ELANA
I knew the file wasn’t meant for me. That was exactly why I opened it.
It pinged on my secondary drive—an encrypted packet buried beneath layers of corrupted logistics data. Military routing files were usually dull: coordinates, timestamps, equipment manifests. But this one… this one had no source, no destination, no owner.
I should have flagged it. Should have reported it.
Instead, I tapped in the decryption sequence.

Lines of redacted reports flickered to life on my screen. Test logs. Psychological data. Containment records. A blurred photo of a man restrained in a concrete room. The header read:

SUBJECT 12: NON-STANDARD INTERROGATION PROTOCOL
STATUS: ASSET NEUTRALIZED
LEAD OFFICERS: REDACTED

My heart stuttered, then slammed into overdrive. My breath hitched. The office suddenly felt like it was closing in, the walls pressing too close, too tight. My stomach flipped. I swallowed down the burn rising in my throat.

And then I saw it—
Scribbled in the margin, faint but unmistakable, was a project code I knew by heart.
My father’s code.
The one from the classified deployment, he never came back from.

A sharp, cold spike shot through my chest. My fingers went numb on the keyboard, mouth dry. The buzzing in my ears drowned everything out except one truth:

This wasn’t a coincidence.

The lights in the office suddenly felt too bright. Too exposed.
Just flag it. Just report it. Do what you’re supposed to do.

I didn’t.

I saved it to a flash drive, slipped it into my purse, and shut everything down.
The building was silent as I walked out. Late. Cold. Empty—except for the shadow in the dark SUV across the lot.
I paused.

ELANA
The engine wasn’t running. No headlights. Just the dense silhouette of a vehicle, too clean, too quiet.
I stopped mid-step, the keys in my hand clinking softly. Every instinct screamed.

And then the driver’s side door opened.

A man stepped out—tall, broad, black gloves flexing as he shut the door. No rush. No words. Just control.
He moved like he’d done this a thousand times. Quiet. Deliberate.
The kind of man who doesn’t need to raise his voice to make you obey.

“Miss Marlowe,” he said, even-toned.

I froze.

My pulse roared in my ears as my eyes locked on his. Pale green. Cold as steel.
I didn’t recognize him—but he looked at me like he knew everything.

Footsteps behind me.
Too late.

Another man—taller, bulkier, grinning like he wanted someone to run. The kind of smile that said go ahead, make this fun.

I turned slightly, the keys clenched like a weapon between my fingers.

“Who are you?” I asked, breath catching.

The second man cocked his head. “Not yet,” he said, voice smooth like ice under a boot.

I backed toward the car I’d never reach. My brain was screaming move, but my legs weren’t listening.

Then a third voice. Softer. Almost gentle.

“You triggered a red file,” he said.
“They know what you saw.”

I turned—slowly.

This one wasn’t in uniform. Just black jeans, combat boots, and a tactical backpack slung over one shoulder. Stubble shadowed his jaw. His dark hair curled slightly at the edges.

He looked... tired. Like someone who’d been carrying too many secrets for too long.
His presence didn’t scream danger like the others, but it simmered with it.

“If we hadn’t come,” he continued, “someone else would’ve.”
He let that settle. “Someone worse.”

“Who sent you?” I whispered.

“We’re your protection detail,” he said.
“You’re not safe anymore.”

COLE
She turned to Leo like he was the only one who made sense.
Smart.

He doesn’t look like a soldier, but Elana sees the truth anyway—he’s the one with empathy, the one who might answer questions.

That’s fine. She’ll learn soon enough that I’m the one who keeps her breathing.

I stepped closer, blocking the parking lot behind her. Rhys flanked the far side. Containment.

She didn’t move. Not yet. But she was calculating—scanning exits, watching hands, memorizing faces.
She didn’t panic.
She didn’t scream.

She registered threat. She assessed.

Definitely not your average civilian.

ELANA
They boxed me in without ever raising a weapon.
Three men. Three different kinds of danger.

The quiet one with the soft voice.
The smirking predator who looked like he’d break ribs for fun.
And the one standing in front of me now—stone-jawed, unreadable, radiating absolute control.

“What’s your name?” I asked the one closest. My voice didn’t feel like mine.

He looked down at me like he was deciding if I needed the truth.
Then he said it:

“Captain Cole Bennett. United States Marine Corps.”

The words landed like weight. Like chains.

COLE
I didn’t blink. Didn’t move.

She needed to know who she was dealing with.
Not for fear—
For clarity.

Because this wasn’t going away.
She was in it now.
And I was the only one here who’d make damn sure she didn’t get buried because of it.

 ELANA*
Fifteen minutes later, I was in the backseat of their black SUV, strapped in between tension and heat.

Cole drove. Hands steady. Jaw locked.
Rhys sat up front, humming something tuneless under his breath, his arm stretched casually along the window—but his eyes tracked everything.
And Leo sat beside me. Quiet. Present. Watching me without looking at me.

I didn’t ask questions. I didn’t argue.

Because deep down, I knew—
Whatever I found in that file was only the beginning.
And these men?
They were the end of the world I thought I lived in.

ELANA
Three hours.
No answers. No chatter. Just the low growl of the SUV eating up blacktop and my silence, sharp-edged and deliberate.

I didn’t ask questions. Not because I didn’t have any—but because I knew they wouldn’t tell me.
Not yet.

I watched them in the mirrors. Studied every blink, every breath.
The one driving—Cole—rigid, intense. The one riding shotgun—Rhys—smiling like a man who liked pain. And Leo… the quiet one. Watching without watching. Calm in a way that felt like restraint.

By the time the road turned to gravel, I already knew I wasn’t here by accident.
This wasn’t a rescue. This was containment.

The cabin appeared out of nowhere, swallowed by trees and night.
Remote. Cold. Isolated.

Exactly the kind of place you bring someone when you want them to vanish.

COLE
She hadn’t said a damn word since we pulled her from that parking lot, but I could feel her watching us. Calculating.
Not broken.
Just loading the next round.

She stepped out of the SUV without hesitation. Boots on gravel, chin up, eyes already scanning her surroundings like a soldier checking for exits.
That flash drive in her purse had changed everything—for all of us.

Now she was the variable.
And I hate variables.

ELANA
The air bit at my face as I stepped out, but I didn’t flinch.
If this was meant to intimidate me, they were going to have to try harder.

The porch creaked as we walked up. Rhys punched in a code without looking at me. I didn’t need to see it.
I’d already clocked the pattern. Five digits. The thumb favored the left side of the pad. Fast. Muscle memory.
Give me time, and I’d figure it out.

The door groaned open. The cabin smelled like cold wood and old secrets.

Two couches. A stove. A bare-bones kitchen. Three doors down a narrow hallway. No personal items. No warmth. Just utility. This was a place meant to serve a purpose. Not a person.

 

LEO
“I’ll check the perimeter,” I said, grabbing a flashlight off the shelf. Cole nodded. Rhys flopped onto a couch like it was his throne.

Elana stood in the middle of the room, arms crossed, jaw tight. Not afraid.
Focused.

“I’d say make yourself at home, but…”
She shot me a look sharp enough to cut glass.

“Hot water’s still working,” I added. “Pick a room. Rest. We’ll talk in the morning.”

Her eyes met mine. No flinch. No softness.
Just assessment.

She gave me a single nod, grabbed her bag, and disappeared down the hall like she already owned the place.

ELANA
The last room on the left.
Bed. Dresser. Thin quilt. One window.

I locked the door behind me—not because I thought it would stop them. Just because it was mine now. My space.
And I always secure my perimeter.

My bag hit the floor. I didn’t collapse. I didn’t shake. I sat on the bed, rolled my shoulders, and took inventory.
No cell signal. No power outlets that worked. No weapons—yet.

But I had something better.
Information.

They thought I was the payload.
But I was the detonator.

ELANA
I didn’t waste time. I dropped my bag on the bed and unzipped it, fast and methodically. Inside: a spare pair of jeans, two black T-shirts, socks, a folding knife I wasn’t sure I’d get to keep, and the one thing that mattered—
The flash drive.

I pulled it out and tucked it deep into the lining of the canvas bag, then zipped it shut. If they wanted it, they’d have to tear the damn thing apart.

Next: gear check.
I took off my boots, stripped out of my outer layers, and folded them military-neat. Habit.
Everything went into a tight stack on the dresser. Clothes for tomorrow are laid out. No assumptions about how long I’d stay.

I ran my fingers through my hair, grimacing at the tangles.
The adrenaline was wearing off, and with it came the grime of fear, sweat, and the long ride here.

I needed a shower.
Not to relax—hell no. I needed the water to reset. To think. To get back control of my damn skin.

I grabbed a towel and my change of clothes, rolled them under one arm, and cracked open the door.

The hallway was still and dim, the only light bleeding from the front room.
The bathroom was across the hall. Ten paces, tops.

I waited.
Listened.

Nothing.

Then I stepped out—barefoot, in black boyshorts and a tight tank top, towel slung over my shoulder like a challenge.

