond but stopped when Cruz began wrapping the gauze around her arm, her movements smooth and practiced.

“There,” Cruz said, sitting back on her heels to inspect her work. “Should hold for now.”

“Thanks,” Aaliyah said quietly, flexing her fingers. The bandage was snug but comfortable, and the faint throbbing had already begun to fade.

Cruz stood, tucking the first-aid kit back into her bag. “Next time,” she said, her tone dry, “try not to let someone get close enough to land a hit.”

Aaliyah rolled her eyes. “Noted. I’ll just be perfect from now on.”

Cruz smirked faintly, crossing her arms. “That’d be helpful.”

The banter came easily now, and Aaliyah couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at her lips. The tension in the room felt lighter, though the charge between them lingered, unspoken and unresolved.

Cruz moved to the window, her silhouette framed by the city lights beyond. She stood there for a moment, her arms crossed, her gaze distant but focused. Aaliyah let herself watch her, the quiet strength in her posture, the way she seemed to fill every corner of the space without even trying.

“You’re an enigma, you know that?” Aaliyah said suddenly, surprising even herself.

Cruz glanced over her shoulder, one brow arched. “How so?”

“You’re so… serious all the time,” Aaliyah said, struggling to put her thoughts into words. “But then you’ll crack a joke, and it’s like… there’s this whole other side of you I don’t get to see.”

Cruz turned fully now, her expression unreadable. For a moment, Aaliyah thought she might say something—something real—but then Cruz’s lips quirked into a smirk.

“Gotta keep you on your toes,” Cruz said lightly, though her voice carried a hint of something more.

Aaliyah shook her head, laughing softly. “Unbelievable.”

“And yet,” Cruz said, turning back to the window, “here I am.”

The quiet that followed wasn’t uncomfortable, but it felt heavy with possibilities. Aaliyah leaned back against the couch, her fingers brushing absently over the bandage. Her thoughts raced, her pulse still unsteady—not from fear or adrenaline this time, but from the way Cruz had looked at her, the way she’d made her feel seen in a way that was both thrilling and terrifying.

She didn’t know what to make of it yet. All she knew was that Cruz was getting under her skin in ways she hadn’t expected, in ways that left her wanting more.

Cruz

The night was too quiet. Cruz sat by the window, her eyes scanning the mist-shrouded street below. The soft glow of Salzburg’s streetlamps bathed the cobblestones in muted light, but she wasn’t looking for beauty. Her gaze was sharp, assessing, every shadow and movement dissected for potential threats.

Behind her, Aaliyah shifted on the couch, muttering something under her breath. Cruz glanced back briefly, noting the restless way Aaliyah moved. She was trying to sleep, but the tension in her shoulders gave her away.

Cruz didn’t say anything. She wasn’t good at offering comfort. All she could do was stay vigilant. Stay ready. Something about tonight felt wrong. The silence wasn’t comforting—it was charged, like a string pulled too tight.

Then she heard it.

It was faint, almost imperceptible—a soft scrape against the door. Cruz’s body tensed immediately, her hand going to the knife at her side. She leaned forward slightly, straining to listen. A click followed, quiet but deliberate.

“Stay quiet,” Cruz said sharply, her voice low and steady.

Aaliyah sat up, alarm flashing across her face. “What’s wrong?”

Cruz didn’t look at her, her focus locked on the door. “Someone’s at the door.”

“What?” Aaliyah’s voice dropped to a whisper.

“Get behind the couch,” Cruz ordered, already moving. Her voice left no room for argument, and Aaliyah scrambled to comply, ducking low as Cruz positioned herself near the door.

Her heart hammered in her chest, adrenaline sharpening her senses. The lock clicked again, louder this time, and the door creaked open a fraction of an inch. Cruz’s grip on her knife tightened, every muscle in her body coiled like a spring.

The first man barely stepped inside before Cruz moved. She grabbed him with brutal efficiency, slamming him against the wall hard enough to make him grunt in pain. Her knife pressed against his throat, the cold steel a silent threat.

“Who sent you?” she hissed, her voice low and dangerous.

