The moment Davey closed the door behind him, he knew he owed Shan the truth. There was no more room for deflection, no space to stall. The weight of what had happened—the lie he had told, the men he had encountered—pressed on him like lead. He began speaking slowly, haltingly at first, recounting everything: the unexpected message from Ron, the tense meeting with Kang and Ron, and, most importantly, the desperate choice he had made—to introduce Jain as his own son, hoping it would deflect suspicion from Shan.
Shan didn't say a word throughout. He stood rigid, silent, his expression unreadable. His stillness was louder than any accusation could have been, and each second of silence stretched long and suffocating between them. Davey, usually so composed, found himself unraveling.
"Shan," he finally said, his voice cracking under the pressure, "say something. Anything. Tell me I messed up. Tell me I did the right thing. Just… say something."
It was not words that answered him first, but tears—silent, relentless, streaming down Shan's face without warning. They glistened on his cheeks, vulnerable and raw. Davey stepped forward instinctively, cupping Shan's face, wiping the tears gently with his thumbs.
"What is it, Shan? Are you this upset… because of me?"
Shan shook his head. His voice trembled when he finally spoke, barely managing a whisper. "No, Davey. I… I'm crying for my own pain. For almost six years… six years, Davey! We've been running. You've sacrificed everything, wandering with us, living like ghosts. And now… why did you tell Kang that Jain is your child? Kang will hunt you now! He'll tear the city apart to find you! We have to leave. We have to go, now!"
The panic in Shan's voice wasn't just fear—it was desperation, deep-rooted trauma resurfacing. But Davey grabbed his shoulders, grounding him, looking him dead in the eyes.
"Listen to me! Shan, listen! I don't think he suspects. Not yet. We don't need to run. Not tonight. We wait. We see what happens."
He took a breath, his voice softening, though no less resolute. "How long, Shan? How long are we going to keep running? Look at us. Look at Jain. He deserves better than this constant fear. You've thought about that, haven't you? Just trust me. One more day. We'll wait until tomorrow. Then we decide."
Shan looked at him, his tear-streaked face etched with exhaustion. In his eyes was the burden of six long years—of silence, of solitude, of motherhood forged in fear. He searched Davey's face, craving any glimpse of safety, any sliver of certainty.
"Okay," he finally whispered. "Okay, Davey. We'll wait until tomorrow."
But Davey saw it—that glint of fear, tucked away behind the fragile agreement. It hadn't left. It clung to Shan like shadow.
"Shan, sit down," Davey said gently, pulling him toward the couch. His own hands trembled, despite the calm he tried to exude. "Worrying like this won't help. Let's just… try to be normal tonight. For Jain's sake."
Shan laughed, bitter and sharp. "Normal? Davey, normal is gone! We lied to a Yakuza boss! About his son! About you being his mate! Do you even understand what we've done?"
Davey didn't flinch. He held Shan's hand, grounding them both.
"I know, Shan. I know. But panicking won't fix it. We agreed to wait one day. Just one. We need to be strong for Jain… even if we're falling apart inside."
They moved through the evening like actors on a fragile stage. Davey cooked a simple meal, forcing himself into routines while Shan barely managed to stay present. Jain chattered brightly, his small voice blissfully unaware of the storm raging beneath the surface. They listened, answered when they could, and smiled when they had to. And then, finally, Jain was asleep, wrapped safely in his blankets.
But the silence that followed was unbearable.
Shan sat rigid on the edge of the bed, unable to sleep. Davey lay beside him, wide-eyed, staring at the ceiling. His mind spiraled through the events of the afternoon, obsessing over every word exchanged, every look Kang had given. Had he been too confident? Had he misread something? Had Kang already suspected?
Ron's presence haunted him too. Ron—the man who had once meant something to him, now standing silently behind Kang, unreadable and cold. Would Ron remember their shared past? Would it matter?
The night crept forward. Time lost meaning. And still, they said nothing.
When the first hints of dawn filtered through the curtains, the unease didn't lift. The quiet was deceptive—calm only on the surface. Inside Shan, dread churned like a tempest. Davey, always trying to protect them with cheer, hummed in the kitchen as if everything was fine.
"Davey," Shan called, his voice tight. "I really don't feel right. Something's wrong."
Davey appeared in the doorway with toast and eggs in hand, forcing a grin that didn't reach his eyes. "Shan, darling, you barely slept. You're just tired. Look—the sun's shining, Jain is still snoring. What bad thing could happen?"
Shan's voice shook as he replied, "But Davey, you said… you felt it yesterday too."
Davey sighed, his façade cracking slightly. "Shan, nothing happened yesterday, or last night. It's been quiet. Maybe… maybe we'll go to the park later, get some ice cream."
"No," Shan said urgently, gripping his arm. "Let's just go. Let's take Jain and go to your sister's for a few days. Please, Davey. Just to be safe."
His plea wasn't logical—it was visceral. He didn't have evidence, only the heavy certainty that the walls were closing in.
Davey hesitated, then softened. "Okay. Okay, we'll go. Just for a little trip. But not now, Shan. Jain's sleeping. We'll leave in the morning."
But morning felt miles away. Shan's instincts screamed at him not to wait.
While Davey returned to the kitchen, trying to maintain calm, Shan moved with quiet urgency. He began packing a small bag, hands trembling. Every movement was driven not by reason, but by instinct—a primal need to protect. Gently, he lifted the still-sleeping Jain from his bed, wrapping him in a blanket.
Davey returned, startled. "Shan—what are you doing?"
Shan's eyes were fierce with quiet determination. "We leave now."
"Shan, wait—just a few more hours won't—"
"No," Shan cut him off, voice low but steady. "You said we'd leave in the morning. For me, Davey, morning is now."
He stood at the door, Jain asleep in his arms, the small duffel hanging from his shoulder. And in that moment, Davey saw it: this wasn't panic. This was survival.
And outside, somewhere in the city's shadows, Kang Jin-ho was waiting.
Davey, finally understanding the depth of Shan's fear, started to get ready. He grabbed his keys from the hook and went to lock the door. Just as the lock clicked, two figures emerged from the shadows of the hallway, blocking their exit.
"Going somewhere, Mr. Davey?" one of them sneered, his voice a low growl.