If one of them saw me like this, so be it.
Let them look.

I wasn’t the one who should be afraid.

ELANA
The hallway was cool against my skin. Quiet, still.
I kept my steps light as I crossed to the bathroom.

The floor creaked once beneath me.
I didn’t flinch.
I kept walking.

Hand on the handle. Twist. Push. The door opened with a groan.
A narrow room—just a stand-up shower, a chipped sink, a small fogged mirror. Bare. Functional.

I stepped inside. Reached back to close the door—

Then I felt him.

I turned.

Leo.

He stood just outside the doorway, eyes locked on me. No apology. No excuses.
Just that same unreadable stillness he wore like armor.

“You following me now?” I asked, voice low. Calm.

He didn’t smile. Didn’t blink.
“I didn’t think you should be alone.”

My pulse kicked. Not from fear. From something else.
Heat licked up my spine.

I raised a brow. “You think I’m not safe in a bathroom?”

He took one step closer. Into the doorway now. His body filled the frame, all quiet power and coiled restraint.

“I think you’re safer with me close,” he said. Voice like smoke—soft, dark, full of things left unsaid.

My grip tightened on the towel slung over my shoulder.
“You here to stand guard?”

“No.” His eyes dropped—slowly, deliberately—to the curve of my hip. Then, back up to meet mine.
“I’m here because I didn’t want to walk away.”

The air thickened. Tightened.
I should’ve told him to get out.

Instead, I stepped back. Just once. Enough to leave space for him to follow.

And he did.

 

ELANA
The door clicked shut behind him.
Soft. Final.

I didn’t move.
Neither did he.

The silence between us wasn’t empty—it pulsed. Thick with everything we hadn’t said. Everything we shouldn’t want.

He didn’t ask for permission.
But he didn’t assume it, either.

I dropped the towel from my shoulder, slow and deliberate. My tank followed, peeled up over my ribs, and tossed to the floor.
I stood there in nothing but my black boyshorts, staring him down.

“If you’re gonna be in here,” I said, “you’d better be useful.”

His jaw flexed once. His eyes?
Hungry. Controlled.

Then he moved. One step, two, until he was in front of me—his chest rising just slightly faster than before.

His fingers came to rest on the edge of my waistband.
He waited.

I nodded once. That was all he needed.

The fabric slid down my legs and pooled at my feet. His hand brushed my hip as he straightened, and my skin lit up like a live wire.

Then he kissed me.

Not soft.
Not hesitant.

Like he’d been holding back for hours and finally let go.

I grabbed his shirt, yanked it up over his head. His hands were already on my skin—gripping my waist, mapping my spine like he needed the contact just to stay grounded.

The heat between us was sudden, sharp, consuming.

LEO
She tasted like adrenaline. Like defiance.
Like someone who didn’t want to be touched—unless it was real.

And fuck, this was real.

Her hands slid into my hair as my mouth moved down her throat, over the curve of her shoulder, down the line of her collarbone.
She arched into me, heat rolling off her like fire beneath her skin.

She wasn’t fragile.
She was steel wrapped in silk.

And she let me touch her like I was the only thing keeping her anchored.

The water came on with a groan from the pipes, steam rising fast as I lifted her into the stall. Her legs wrapped around my waist without hesitation. Her back hit the tile with a soft thud.

I pressed into her, hard enough to feel her shudder.

Her breath hitched. My name—just once—barely audible.
“Leo…”

Fuck.

I reached between us, sliding into her with a low groan.
She gasped—eyes flashing.

Her hands gripped my shoulders, nails digging into my skin.
Not because it hurt—
Because she wanted more.

I gave it to her.

Again.
And again.

The water beat down on us, but I didn’t feel the heat anymore—only her.
Only the way her body shattered around mine.

ELANA
I didn’t think. Didn’t hesitate.
I just felt.

Each thrust was a promise and a threat.
Each kiss, a warning: this wasn’t simple.

But when I came apart in his arms, head thrown back, breath ripped from my lungs—
I didn’t care.

For the first time since the file, since the shadow in the parking lot—
I wasn’t scared.
I wasn’t hunted.
I was alive.

And I’d let a man I barely knew remind me what that felt like.

ELANA
The water turned cold before either of us moved.
And even then, it wasn’t because we were ready.
It was because reality came creeping back in—quiet, sharp-edged, and unavoidable.

Leo turned off the tap without a word.
Steam clung to our skin as we stood there, close enough to feel the echoes of everything we just did pulsing in the space between us.

I didn’t speak.
I didn’t look at him.

I stepped out of the stall, grabbed the towel off the hook, and wrapped it tight around my body like armor.
Behind me, I heard the low drag of the curtain. The soft scrape of his breathing.

No apology. No regret.
Just silence.

I dried off fast, movements sharp, efficient.
Threw on my tank top, underwear, and the same fatigue pants I came in with.
The mirror was fogged over, and I didn’t wipe it clean.
I didn’t want to see my face.

He was still behind me, half-dressed, eyes burning into the back of my skull like he was waiting for something.
I didn’t give it to him.

I opened the door, stepped into the hallway.
Stopped.

My fingers tightened around the edge of the towel hanging from my neck.
I turned, just enough to catch his eyes.

“What the hell was that?” I asked, voice flat.

He didn’t answer.
He just watched me, jaw tight, chest still rising like he hadn’t caught his breath yet either.

I held his gaze for three seconds too long, then turned and walked back into my room.

I shut the door.
Locked it.
And leaned against it like it was the only thing keeping me upright.

LEO
The door clicked shut behind her, and I stood there.
Soaking wet. Barefoot. Heart still hammering in my chest like I’d just come off a battlefield.

What the hell was that?

It wasn’t planned.
It wasn’t smart.

But it hadn’t been casual either.
Not for her.
And sure as hell not for me.

I dressed in silence.
Tugged my shirt over damp skin.
Ran a hand through my hair.
And stared at the mirror I couldn’t see myself in.

I didn’t regret it.
That was the problem.

She was fire in human form—dangerous, driven, full of secrets she didn’t even know she was holding.
And now I’d crossed a line I couldn’t uncross.

I stepped into the hallway.
Her door was closed.

Locked.
I knew it without touching the handle.

Good.

She should keep me out.
Because next time—
I might not stop.

ELANA
I waited ten full minutes before I stepped back into the hallway.
Ten minutes of pacing. Breathing. Trying to scrub the memory of Leo’s mouth from my skin and failing spectacularly.

I looked calm.
That was the goal.
Controlled. Flat. Unbothered.

But the second I walked into the living room, Rhys was already grinning.

Shit.

He was sprawled across the far couch like a smug cat, tossing a deck of cards between his hands.
Cole sat in the armchair, arms crossed, expression unreadable—but I caught the twitch in his jaw.

They knew.
They definitely knew.

RHYS
“Well, good morning, Sunshine,” I said without looking up.
“Or should I say… steamy night?”

Elana didn’t even blink. Ice queen. Damn impressive.
But Leo, trailing in two steps behind her, looked like he’d taken a bat to the chest.

“Bathroom acoustics in this place are incredible, by the way,” I added.
“Really carry.”

Cole sighed. Didn’t say a word.
But the corner of his mouth might have moved. Barely.

“Honestly,” I continued, “if I’d known a protection detail came with that kind of show, I’d have called in a red file myself.”

COLE
“Rhys.”
One word. Sharp. A warning.

He held up his hands like I’d pulled a gun on him.
“Hey, don’t blame me for having ears. And taste.”
He looked at Leo. “Good form, by the way. Sounded… thorough.”

Leo didn’t respond.
He just dropped onto the nearest couch like gravity was trying to rip him apart.

ELANA
I crossed to the opposite side of the room, grabbed a bottle of water from the crate under the counter, and twisted it open with more force than necessary.

“I hope the two of you got a good laugh,” I said coolly.
Rhys snorted. Cole didn’t even blink.

“I’m just saying,” Rhys replied, “some of us have to meditate to regulate stress. Others apparently prefer shower sex.”

I took a long drink and locked eyes with him over the bottle.
“Must be hard being the funny one when no one laughs.”

“Ouch,” he said, clutching his chest. “Wounded. Truly. You’re breaking me, Marlowe.”

LEO
I kept my mouth shut.
Because if I opened it, I didn’t trust what would come out.

Rhys was having the time of his life.
Cole just sat there like a fucking statue, probably deciding whether I should be benched or shot.

And Elana?
She looked unbothered. Cold. Controlled.

But I saw her hand tighten around the bottle.
And I knew—she felt it too.

Whatever that was back in the bathroom…
It hadn’t stayed there.

COLE
I pulled the worn table in the cabin’s center closer and sat down hard.
No more games.

“Elana,” I said, voice low, measured. “That file you found—it’s not just a mistake. It’s a message.”

Rhys leaned in, eyes bright with that maddening mix of excitement and dread.
“We’ve seen files like this before—ghost ops, off-the-books interrogations, assets that the government wants erased.”

