The Sinner's Saint

COMFORT

HOURS LATER
Lev's workday ends at six on the dot. Not because the work is done, but because he is. He leaves the building without a word, jacket still perfect, mind already somewhere else.

There's a meeting on the way. One of those "corporate" ones that isn't corporate at all. Same table, same suits, just different consequences. It runs fast. They talk about numbers and territory while masking threats as jokes. Lev speaks only when needed, signs nothing, promises less. He can count on one hand how many people he tolerates in that room.

By the time he leaves, the sky is dark and his patience is gone. He doesn't go home. He can't. The bug won his bathroom and by extension his entire room. He may own half a city, but that does not mean he's sharing space with something that has too many legs.

So he drives to one of his unused apartments in a quiet neighbourhood. He cuts through a side street to save time. Bad call. They come out of nowhere. Three of them.

In black hoodies and ski masks. One steps too close, another circles like a vulture while the third hangs back, at least theyre smart enough.

"Nice watch," vulture guy says and Lev keeps walking. A hand grabs his shoulder and another swings before he can fully turn. It's sloppy, but it still catches his jaw. It lands just hard enough to be annoying, not painful, which somehow makes it worse.

At first it begins with fists until Lev feels a sharp edge skim his side, warm and irritating and then a bullet clip his arm. it's just a graze, nothing deep. Lev looks at the slash in his shirt more offended at the slash than the cut.

With precise and fast movement, the first goes down choking on his own blood, the second barely registers fear before he hits the ground, bleeding out fast from his chest. The third tries to run. Keyword: tries. He drops forward with a clean shot to the head.

Lev straightens his jacket checking the bodily damage now. Blood, but not much just annoying more than anything. He calls the cleanup crew and leaves before they even arrive.

After walking for a few more minutes he looks up and recognises the street. Alex's.

He shouldn't show up like this, bleeding, armed and late at night but he knocks anyway then waits. When the door opens and she sees him, her face drops instantly.

"Lev?" she says. "What happened?"

"Minor inconvenience," he replies, calm as ever. She grabs his wrist and pulls him inside, already scanning the cuts.

"Sit," she says reaching for the first aid kit and for once, he listens. She crouches in front of him, eyes sharp, checking his arm, his side, his jaw.
"You look like you lost an argument with a...wall."

"Three walls," he says, holding up four fingers, clearly his injuries are getting to him. "They moved." She snorts despite herself.

"Of course they did." She cleans his arm first. He doesn't flinch or complain, just watches her hands.

"Your day ended at six," she says. "It is very much not six."

"Meeting." Her brow lifts.

"Really?"

"Yes." She hums and tapes the gauze down.

"You walked here?"

"Yes." She nods then frowns and finally looks at him properly.

"Lev. Please don't tell me you used a side street." He stares at her. Her mouth opens, then closes. She shakes her head.

"You're insane."

"They approached me."

"Obviously," she says. "You walk around looking like a rich problem."

"That's unavoidable." She lifts his shirt enough to check the graze on his side thats when...