Vincent stiffened. "I don't want to learn how to kill people."
I looked at him directly. "I'm not asking you to kill anyone. Think of it like having options, a last resort." I moved closer, keeping my voice steady. "I don't want you to ever have to use this skill, but I need to know you can defend yourself if I can't reach you in time."
Vincent stayed quiet for a moment, clearly conflicted. "I took an oath to heal people, not harm them. I can't just throw that aside because it's convenient."
"This isn't about convenience," I countered. "It's about survival."
"Is it?" Vincent challenged, finally meeting my eyes directly for the first time since I'd pulled away that morning. "Or is it about turning me into something I'm not? Making me more like you so you feel less alone in what you do?"
The accusation struck cleanly, precisely. Lo sucked in a breath, eyes widening at Vincent's boldness.
"That's not what this is," I said, even as something uncomfortable twisted in my gut. Was he right? Did I want him to become more like me? To join me in the darkness rather than pulling me toward the light?
Or was it simpler than that? If Vincent learned to kill, if he crossed that line, maybe he wouldn't leave once the danger passed. Maybe he'd be contaminated enough to stay with me.
The realization twisted my stomach.
"Isn't it?" Vincent pressed. "Last night... everything that happened between us... I think maybe you want me to understand your world. To be part of it. But I can't become a killer, Luka. Not even for you."
The honesty in his voice stripped me bare. Last night's vulnerability hadn't just been mine. Vincent had his own fears. His own lines he wouldn't cross.
"I don't want you to become a killer. I just want you to stay alive." I hesitated, then forced myself to add, "And stay with me. After."
The admission hung between us, raw and exposed. Vincent's expression softened, understanding dawning in his eyes.
"You think I'll leave once this is over," he said quietly.
I couldn't answer, couldn't confirm what felt inevitable.
"You think I'll go back to my normal life and forget about you," he said. "That what I said last night was just... what? Adrenaline? Stockholm syndrome?"
Put that way, it sounded pathetic. I shrugged, aiming for nonchalance and missing by miles. "Your future patients probably wouldn't appreciate 'By the way, I'm dating a professional killer' on your website bio. Not exactly great for the whole 'safe space' vibe."
Lo cleared his throat loudly, reminding us of his presence. "As riveting as this philosophical debate and relationship drama is, we're on a ticking clock here. Prometheus, funeral, imminent death threat? Remember those? The preparations we discussed with Diego and Jasper at the airfield yesterday?"
I glared at him. "Not helping."
Vincent's jaw worked as he processed everything. "Fine. Show me the basics. But I won't promise to use a gun tomorrow."
Relief washed over me. It wasn't everything, but it was something. At least he'd know how to protect himself if things went sideways.
"The Acropolis shooting range should be quiet this time of morning," I said, already planning our session. "We can be there in ten minutes."
As Lo gathered his things, Vincent moved to the window, staring at the artificial skylight in silence.
"Hey," I said softly, approaching but not touching him. "You okay?"
He turned to face me, expression troubled. "I don't know what I'm doing, Luka. I'm a therapist, not a fighter. I help people heal trauma, not create it."
"I know." I resisted the urge to pull him close. "And I'm not asking you to change that. I'm just asking you to let me teach you enough to stay alive."
"Listen to me carefully, Luka. I meant what I said last night. All of it. And that hasn't changed this morning, or this afternoon, or tomorrow, or next month. I'm not here because you're protecting me. I'm here because I choose to be. Because I see you—all of you, not just the killer, not just the weapon Prometheus created. I seeyou."
His words cracked something open inside me, something I'd thought permanently sealed. I reached for him, my hands settling on his hips.
"I'm not good at this," I admitted, voice rough. "Any of this. I don't know how to... to be with someone. To trust this."
"I know." Vincent's hands came up to frame my face, thumbs brushing my cheekbones. "But you have to talk to me, Luka. You can't just pull away when you get scared."