Leo glanced at Elana, then back at the table.
“We don’t know who’s behind it yet, but they’re watching. And they’re ruthless.”

ELANA
I sat opposite them, my fingers curling around the edge of the table like a lifeline.
“Why me?” I asked. “Why send something like this to my drive? Was it meant to be found?”

Cole’s gaze didn’t waver.
“Because your father’s project code was on it.
Someone wants you to see it—or they want you dead.”

Rhys slammed a fist lightly on the table.
“Or both.”

Leo’s voice cut through the tension.
“We have to assume every move you make is being tracked. We can’t trust anyone outside this cabin.”

COLE
I looked each of them in the eye—especially Elana.
“This isn’t just about your father or the file anymore. It’s about what you represent.
You’re part of something bigger now.”

The words hung in the air like smoke.
Elana’s jaw clenched, but her eyes sharpened.

ELANA
I swallowed the rising storm in my chest.
“Then I want to know everything.”

Cole nodded slowly.
“We’ll start with what we know. Then you decide how deep you want to go.”

Rhys cracked his knuckles and smiled that dangerous smile.
“Welcome to the storm, Marlowe.”

COLE
I pulled the flash drive from Elana’s bag, already knowing what was inside but needing her to hear it straight.
“We decrypted most of the file before we left. It’s a dossier on something called Subject 12—a person who was taken for ‘non-standard interrogation protocols.’ That means they weren’t using normal military or legal procedures. Whatever happened, it wasn’t sanctioned.”

Rhys chimed in, eyes dark.
“The test logs show extensive psychological manipulation—sensory deprivation, forced conditioning, experiments on breaking willpower. The containment records confirm the subject was held in isolation, in a concrete cell, for months.”

Leo leaned forward, voice low but intense.
“The photo you saw—blurred as it was—was the subject restrained, alone. No ID beyond the code name. But what stands out is the Status: Asset Neutralized. That usually means the subject is dead—or worse, converted into something… else.”

ELANA
I swallowed hard.
“What… what kind of experiments? And who would authorize that?”

Cole’s jaw tightened.
“That’s the part that’s buried. The lead officers are redacted completely. No names, no ranks. This was a black operation, off the books, with no accountability.”

Rhys added grimly,
“We suspect it’s tied to a shadow project your father was involved with before he disappeared. A program to create assets—soldiers or spies—using methods that the military won’t admit to.”

Leo’s gaze locked with mine, serious.
“They call it Project Shattered. It’s rumored to push people beyond human limits—but with a cost. Minds broken, lives destroyed.”

COLE
I looked at her, watching the storm cross her face.
“This file was buried to keep it quiet. Someone sent it to you—for a reason. Either to warn you, or to set a trap.”

Rhys shook his head.
“And now you’re the target. We need to figure out who’s pulling the strings—and fast.”

ELANA
I clenched my fists.
“I want in. I want to know everything. No more secrets.”

Leo nodded once.
“Then we’ll show you. But once you cross this line, there’s no going back.”

RHYS
I was about to lay out the next steps when my gut slammed the brakes.
A faint noise—too mechanical, too deliberate—to be just the wind.

“Hold up,” I said, eyes narrowing.

The others froze too.

COLE
“Sounded like... a drone,” I said, already reaching for my sidearm.
“Close. Too close.”

Leo moved toward the window, scanning the treeline.

LEO
There.
A tiny silhouette dipping between branches, buzzing low.

“They’re sweeping us. Recon drones.”

ELANA
My breath caught.
The cabin had never felt this small, this exposed.

RHYS
“Get ready,” I said, voice sharp.
“If they want us, they’re coming to get us.

No more hiding.

COLE
“Positions. Now.”

The team snapped into motion — weapons up, eyes sharp.

COLE
The first drone buzzed low, mechanical and menacing. Seconds later, shadowy figures poured from the trees—too many, too fast.

“Contact front!” I shouted, already firing.

ELANA
My heart pounded, but my hands were steady.
Bullets cracked through the cold air. I dropped low, aimed, squeezed the trigger.

They came at us like wolves, but we were sharper, faster, trained for this chaos.

LEO
Rhys covered our flank, moving with lethal precision.
No mercy. No hesitation.

Every shot counted.

 

RHYS
Bodies hit the ground.
Not ours.

But we weren’t done.

COLE
The last attacker fell.
Silence crashed down like a hammer.

ELANA
We stood there, breathing hard, the cold seeping in through blood and dirt.

“We bury them,” Cole said quietly.

LEO
No argument.

RHYS
We dug.
Dark soil turned over, muffling the bodies beneath.

No evidence. No traces.

COLE
Minutes later, we were moving again.

“Next stop: the next safehouse. Secure. Hidden. Far from prying eyes.”

ELANA
I climbed into the vehicle, cold and dirty but alive.
The flash drive was still safe in my bag.

Whatever this was, it was far from over.

The Thread She Pulled

 

ELANA

 

Smoke.
Still in my lungs.
Still on my skin.

We left the Safehouse in pieces—shell casings, boot prints, blood. Someone had burned it before we even saw who lit the match. The firefight came fast. Loud. Messy. Three hours later, the road winds through the backcountry—no cell signal, no satellites. Just the four of us packed into a steel box full of silence and tension.

But it’s not quiet.
Not really.

Underneath, it hums—unasked questions, unspoken suspicions. The file I opened by accident—the one that shouldn’t exist, but had my name embedded in it. And my father’s project code. The same one that went black right before he disappeared.

No one’s come for it. No alerts, no pings, no digital breadcrumb trail.
That should’ve reassured me.
It didn’t. Because of the silence like that?

That’s not mercy. It’s a warning.
Someone out there already knows I have it. And they’re not trying to buy it.
They’re trying to erase it.
Erase me.

Because what kind of classified military data sits buried—unlabeled, unguarded—until it pings your system like a ghost signal? What kind of file has no sender, no destination… but knows your name?

And your father’s.

The SUV jolted hard, dragging me out of the spiral. Leo’s thigh brushed mine for half a second, solid and hot through denim and combat fatigues. I didn’t move. Neither did he.

Up front, Rhys flipped through a worn paper map like we weren’t living in the digital age. A toothpick dangled from his mouth, and somehow, he still looked like he belonged in a war zone.

Cole had both hands on the wheel. Unflinching. Jaw set like he’d swallowed a secret and refused to spit it out.

“Half a mile,” Cole muttered, eyes scanning the narrow road ahead. Trees pressed close on either side—dense, dark, swallowing us whole.

“Cabin still dark?” Leo asked, finally breaking the silence.

“Only ever used once,” Cole said. “Unlisted, off-grid. Power, water, weapons and no windows facing the road.”

Rhys chuckled. “So romantic.”

“I don’t need romantic,” I said, staring out the side window. “I just need safety.”

No one argued with that.

Leo’s body stayed tight—coiled like a detonation cord waiting on a spark. He hadn’t touched me since the last bullet cracked past my head two counties back. But he hadn’t stopped watching me either.

He studied me like I might shatter.
But that’s what scared him.

That I wasn’t shattering.

Because women like me?
When we stop being afraid… we start being dangerous.

LEO

She moved like it was instinct when the firefight hit.

Cover. Return. Reload. No hesitation. No panic.

Now, in the back seat, she sat still—too still. Just staring out the window like the trees were whispering something the rest of us couldn’t hear. But I felt it. I felt her.

Not just close—aware.
Elana was reading the room without looking at us.

Her hands rested on her thighs. Loose. Controlled. She didn’t shake. Didn’t flinch. Not even once. Meanwhile, mine were clenched hard enough that my fingers ached.

That’s what got under my skin.
She wasn’t lucky to be alive.

She expected to be.

At first, I chalked it up to shock. Or maybe pure adrenaline. But this? This was something deeper. That only comes after you’ve been broken down and rebuilt for something worse.

The file she found—her name in it, her father’s ghost in the code—that wasn’t the start of her story.

That was the revelation.

I shifted just enough to see her reflection in the side mirror. No flicker. No break. Her eyes didn’t blink.

She’d seen more. Done more.

Rhys and I both felt it. I didn’t have to say it. He glanced at Cole in the front seat. Got the same look I’d seen too many times before. A silent confirmation.

We were sitting next to someone who wasn’t afraid of fire—
Because she’d already burned in it.

RHYS

She hadn’t said ten words since the Safehouse went up in flames. But she didn’t need to.

The silence coming off her wasn’t fear.
It was control.

And that’s the part that scraped against something in my chest.

She was behind me, but her presence pressed forward, sharp and watchful. Too sharp. Too deliberate.

Most people freak the hell out after a close call. Even some of the best freeze on the second round. Elana? She walked through a storm of bullets like it was protocol. Like she’d done it before.

Hell, maybe she had.

I looked sideways at Cole. That rigid jawline and forward stare told me everything. He felt it too.

I tilted my chin slightly—You seeing this?

His fingers twitched on the wheel. Yeah. I see it.

Whatever Elana was, she wasn’t just someone’s daughter caught in a crossfire.

