?Chapter 1559:


    Those two words came out rough, edged with barely restrained feeling. Maia could feel the solid strength of his hold, the warmth seeping through his clothes and into her skin. It was a heat she hadn’t felt in far too long. All the days filled with doubt, distance, and unspoken tension seemed to melt away—like waking from a dream that had stretched on far too long, only to find him right there beside her.


    “This isn’t the ce,” Chris murmured. “Come with me.”


    He guided her toward a nearby wall covered in bold, chaotic graffiti—wild strokes and surreal shapes typical of raw street art. Raising one hand, he let his fingers tap a seemingly random spot on the mural. A soft mechanical whir sounded, and the section of wall slid smoothly aside, revealing a concealed doorway.


    Maia’s brow arched slightly. A hidden entrance. Was this the way into the organization’s underground headquarters? She stole a sideways nce at Chris’s sharp profile, suddenly aware of how manyyers of him she still didn’t know.


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    “This way,” he said, gesturing for her to step through first.


    Once inside, he sealed the door behind them, cutting off the outside noisepletely. Instead of descending into darkness, they faced a narrow staircase climbing upward.


    “This leads to the rooftop on the second floor,” Chris exined, his voice dropping lower in the enclosed space. “It’s empty right now—a good spot for us to talk.” He wasn’t ready to bring her down to the real base, not yet prepared to show her the other identities he carried.


    Maia gave a small nod, asking nothing more, and followed him up the stairs. The steps were steep and coated in a fineyer of dust—clearly unused for some time. Yet Chris moved with easy familiarity, which only deepened her quiet curiosity. Noticing him pull slightly ahead, she quickened her pace to stay close behind.


    At the top, Chris pushed open a weathered iron door that groaned in protest.


    Suddenly, the world opened up.


    The second-floor rooftop felt like a secret garden suspended above the city—overlooking the narrow alley below and stretching toward the glittering skyline. Cleverly angled, it was nearly invisible from street level.


    “Over here,” Chris said. “I’ve got a few things ready.”


    He led her to a weathered wooden table and motioned for her to sit. Then he reached up and tugged on a dangling rope nearby. The distinct sound of turning gears filled the quiet air.


    At that moment, apact square hatch slid open in the nearby wall—a ssic dumbwaiter, just like the ones found in vintage restaurants. A wide silver tray rolled smoothly into sight, arranged with an array of elegantly ted appetizers, faint wisps of steam still curling upward from the warm dishes. Beside it rested an ice bucket cradling an unmarked bottle of red wine and two wless crystal sses that caught the light.


    “Care for a ss?” Chris asked, lifting the bottle and ncing at Maia. His eyes carried a swirl of emotions—deep,yered, and difficult to pin down.


    A memory surfaced without warning. Maia had always loved his cooking. “Even though I didn’t prepare these myself,” he said quietly, “they’re actually quite good.”


    Maia was quietly surprised—he still remembered that detail. She gave a small nod. “They do look wonderful.”


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