The man struggled, but Cruz didn’t budge. She had him pinned, her body braced for any sudden moves. But as she focused on him, the second man slipped through the door, a crowbar glinting in his hand.

Cruz saw him too late to intercept, but Aaliyah didn’t. From the corner of her eye, Cruz caught a blur of movement as Aaliyah swung a heavy lamp with surprising force. It connected with the man’s ribs, the impact echoing through the room as he crumpled to the floor with a groan.

Cruz’s lips twitched into the faintest smirk. “Nice,” she muttered, her voice low enough for Aaliyah to hear but sharp with approval.

The rest of the fight was quick and messy. The first man tried to use her momentary distraction to his advantage, but Cruz was faster. She delivered a sharp elbow to his face, sending him reeling, before pinning him again with a knee to his back. Her knife hovered just inches from his neck as she glanced toward Aaliyah.

She was still holding the lamp, her knuckles white around the base. Her chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, but her eyes were sharp, focused. Cruz felt a flicker of pride, though she didn’t let it show.

When the dust settled, both men were tied up and groaning on the floor. Cruz crouched beside the first man, her knife still in hand as she searched his pockets. A cheap wallet and a crumpled wad of euros confirmed what she’d suspected.

“Petty thieves,” she said, her voice laced with disdain. “Wrong room, wrong night.”

Aaliyah let out a shaky breath. “Are you sure?”

“They’re not your father’s men,” Cruz said, standing and wiping her knife clean before tucking it back into its sheath. “You did good.”

--

The walk back to the suite after handing the intruders over to hotel security was tense but quiet. Cruz’s mind raced, her focus on every step, every shadow, every sound. Aaliyah stayed close, her arm cradled protectively against her side. Cruz didn’t miss the way her sleeve clung damply to her skin.

“You’re hurt,” Cruz said as soon as they stepped into the suite, her voice sharper than she intended.

“It’s nothing,” Aaliyah replied quickly, but Cruz was already reaching for the first-aid kit.

“Sit,” Cruz said, gesturing to the couch.

Aaliyah hesitated but eventually lowered herself onto the cushions. Cruz knelt in front of her, pulling antiseptic wipes and gauze from the kit with practiced ease. She didn’t say anything as she gently rolled up Aaliyah’s sleeve, revealing the shallow cut along her forearm.

“This might sting,” Cruz murmured, her voice softer now.

Aaliyah winced as the antiseptic touched her skin, sucking in a sharp breath. Cruz’s hand steadied her arm, her touch firm but careful. The cut wasn’t serious, but Cruz’s chest tightened anyway, a flicker of anger at herself for not catching it sooner.

“You’re really good at this,” Aaliyah muttered, her voice quiet.

Cruz glanced up briefly, her lips quirking into a faint smirk. “Had to be.”

“Do you always act like it’s no big deal?” Aaliyah asked, her green eyes searching Cruz’s face.

Cruz didn’t answer immediately. She focused on wrapping the gauze around Aaliyah’s arm, tying it off with quick, precise movements. “It’s done,” she said finally, sitting back. “You’ll be fine.”

Aaliyah flexed her fingers, testing the bandage. “You didn’t answer my question.”

Cruz stood, her movements stiff as she packed away the kit. “There’s no point in making it a big deal,” she said, her voice quiet but firm. “It just is.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Cruz moved to the window, leaning against the frame as she stared out at the mist-covered street below. The quiet settled heavily over the room, but her chest still felt tight, the flicker of unease refusing to fade.

“You’re an enigma, you know that?” Aaliyah said suddenly, breaking the silence.

Cruz glanced back at her, one brow raised. “How so?”

“You’re so serious all the time,” Aaliyah said, her voice softer now. “But then you crack a joke, and it’s like there’s this whole other side of you I don’t get to see.”

Cruz’s lips quirked into something like a smirk. “Gotta keep you on your toes.”

Aaliyah laughed, shaking her head. “Unbelievable.”

“And yet,” Cruz said, her tone dry, “here I am.”

The quiet that followed was heavy but not uncomfortable. Cruz turned back to the window, her gaze distant but her thoughts tangled. Aaliyah was more than just an asset—she knew that now—but what that meant, Cruz wasn’t ready to confront.