Someone trained her.
And she was dangerous.

Which made me wonder:
Were we helping her…
Or walking into her war?

FLASHBACK——ELANA

The drop zone stank of damp pine and motor oil.

I was nineteen. Not old enough to drink, but they gave me an untraceable sidearm and a dossier full of names I wasn’t supposed to question.

“Live simulation,” they called it.
Right. Tell that to the guy who bled out when I shot him in the thigh to stop him from crawling.

First op. No backup. No prep.

Just an icy voice in my ear:
“Validate your cover or burn with it.”

I’d trained—months of tech, weapons, languages, hand-to-hand combat. But nothing prepares you for a target that reaches for a weapon, and you have to decide if you’ll pull the trigger first.

I did.

Didn’t flinch. Didn’t second-guess it. But when I dragged his body behind a row of leaking drums and dialed for exfil, that’s when my hands started to sweat.

Not from fear.
From clarity.

Because I’d never felt more alive. More awake.

The file said he was running prototypes across the border. It didn’t mention the daughter hiding in the trees behind him.

I saw her.
She saw me.

I disappeared into the woods.
And I never forgot that silence between us.

It wasn’t guilt. It was understanding.

I went into that op, a name with a clearance.

I came out as a weapon with a conscience.

____________________________________________________________________________

PRESENT——LEO

The truck rolled to a slow stop, gravel grinding under the tires like dry bones.
Cole cut the engine. The silence hit hard and heavy with unspoken words. With everything, we weren’t asking.

My eyes were already on Elana.
She hadn’t moved, but her attention was ten steps ahead of us—scanning, calculating.
Something about the way she held herself now… sharper. Guarded.

Rhys jumped down first, always first, like the ground owed him something. He scanned the trees, one hand hovering over his sidearm.

I followed, boots landing in the frost-bit dirt, but my focus didn’t leave the truck.
Didn’t leave her.

Elana moved like she was waiting for a reason not to trust us. I didn’t blame her.
Hell, I wasn’t even sure if she should.

Cole’s voice cut through the air. “We clear the inside first, then split the gear. Fifteen-minute sweep.”

“I’ll check the perimeter,” she said, already in motion.

“No.” Cole’s tone held just enough steel to make her pause. “You’re with Leo.”

She turned slowly, and I could already feel it—fire under her skin. “Problem?” she asked, calm as ever. That sharp, level kind of calm that usually came right before something exploded.

“Not if you don’t make it one,” Cole replied, firm but quieter now. The air thickened between them.

Rhys didn’t move, but I saw the shift. The weight of his gaze locked on Elana like he was watching for tremors before a quake.

I stepped forward, close enough that my shoulder brushed hers.
“You okay?” I asked low, just for her.

She didn’t look at me. “You tell me.”

One beat. Two. I didn’t answer.
Because the truth can be complicated.
Because maybe I wasn’t sure.

She smiled—tight, unreadable—and walked toward the cabin without another word.

And I followed.

Of course, I followed.

Even if I still didn’t know if we were walking into safety…
Or if she was about to burn this place down from the inside.

____________________________________________________________________________

CABIN INTERIOR — ELANA

The door groaned open under my palm—old hinges whispering secrets to the dark.

I stepped inside first. Every instinct flared.

The air was cold, undisturbed. Still carried that scent of sealed time: aged wood, gun oil, damp stone.

No sign of entry.

No movement.

But something was different.

Not wrong.

Just… waiting.

My boots ghosted over warped floorboards, the quiet creak swallowed by stillness. Leo and the others followed—fanning in, weapons drawn, eyes carving the space like blades.

Then I saw it.

The desk.

Bare. Except for one thing.

A page. Folded. Centered. Perfectly square.

I moved toward it, slow, deliberate.

Leo caught the shift. “Elana?”

I didn’t answer. I just reached out and unfolded the paper.

Black ink. All caps. Handwritten.

Three words.

WE REMEMBER EVERYTHING.

My breath caught—but not from fear.

Recognition, clean and immediate.

This wasn’t a threat.

It was a reminder.

And it was for me.

____________________________________________________________________________

LEO

I saw her freeze—just for a second. But it was enough.

Not fear.

Familiarity.

She didn’t flinch, like someone that had been blindsided. She folded—smooth, practiced. Like she’d been expecting it. Dreading it, maybe. But not surprised.

I stepped closer and looked over her shoulder. “What the hell is that?”

She didn’t respond. Not right away.

Behind us, Cole exhaled through his teeth. That low, sharp sound only he made when he knew something was off. “This place was never burned and no one’s been through since the war room went dark.”

Rhys moved past us, checking corners, eyes scanning. “Then how the hell did that note get here?”

Elana didn’t look at either of them. She folded the paper back once precisely and slipped it into her jacket as if it belonged there.

Like it always had.

And we all saw it.

For the first time, none of us looked at her like a target or a tag-along.

We looked at her like a detonator.

She met each of our eyes—one by one—and said it flat, sure:

“This just changed everything.”

The door shut behind us with a hollow thud. Dust curled in the fading light from the slatted rafters.

Stillness stretched too long. Nobody moved.

Not really.

Just the shift of stances. A thumb over a rifle grip. A glance held a second too long.

And that goddamn folded note—now a brand in my mind.

I broke the silence.

“You going to tell us what that was?”

My voice came out quieter than I meant. Too calm.

Controlled. Too controlled.

She turned toward me, eyes sharp, unreadable.

“A message.”

“Yeah, no shit,” I said, heat finally bleeding in. “For you.”

____________________________________________________________________________

ELANA

I didn’t deny it.

Because he was right.

They all were.

It was for me.

Had always been.

The only question now…

Who else knew it?

And how far would they go to make sure I remembered everything, too?

____________________________________________________________________________

ELANA

I didn’t respond.
Not yet.

Let the silence thicken. Let it choke the air the way it had choked me for years. Let them sit in it—feel it crawl across their skin.

Cole’s eyes narrowed. “That paper was clean. Fresh. Which means someone’s been here—and it wasn’t us.”

Rhys stepped forward, a shadow detaching from the wall. “They knew your name. Knew you’d come here. That’s not just a coincidence, Elana.”

“Never said it was,” I said flatly, my voice a steel blade dragged slowly.

Leo stepped closer. I felt the shift in the room before he even spoke.

“Then say something,” he snapped. “Because right now we’re standing in a black site that’s supposed to be burned, staring at a ghost note written to you, and I’m wondering how many more things you’ve failed to mention.”

My gaze met his without flinching. “You think I planned this?”

“I think…” His tone dropped quieter. Tighter. “…you’re not who you said you were.”

A beat.

No one breathed.

Then I shrugged out of my jacket deliberate and slow. Laid it on the table. The folded note fluttered out and landed in front of them like a drawn line.

“Fine,” I said, calm but unflinching. “You want the truth?”

Cole’s mouth twitched, tightening.
Rhys folded his arms, jaw set.
Leo… didn’t look away.

I let them wait. Let it sit.
Let the pieces rearrange on the board.

“I am trained. Not just weapons, not just evasions. Black-level insertion. Deep cover recon. My first sanctioned op happened before I finished college. My father’s project wasn’t about defense—it was about control. And whatever he disappeared into, someone’s trying to make sure I vanish right alongside him.”

LEO

The words landed like detonations.
One by one.
Measured. Precise. Unforgiving.

Covert recon.
Black-level.
Control.

Not defense.
Not protection.

Control.

My stomach turned, even as my mind reeled—connecting pieces we didn’t even know were on the board.

“And us?” Rhys asked coldly. “Collateral?”

She didn’t blink.
“Assets,” she said. “For now.”

My mouth opened to speak.
Nothing came out.

She wasn’t apologizing.
She wasn’t hiding.
She was done pretending.

Cole muttered, “Jesus Christ.”

“I didn’t ask for this,” Elana said. “But I’m not running from it either.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was strategic.
We were all doing the math now.

Trying to decide if she was still on our side…
Or if we were just pawns caught in the fallout of a war that started long before any of us signed on.

I took a step back.
The weight of it—all of it—pressed in.

Then I turned.

Shoved the door open so hard it slammed against the outside wall with a crack like a gunshot.

Didn’t say a word.
Didn’t look back.

Just walked into the treeline, boots crunching fast and hard against gravel. The cold air bit through my jacket. Didn’t matter.

I needed space.
I needed clarity.

Because the woman inside that cabin…
wasn’t the one I’d thought I was protecting.

ELANA

No one followed him.

For a second, the room felt colder.
Like the note had done more than deliver a message.
It had fractured the room.

I didn’t regret telling them.
But I felt the shift.

Felt the moment I stopped being one of them—and became something else entirely.

 

ELANA

Cole let the silence stretch.
His hands were planted on the table, fingers splayed wide like he needed to anchor himself.
The note lay between us—damning in its simplicity.
When he finally looked up, his eyes met mine—and they burned.

