Reign
The warehouse was gutted—blown out by years and smoke—but the rooftop still gave her the clearest line of sight.
Reign crouched near the ledge, scope tucked into her shoulder, watching through a long-lens camera mounted on a tactical tripod. Her breath fogged in the night air. Every few seconds, she adjusted focus. Heat signatures. Shadows. No movement.
Yet.
Cassian Voss wasn't careless.
He didn't make mistakes.
Which meant the silence wasn't a relief—it was a signal.
She tapped the small earpiece connected to her local feed. Static, then a voice.
"Satellite gave us his last trace seven clicks south of Echo-T."
"Too obvious," Reign muttered. "He wants Liam to find the trail. Which means the real play is behind him."
"You think it's about revenge?"
"No," Reign said. "It's about legacy. Cassian was Ridgepoint's blunt instrument. But Liam was the one they kept trying to perfect."
"And Elena?"
Reign narrowed her eyes at the screen. A still-frame of Elena stepping onto the porch, Miri behind her, Liam in the shadows—watching them both.
"Elena makes him feel human. That's Cassian's angle. Destroy the anchor, unmake the man."
She pulled the image closer.
"You want to kill Liam Blackwell?" she whispered. "You don't shoot him. You break her."
Reign rose slowly, slinging the rifle over her shoulder.
Not on my watch, she thought.
Because Liam was a friend once. More than that, maybe. And even if she'd never admit it to anyone but the ghosts in her head—he'd once tried to save her.
This time, she owed him the same.
Elena
It was past midnight when Elena finally gave in to her own restlessness.
Liam was on the porch, shirtless, cleaning his sidearm with mechanical care. His scars glowed silver in the moonlight, sharp against his skin.
She stood in the doorway, watching him for a long moment. The quiet between them was thick. Not empty—but full of tension unspoken.
He looked up when he felt her there.
"Couldn't sleep?" he asked.
She stepped out, barefoot, wearing nothing but his white T-shirt and a loose pair of cotton shorts. Her hair fell over one shoulder, eyes tired but steady.
"No," she said. "I kept thinking about what it would take to really feel safe."
He set the weapon down. "And?"
"I don't think it's about where we go. I think it's about who I trust in the dark."
He didn't speak. Just watched her. Then reached out slowly, fingers brushing her hip.
"I want to be that," he said.
"You already are."
She straddled his lap before she gave herself time to think, cupping his jaw in her hands and kissing him softly—then deeper. His arms wrapped around her waist, steady, grounding, until her body melted into his.
But this wasn't like the nights they spent fumbling for comfort or safety. This was deliberate. Slow. A claiming and a surrender all at once.
He slid his hands beneath her shirt, over her spine, lips at her throat, breathing her in like she was the last good thing in his life.
She tugged his head back gently, her forehead resting against his.
"Tell me something true," she whispered.
His hands trembled slightly where they held her. "You make me want to live like I'm not still in a war."
She kissed him again, slower this time, her hips grinding into him with a rhythm that spoke of need—but also ownership.
This is ours, it said. Even if the world is still burning.
They moved together in the quiet of the porch, the trees rustling above them, their breaths ragged and synced. And when she came apart in his arms—fingers tangled in his hair, teeth grazing his shoulder—he held her like he'd never let go.
And meant it.
Later That Night
They lay tangled in the sheets, her head on his chest, the hum of insects outside lulling the house into a false calm.
"Do you think we'll make it?" she asked softly.
He didn't answer immediately.
Then: "I think we've already made it further than we were supposed to."
She smiled against his skin. "You always did like defying orders."
"And you always did look better out of your armor."
She slapped his chest lightly, then curled closer.
"You know what scares me?" she whispered.
"That Miri might already be smarter than both of us?"
She chuckled. "That someone like Cassian could hurt her—and you'd never recover."
He went still.
"Elena—"
"No, listen," she said, lifting her head. "If we want to beat him, it's not just about surviving. It's about not letting him shape us. Not letting fear steal everything we've rebuilt."
He looked at her for a long moment.
Then nodded.
"You're right."
She grinned. "Say it again."
"You're insufferable."
"And you're naked."
"I'm letting my guard down. That counts for something."
She leaned in, her voice low. "So does staying."