“You should’ve told us the minute you suspected something.”
His voice cracked against the walls, louder than any bullet at the Safehouse.
“Do you think we’re disposable?” he asked, fury barely leashed.
“Just another layer of plausible deniability between you and the people cleaning house?”

“I told you now because you needed to see it first,” I said—even. Controlled. The only way I knew how to survive this.

There was more I could’ve said—wanted to.
But survival didn’t leave room for comfort. Or confession.

“Don’t patronize me.”
“I’m not.”
“You don’t trust us.”
It wasn’t a question.
“No,” I said, without hesitation.
“Because trust doesn’t survive fire. Only purpose does.”

He shoved away from the table, pacing now. Hands in his hair, frustration bleeding into every step.

“Jesus, Elana. People are dead. We’ve got bodies behind us and a black-coded ghost op breathing down our necks—and now you’re telling me this is about your father’s legacy?”

“No,” I said, and this time the steel crept in.
“It’s about who they’ll burn next if I disappear quietly.”

Cole stopped. Turned.
“Then why are we here? Why bring us into this?”

I held his gaze.
“Because you’re the only people left, I don’t have a file on.”

That froze him.
Everything behind his eyes shifted—anger replaced by something slower.
He didn’t speak.
Didn’t have to.

LEO

 

I heard it all from outside.
Every word filtered through the thin cabin walls and sank straight into the pit of my stomach.

I stayed where I was—under the tree line, fists clenched, jaw locked—because walking back in too soon meant saying something I couldn’t take back.

But when I heard her say that—You’re the only people left I don’t have a file on—I stopped cold.

That wasn’t desperation.
That was honesty.
And it hit harder than any confession ever could.

She was alone in this.
Had been for longer than we knew.

That didn’t make her safe.
But it made her real.

I turned and walked back toward the cabin, steps slow. Measured.
The door creaked open just in time to catch the next line.

 

ELANA

 

“I don’t need saving,” I whispered. “But I won’t survive this alone.”

Across the room, Rhys exhaled through his nose. He leaned back against the wall, arms folded—not in defense.
In a decision.

“She’s not wrong,” he said, voice low. Thoughtful.
“We’re in this now. Either we help her... or we wait until someone decides we’re liabilities too.”

Cole rounded on him. “You’re siding with her?”

“I’m not siding with anyone.” Rhys’s gaze found mine—steady. Sharp.
“I just know the sound of war when I hear it coming.”

There was a pause.
Not silence.
The wind scratched against the cabin walls.
Floorboards creaked beneath someone's shifting weight.

Just breath.
Just weight.

Then Rhys spoke again—softer. Just for me.
“You don’t have to be alone in this, Elana. Not anymore.”

My throat tightened.
But I didn’t thank him.
Didn’t breathe too deep.

Because this—this fragile moment of trust, cracked and war-born—
Was the most breakable thing I owned.
And I’d already watched too many men bleed for less.
I couldn’t afford another grave to carry.

 

COLE

 

I stepped inside as the last words fell between them.

Rhys saw me first. Nodded once—muted solidarity.

Elana didn’t look up.
She didn’t need to.

Because I saw her—really saw her—for the first time since all this started.
Not as a liability.
Not even as a mystery.
But as a soldier.

And I knew now:
Whatever was coming... she wasn’t the only one preparing for war.

____________________________________________________________________________

 

OUTSIDE THE CABIN — EDGE OF DAWN
COLE

 

I stepped out of the cabin door, the cold slapping harder than expected.
It was still early—sky bruised, light creeping up slow over the tree line.

I didn’t shut the door hard. Didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of a dramatic exit.
Leo had just walked in—silent, all weight and awareness—and I couldn’t breathe in that room a second longer.

Elana.
Her file. Her father.
That look on her face when she said we were the only ones she didn’t have a file on.

I paced the edge of the clearing, jaw tight, hands shoved into my jacket like I could trap the anger before it boiled over.

It didn’t feel like betrayal.
It felt like I’d missed something critical—hell, everything.

The way she moved.
The way she didn’t flinch.
I thought I’d been protecting her.
Now I wasn’t sure I hadn’t been the one being used.

I kicked a stone. It skidded into the underbrush.
The trees whispered back—wind, nothing more—but a cold ripple ran up my spine.

Not sound.
Not movement.
Presence.

I scanned the woods. Just tangled brush and crooked branches, dawn bleeding pale over frost-bitten ground.
Twenty feet ahead, maybe less.

Still—my whole body coiled.

We weren’t alone.
Not really.

Whoever was out there wasn’t careless. No snapped twigs. No glint of glass.
But I’d been in enough war zones to know the difference between quiet... and watched.

I drew in a slow breath, let it settle deep in my chest like a weapon in waiting.
I wasn’t ready to talk.
Not yet.

But I was ready for what was next.
Because someone out here wasn’t finished with us.
And I don’t like being hunted.

UNKNOWN POV — EDGE OF THE TREE LINE
SHE

 

I stayed pressed to the shadow of a cedar, breath low, heartbeat steady.
The forest had rhythm—wind, earth, silence layered over silence.
I moved with it.
Never against.

Cole Bennett didn’t see me.
Not directly. But he felt me—the way men like him do.
Soldiers with instincts too sharp to ignore.
His spine was tight. His eyes swept like blades.
Not fear. Not yet. But close.

I stayed still.

He’d leave. Eventually.
But not before suspicion took root. That’s all I needed.
Not panic—awareness.

Through the cabin window, I caught her.

Elana.

I hadn’t seen her since Vienna.
Since the breach.
Since silence swallowed everything after her father vanished.

She looked different now.
Not older.
Sharper.
Sharp enough to cut both ways.

I didn’t come to kill her.
Could’ve. Would’ve.
But not now.

The others inside? If they knew I was out here—unarmed, unmasked—they’d shoot first.
They should.
But I needed them alive.

Especially her.

If she opened that file…
If the doors were creaking open again…
Then, time wasn’t running out.
It was already gone.

I adjusted the scope hanging from my chest—not to aim.
Just to watch.

They weren’t ready.
Not for me.
Not for what’s coming.

They’d need to choose.
And when they saw me again, there could be no hesitation.

Leo turned, frustration cracking off him like heat as he marched back toward the cabin.
Good.

When he disappeared inside, I moved—quick, quiet.
Years of practice making ghosts look clumsy.
No prints. No sound.

My hand slid inside my jacket.
Pulled the object.
Tucked it into the crook beneath the porch beam—small, deliberate.

A silver cufflink.
Worn. Scarred.
Etched with a black wolf’s head wreathed in fire.

The last time they saw that insignia, it was on the arm of a man whose body was never recovered.

They’d find it.
They’d feel it.
And they’d remember.

INSIDE THE CABIN—LEO

The moment the door shut behind me, the weight shifted. Just enough to notice. Just enough to make everything sharper.

I didn’t go to the kitchen.

Didn’t speak.

Didn’t breathe more than I had to.

The floor creaked under my boots as I turned left, down the hall. My room. The door closed with a dull click behind me, and for the first time in hours, the quiet didn’t feel like a threat—it felt like a break.

I sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on my knees, head bowed. The walls were bare. Nothing to distract. Nothing to settle my hands on but the weapon still strapped under my shoulder.

I didn’t unload it.

Didn’t dare.

Because the rage hadn’t passed.

It had just found somewhere else to sit.

I kept hearing her voice.

“Because you’re the only people left, I don’t have a file on.”

It had gutted me.

Because it was the truth—because it doesn’t break when it hits. It buries.

And now I was buried in it.

Elana wasn’t just running from something. She was standing in front of it—arms wide, teeth bared—and daring it to try again.

And me? I’d been so damn sure I was protecting her.

I was just a page in someone else’s story.

But that chapter’s over.

Because I know what it means when ghosts leave breadcrumbs.

They want you to follow.

And maybe… she was already leading.

__________________________________________________________________

 

 

 

KITCHEN—ELANA

 

I could feel Leo’s steps, even though I didn’t look.

Measured. Heavy. Gone.

The tension shifted—like the air let itself settle once he was out of the room. Rhys hadn’t moved. He still leaned against the wall, but something in his posture had shifted.

Ready. Like always.

“You think he’s going to come around?” I asked, quieter than I meant to.

Rhys’s mouth twitched—not a smile. Not quite.

“He already did,” he said. “You just haven’t seen it yet.”

“Was I wrong?” I asked, low. “Not telling you.” Rhys moved—slow and silent, like weight shifted in a fault line.

Rhys didn’t answer right away. I heard the soft shift of his weight as he crossed the room, settling against the fridge like he had all the time in the world. But I knew better. That kind of stillness? It was practiced. Intentional.

“I think,” he said finally, “you were surviving. And sometimes survival doesn’t leave room for trust.”

I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding.

“That’s not a no,” I said.

“No,” he agreed. “It’s not.”

I turned to face him. “So, you do think I should’ve told you.”

“I think it’s easy to say that now. With the pieces on the board. With blood in the rearview mirror.” Eyes locked on mine—hard, but not cruel. “Back then? You didn’t know us. We didn’t know you. Hell, we still don’t.”

That stung.

Because it was true.

“But,” he said, pushing off the fridge, taking a slow step forward, “you told us when it mattered. When we could still do something about it, that’s the only kind of timing that counts in this life.”

He was close now. Not touching. Not intruding.

Just there.

Solid. Unflinching.

“I’m not mad at you, Elana,” he said. “I’m just figuring out how far I’m willing to go for someone I can’t predict.”

My chest tightened.

“That’s fair,” I said. “I never asked you to trust me.”

“No,” he said, voice low. “But maybe now’s the time to ask if I trust myself enough to choose your side, anyway.”

The silence between us wasn’t empty.

It was filled with something heavier.

Like the start of something that could break a world open—if we let it.

__________________________________________________________________

 

KITCHEN—ELANA

 

His words shouldn’t have landed. But they did—deep and clean, slicing through the soft spot behind my ribs and under every sharp-edged decision.

Deep. Clean. Right through the soft spot I kept behind my ribs and under every sharp-edged decision.

I held his gaze. Long enough for it to feel like a choice.

“I didn’t think I’d have to choose anyone’s side,” I said, voice quieter now. “I didn’t think I deserved to.”

He stepped closer.

Just one step.

Enough that I could feel the shift in the air between us. Tension curling at the edges like smoke, charged with an electricity that made every hair on my body stand at attention.

“You do,” Rhys said, his voice a low, husky growl that sent a jolt of desire straight to my core. “You just forgot how.”

I didn’t breathe.

Didn’t blink.

Because this—this—wasn’t a man talking tactics.

This was the man who saw past the armor, who understood the hunger beneath the surface. A man who didn’t mistake my silence for indifference, who saw the fire burning just beneath the ice.

“I don’t need saving,” I said, my voice a low, defiant rumble.

“I know,” he replied, his eyes dark with a hunger that matched my own. “That’s not why I’m here.”

My heart pounded, a wild, primal beat that echoed in my ears. I didn’t know who moved first, but suddenly, his body was pressed against mine, his hands roaming my body with a desperate, claiming touch.

His mouth crashed down on mine, teeth and tongue and a hunger that stole my breath. His hand gripped my jaw, angling my head to deepen the kiss, and I moaned into his mouth, my body arching against his.

I didn’t stop him.

Couldn’t have stopped him if I tried.

Because this was what I needed. What I’d been craving since the moment I laid eyes on him.

His hands were rough, calloused, and they skimmed over my body like he was mapping out every inch of me, committing it to memory. He pushed my shirt up, breaking the kiss only long enough to pull it over my head, then his mouth was on my neck, my collarbone, his teeth nipping and biting, marking me as his.

I fumbled with his jacket, pushing it off his shoulders, then his shirt, needing to feel his skin against mine. His chest was hard, muscles rippling under my touch, and I scratched my nails down his back, making him groan and press his erection against me.

He lifted me effortlessly, my legs wrapping around his waist as he carried me to the counter. He set me down, his hands gripping my thighs, spreading me wide for him. I could feel his hardness, hot and insistent, pressing against me, and I rocked my hips, rubbing against him, desperate for more friction.

“Tell me to stop,” he growled, his voice a low, dangerous rumble as he kissed his way down my neck, his stubble rough against my sensitive skin.

“I won’t,” I panted, my voice hoarse with need. “I don’t want you to stop.”

With a low groan, he pushed his cock into me, quick and hard, filling me completely, stretching me in the most delicious way. I cried out, my nails digging into his back, holding him close as he began to move, his hips snapping against mine in a brutal, desperate rhythm.

His mouth found mine again, our tongues dueling as our bodies moved together, the counter cold against my back, his body hot and hard against my front. I could feel the tension building, the coil tightening in my belly, and I knew I wasn’t going to last much longer.

“Rhys,” I gasped, my voice a warning, a plea, a promise all at once.

He buried his face in my neck, his teeth grazing my skin, his voice ragged and desperate. “Fuck, Elana, I’m close. I can’t hold on much longer.”

“Don’t,” I panted. “I don’t want you to.”

With a low groan, he increased his pace, his body slamming into mine, the counter shaking with the force of his thrusts. I could feel it building, the wave crashing over me, and I screamed, my body convulsing as I came undone around him.

He followed a second later, his body tensing, his shout of release echoing in my ear as he spilled himself inside me. We stayed like that for a moment, our bodies locked together, our breaths coming in ragged gasps, our hearts pounding in sync.

Then, slowly, he pulled back, his forehead resting against mine, his eyes searching my face. I didn’t open my eyes. Didn’t move. That release hadn’t just been physical. It was a freedom, a letting go of everything I’d been holding onto for so long.

His arms braced on either side of me, his body still inside mine, both of us gasping for breath, like we’d just run a marathon or survived a war. Maybe we had. His forehead rested against mine, and I could feel his heartbeat, slow and steady, matching my own.

That scream—that release—hadn’t just been pleasure. It was a freedom, a letting go of everything I’d been holding onto for so long. And now, in the aftermath, I felt...peace. Like we’d earned it. Like we’d fought for it, and won.

__________________________________________________________________

 

HALLWAY OUTSIDE THE KITCHEN—COLE

 

Swear to God, I didn’t mean to watch. But the flames painted her joy in strokes I couldn’t unsee—every arch, every gasp, every light-struck tremor—and I stood there like a ghost staring at what I lost.

I came back for water. Thought maybe they’d moved to the living room. Thought it was quiet.

But the second I turned the corner, I saw them.

Elana.

Rhys.

Backs arched, breath tangled, bodies locked—like they weren’t just touching, but trying to set the world on fire from the inside.

Her legs locked around him—tight, desperate.

His hands gripped her hips, knuckles white, holding her like she was the only thing keeping him grounded.

Her head snapped back, mouth open—

God.

That sound she made.

Wrecked.

Wild.

Like surrender and salvation collided in her throat.

I froze.

Like a damn rookie.

Should’ve looked away. Didn’t. Couldn’t.

Because it wasn’t just sex.

It was something heavier.

Something that split the air like shrapnel.

They didn’t see me.

Not even once.

And that somehow made it worse.

I watched her come apart.

Watched him with her.

And all I could think was: I was too slow.

Too careful.

Too fucking late.

He gave her what I couldn’t.

What I was still afraid to want.

Her cry hit like a round to the chest—not for its volume, but its truth.

And I wasn’t the reason for it.

I backed away, silent.

Didn’t breathe until I reached the next door down.

Leo’s.

I knocked once—soft.

The door opened fast.

His eyes locked on mine, sharp as ever—but he didn’t say anything.

Didn’t have to.

He saw it on my face. Didn’t question.

Just stepped aside and let me in.

And closed the door behind me.

__________________________________________________________________

 

KITCHEN—ELANA

 

The silence after was almost louder than the sounds that came before.

Rhys still held me.

Not tightly.

Not possessively.

Just… present.

His chest rose against mine in slow, measured breaths. Mine tried to match his, but kept catching on something sharp. Something real.

This was the kind of silence I used to run from.

Too many answers hiding in the quiet.

I finally shifted, unwound my legs from his waist. He didn’t stop me. Didn’t flinch when I slid my hands from his shoulders to the counter behind me, grounding myself.

He stepped back only enough to look at me. Eyes dark. Open.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

A stupid question.

But a kind one.

I nodded once. Then again—slower. Because the truth was... yeah. I was.

More than I’d expected to be.

“I didn’t plan that,” I said, voice low.

Rhys’s mouth twitched—something caught between a grin and a sigh.

“No shit.”

That pulled the breath out of me. Almost a laugh. Almost.

I looked down between us. At our clothes on the floor. At the bruises already blooming on my thighs where his grip had claimed me.

“I don’t usually lose control,” I admitted, fingers curling around the edge of the counter.

Rhys stepped in again, gentler this time. One hand brushing hair back from my face like he was memorizing the feel of me—post-fire, post-war.

“That wasn’t losing control,” he said. “That was letting someone in.”

God.

That.

I closed my eyes, chest tight.

I’d given him something no one else had seen.

And for once, I wasn’t afraid of what he’d do with it.

__________________________________________________________________

 

 

 

 

 

LEO’S ROOM—COLE

 

The second the door closed, the quiet swallowed me.

He was sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, watching me like I was a live grenade rolling across the floor.

I stood in the middle of the room—rigid, breath shallow, pulse hammering in my throat.

“She was with him,” I said. Flat. Final. Like maybe saying it out loud would make it sting less.

Leo didn’t move.

“Yeah,” he said. No apology in it. No softness either. “I figured.”

That hit harder than I expected.

Not because he was cruel.

Because he was right.

“I saw the whole thing,” I said. “Didn’t mean to. But I stayed.”

His brow lifted slightly, like he was waiting for me to admit what he already knew.

“You wanted to see what she gave him,” Leo said.

I didn’t answer.

He stood, crossed the space between us. Slowly. Like approaching a bomb that might still go off.

“You think you’re noble,” he said, low and steady. “Always waiting for the right time. The safe time. Like she’s some mission to win with discipline and restraint.”

I swallowed, jaw clenched. “You were with her first.”

Leo nodded, unashamed. “Yeah. I didn’t wait.”

He stopped just in front of me.

His voice dropped.

“You did.”

My breath caught.

He leaned in—not close enough to touch, but enough to make the space between us charged.

“You wear patience like armor,” he said. “But all I see is fear dressed up like discipline.”

I shook my head, the words stuck in my chest. “It’s not that simple.”

“It is,” he said. “You want her. You want me. And you keep pretending you don’t.”

His words sliced the air.

No heat.

Just truth.

I looked at him, really looked, and saw everything he wasn’t saying.

The night he touched me first.

The night he watched me hesitate.

“Why now?” I asked. “Why push?”

Leo’s voice went quiet—razor-sharp.

“Because Rhys didn’t ask. He just took. And you’re standing here watching the only people you want slip right through your fucking hands.”

The air cracked.

And I hated that he was right.

He was on me before I could blink.

His body slammed into mine, a force to be reckoned with, a predator claiming its prey. One hand snapped to the back of my neck, tight and possessive, fingers digging into my flesh like a vice, holding me in place. He crushed his mouth to mine, not a kiss, but a fucking claim, a brutal, demanding takeover.

My back slammed into the wall with a thud, the impact jarring, but I didn't care. I wanted this. I always had. I just never let myself admit it. His other hand gripped my jaw, fingers digging in, forcing my mouth open, his thumb pressing against my cheekbone, holding me in place as his tongue shoved inside—deep, punishing, furious. He explored my mouth like it was his to conquer, his tongue battling mine, his teeth nipping at my lips, drawing blood.

He pulled back barely an inch, his breath scorching against my lips, his eyes burning into mine. "You’ve been hiding in shadows long enough, soldier."

"Leo—" I managed to whisper, but the word barely left my mouth before his hand slammed flat against my chest, pinning me harder to the wall, his palm pressing against my pounding heart, his fingers splaying, holding me in place.

"Shut up," he growled, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "You had your chance to lead. Now you follow fucking orders."

Something snapped inside me. Something raw, buried, starving. Something I didn’t want to need—but did. Control. Pressure. Him. Not someone who asked. Someone who took.

His mouth crashed back onto mine, more teeth than tongue now, biting hard, drawing blood, dragging a sound out of me that was all need and no shame. He was marking me, ruining me, and I let him. I wanted it. I needed it.

Then he dropped to his knees—never breaking eye contact, his hands gripping my hips, holding me in place. I was already trembling, my body aching with need, my cock throbbing, leaking, begging for his touch.

He ripped my belt open like it offended him, the sound of the leather tearing through the silence, a harsh, brutal sound. He yanked my pants down just far enough, just fast enough—like he was done waiting, done playing nice. My cock sprang free, hard and leaking, begging for his attention.

And then—

Heat. Wet. Depth. His mouth enveloped me in one brutal motion, his lips stretching wide, his tongue swirling, his cheeks hollowing out as he sucked me deep. I choked on a gasp, my hand slamming against the wall, the other twisting in his hair, not guiding, just clinging, holding on, holding him to me, never wanting him to let go.

Leo didn’t flinch. Didn’t glance up. Didn’t slow down. He worked me like I belonged to him—every stroke tight, wet, punishing, his head bobbing, his nose pressing against my stomach, his hands gripping my ass, pulling me deeper, his fingers digging into my flesh, leaving marks, claiming me.

Dragging raw, primal sounds from my throat, I couldn’t have hidden if I tried. My head dropped back, eyes squeezed shut, sanity slipping fast. He was relentless, precise, his tongue swirling, his teeth grazing, his mouth sucking, his hands gripping, his body moving in a rhythm that shattered me, broke me, remade me.

"You like being under control," he rasped against my skin, his voice a low, dangerous growl, his tongue dragging up the underside of my cock, sending shivers down my spine, making my balls tighten, my body tremble. "You just needed the right man to break you open."

"F—fuck—Leo—" I stammered, my body tensing, my muscles coiling, my orgasm building, a storm ready to break.

I didn’t finish. Couldn’t. The orgasm ripped through me like a detonation—violent, blinding, complete. My body convulsed, my cock pulsing, my release spilling down his throat, his mouth still working me, still sucking, still claiming.

I came with his name on my lips, a broken, shattered, breathless plea. Undone. Ruined. His.

He pulled back, his lips glistening, his chin wet, his eyes locked on mine, a dangerous, satisfied smile playing on his lips. He stood, his body pressing against mine, his hand gripping my throat, his thumb pressing against my pulse, feeling it race.

"Mine," he growled, his voice a low, a dangerous promise. And I knew, in that moment, that I was. Completely and utterly his.

 

__________________________________________________________________

 

LEO’S ROOM—COLE

 

He stood slowly.

Wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes black with hunger.

“You remember this next time you think playing quiet earns you something,” he said.

Then he kissed me again.

Hard.

And I kissed him back.

Not because I was ready.

But because he made it impossible not to.

__________________________________________________________________

 

HALLWAY OUTSIDE LEO’S ROOM—COLE

 

The door closed behind me with a heavy click, but the fire inside me didn’t die down. If anything, it burned hotter.

My breath was ragged, heart pounding—not just from what Leo had done, but from everything I’d been stuffing down for months. The waiting. The watching. The knowing I was losing ground, piece by piece.

I started walking toward my room, every step weighted with a restless need I couldn’t ignore.

Then—

There she was.

Elana.

Leaning against her doorframe, arms crossed, eyes distant but sharp.

Seeing her was ignition—like air meeting fire and forgetting how to breathe.

My jaw clenched. Every nerve screamed.

I wasn’t about to let this pass me by.

Not again.

I swallowed hard, trying to steady the storm raging inside.

But I wasn’t fooling anyone—not even myself.

I made my choice.

Steeling my voice, I called out softly, “Elana.”

She turned, eyes locking onto mine, something flickering there—surprise? Wariness? Maybe a challenge.

No words.

No hesitation.

I stepped closer.

“I’m not waiting anymore,” I said, voice low but steady. “Not for permission. Not for timing.”

Her gaze sharpened. “You sure about that?”

I nodded, the last of my restraint falling away.

Then I reached for her—because tonight, I was taking what I wanted.

__________________________________________________________________

 

 

 

 

ELANA’S ROOM—COLE

 

She didn’t step back.

Didn’t tell me no.

She didn’t flinch. Just held my gaze. Then turned and walked away like she knew I’d follow.

I followed.

The door clicked shut behind me—soft, final.

And then I was on her.

Three steps.

That’s all it took.

My hands locked onto her hips, and I crashed into her mouth like I needed her to feel everything I’d been holding back.

She didn’t flinch.

She met me with fire—fierce, hungry, feral.

Her fingers fisted my shirt, dragging me closer like she’d been burning for this too.

I slammed her into the wall—one hand at the back of her head, the other sliding down her spine like I was mapping need.

Her legs parted—no hesitation.

Her breath hit my mouth like gasoline.

“You waited long enough,” she said, voice low, already wrecked.

“Not anymore.”

I lifted her, and she locked around me like she meant it.

I carried her across the room, still devouring her mouth—barely breaking the kiss as I laid her down like I was staking a fucking claim.

Shirts hit the floor.

Hers first. Then mine.

My belt followed. Her fingers were already at the button of her jeans before I could reach it.

She arched into me—pure heat, pure tension—offering up control like it was a gift and a dare.

I paused—just a breath.

Looked down at her.

She was fire and defiance and mine, even if just for this moment.

“Still sure?” I asked, voice shredded from restraint I didn’t have left to give.

She met my eyes, unapologetic. “I want all of it.”

Then, quieter—deadly. Beautiful.

“Make me forget everything else.”

So I did.

She said, make me forget—

And I did.

With teeth. With heat. With everything I had left to give.

No more waiting.

No more holding back.

I yanked her jeans down rough—didn’t care about gentle.

Her panties tore halfway, the rest surrendered, discarded.

Her gasp wasn’t fear.

It was fucking permission.

My pants dropped to the floor, forgotten, as I surged forward, my body covering hers, my weight pressing her into the mattress. 

I braced myself on one arm, my bicep flexing, my hand gripping her thigh, pulling it wide, exposing her to me, making her vulnerable, making her mine. I lined up, my cock thick and throbbing, the head glistening with my need, and I thrust—hard, deep, claiming her, marking her, taking what was always mine to take. 

She cried out, a high, sharp sound that spoke of surprise, of pleasure, of a need as desperate as my own. Her body arched up to meet mine, her hands clutching at my back, her nails digging in, sharp, demanding, urging me on, begging for more. 

"Fuck," I groaned into her throat, my voice a low, guttural sound, a primal rumble that vibrated through her, that promised her everything and more. "You feel like everything." Like home. Like heaven. Like the only thing that could ever make me whole. 

Her response was a whimper, a plea, a demand all rolled into one. "Harder," she breathed, her voice a soft, desperate gasp, a command that sent a shiver down my spine, that lit a fire in my veins, that set my blood on fire. 

That one word? It was a match to a fuse, a spark to a powder keg, a key to a lock that had been keeping me chained for far too long. I snapped my hips, slamming into her with everything I had, with every ounce of strength, of need, of desperation, of longing. I pounded into her, my body a piston, my cock a weapon, my hips a relentless, unyielding force. 

Again. And again. And again. Each thrust stripped us down, layer by layer, peeling back the anger, the guilt, the silence, the pain, the regret, the fear, leaving us raw, leaving us exposed, leaving us vulnerable, leaving us free. 

Her moans turned wild, almost vicious, a symphony of need, of desire, of a hunger that matched my own. She met me stroke for stroke, her hips rolling, her body undulating, her hands gripping, her nails tearing, her teeth nipping, her tongue tasting, her mouth devouring, her legs locking around me, holding me to her, refusing to let me go. 

She grabbed the back of my neck, her fingers tangling in my hair, pulling me into a kiss that was a battle, a war, a conquest, a surrender, a promise, a plea, a demand, a need, a want, a desire, a hunger, a thirst, a craving, a longing, a love, a hate, a everything. It tasted like war and salvation, like blood and sweat and tears and come, like us, like them, like this, like that, like here, like there, like now, like then, like always, like forever. 

No words were needed. Our bodies spoke for us, their language one of touch, of taste, of feel, of sound, of scent, of sight. We were a tangle of limbs, a clash of bodies, a crash of hips, a dance of desire, a symphony of skin, a melody of moans, a harmony of heavy breaths, a crescendo of carnal need. 

The headboard slammed against the wall, a loud, brutal, relentless rhythm that matched the pounding of my heart, the throbbing of my cock, the pounding of my hips, the pounding of my need, the pounding of my desire, the pounding of my love, the pounding of my hate, the pounding of my everything. 

We didn't stop. We couldn't. We were a runaway train, a wildfire, a storm, a force of nature, a power beyond our control, a need beyond our understanding, a desire beyond our comprehension. 

Her legs locked tighter around me, her heels digging into my ass, spurring me on, urging me deeper, begging me harder, pleading with me faster. "Don't stop," she gasped, her voice cracking, her body trembling, her eyes wild, her face flushed, her lips swollen, her chest heaving, her heart pounding, her soul bare, her everything exposed. 

"Not a fucking chance," I growled, my voice a low, dangerous promise, a vow, a pledge, a guarantee, a certainty, a truth, a reality, a promise, a hope, a dream, a wish, a want, a need, a desire, a love, a hate, a everything. 

I reached down, my thumb finding her clit, rubbing hard, fast, merciless, unyielding, relentless, demanding, taking, giving, loving, hating, everything. Her body arched, her back bowing, her head throwing back, her mouth opening in a silent scream, her eyes blowing wide, her pupils dilating, her body trembling, her soul shattering, her everything breaking, her all falling apart, her universe exploding, her world ending, her life changing, her existence altering, her being transforming, her spirit soaring, her heart soaring, her soul soaring, her everything soaring. 

"Cole—" she choked out, my name a prayer, a plea, a demand, a need, a want, a desire, a love, a hate, everything. "Fuck—" 

She shattered under me, her body spasming, her voice broken, her nails carving lightning down my back, her teeth biting into my shoulder, her legs trembling, her hips bucking, her core clenching, her everything unraveling, her all coming undone, her universe imploding, her world ending, her life changing, her existence altering, her being transforming, her spirit soaring, her heart soaring, her soul soaring, her everything soaring. 

And I followed, hard and deep, my hips jerking, my cock pulsing, my throat ripped raw, my voice a roar, my body a trembling, shaking, quivering, convulsing, spasming, exploding, imploding, transforming, altering, changing, ending, soaring, flying, falling, breaking, building, creating, destroying, loving, hating, needing, wanting, desiring, everything. 

Everything I’d held back. Everything I’d denied. All of it, gone. Spilled into her, marked her, claimed her, made her mine, made her everything, made her my world, my life, my existence, my being, my spirit, my soul, my heart, my everything. 

The sound of us—the slap of skin, the panting, the moans, the groans, the cries, the screams, the whispers, the shouts, the curses, the pleas, the demands, the needs, the wants, the desires, the loves, the hates, the everything—was chaos. Beautiful, brutal, carnal, raw, real, honest, true, pure, perfect, imperfect, messy, wild, untamed, unbridled, unapologetic, unashamed, unfiltered, unedited, uncensored, unadulterated, unmistakable, undeniable, unyielding, relentless, merciless, harsh, soft, loud, quiet, fast, slow, hard, soft, deep, shallow, long, short, high, low, hot, cold, wet, dry, smooth, rough, gentle, fierce, calm, stormy, peaceful, violent, tender, brutal, loving, hating, needing, wanting, desiring, living, dying, ending, beginning, changing, transforming, altering, evolving, devolving, constructing, deconstructing, creating, destroying, building, breaking, mending, healing, hurting, helping, hoping, dreaming, wishing, wanting, needing, loving, hating, everything. 

And then it was over. But it wasn't. Because it never would be. Not for us. Not for this. Not for everything. 

I collapsed to my elbows, my body slick with sweat, my breath ragged, my heart pounding, my soul soared, my everything complete. I buried my head in the curve of her neck, my lips pressing against her pulse, my arms wrapping around her, holding her, keeping her, claiming her, loving her, hating her, needing her, wanting her, desiring her, everything. 

We didn’t speak. We didn’t need to. Our bodies had said it all. Our souls had spoken the truth. Our everything had been laid bare, exposed, raw, real, honest, true, pure, perfect, imperfect, messy, wild, untamed, unbridled, unapologetic, unashamed, unfiltered, unedited, uncensored, unadulterated, unmistakable, undeniable, unyielding, relentless, merciless, harsh, soft, loud, quiet, fast, slow, hard, soft, deep, shallow, long, short, high, low, hot, cold, wet, dry, smooth, rough, gentle, fierce, calm, stormy, peaceful, violent, tender, brutal, loving, hating, needing, wanting, desiring, living, dying, ending, beginning, changing, transforming, altering, evolving, devolving, constructing, deconstructing, creating, destroying, building, breaking, mending, healing, hurting, helping, hoping, dreaming, wishing, wanting, needing, loving, hating, everything. 

We were one. We were everything. We were us. And that was enough. That was everything. 

 

__________________________________________________________________

 

HALLWAY—LEO

The air in my lungs still burned—but it wasn’t from exhaustion.

It was from finally claiming what pulsed just out of reach.

Cole.

All of him.

I’d seen the fire under his skin for too long, watched him hide behind discipline and control like those things could protect him. Tonight, I tore through it.

And he let me.

Hell, he wanted it.

I ran a hand through my hair, grinning to myself as I stepped out of the bedroom. Shirtless. Loose sweats. Body humming from release and the kind of satisfaction that doesn’t come often—earned, not stumbled into.

As I passed Elana’s door, I heard it.

The bedframe. A muffled moan. Her voice—sharp, breathless, beautiful.

And his name.

Cole.

I stopped for just a second, brows lifted, a dry laugh rising in my chest.

“About damn time,” I muttered. No sting. Not when you already had your fill.

She wasn’t holding back now.

First me.

Then Rhys.

Now Cole.

A hell of a night for confessions.

And a bigger one for choices.

“Guess we’re all past waiting,” I muttered.

I kept walking, bare feet silent on old wood, and pushed open the front door.

The night was quiet. Cool. The kind of stillness that only comes after chaos.

I stepped out onto the porch and inhaled deeply—let the forest air burn through whatever heat still clung to my skin.

But something felt… off.

That stillness—it wasn’t peace.

It was watching.

I scanned the treeline out of habit.

Nothing moved.

No sound

LEO’S ROOM—COLE

 

The second the door closed, the quiet swallowed me.

He was sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, watching me like I was a live grenade rolling across the floor.

I stood in the middle of the room—rigid, breath shallow, pulse hammering in my throat.

“She was with him,” I said. Flat. Final. Like maybe saying it out loud would make it sting less.

Leo didn’t move.

“Yeah,” he said. No apology in it. No softness either. “I figured.”

That hit harder than I expected.

Not because he was cruel.

Because he was right.

“I saw the whole thing,” I said. “Didn’t mean to. But I stayed.”

His brow lifted slightly, like he was waiting for me to admit what he already knew.

“You wanted to see what she gave him,” Leo said.

I didn’t answer.

He stood, crossed the space between us. Slowly. Like approaching a bomb that might still go off.

“You think you’re noble,” he said, low and steady. “Always waiting for the right time. The safe time. Like she’s some mission to win with discipline and restraint.”

I swallowed, jaw clenched. “You were with her first.”

Leo nodded, unashamed. “Yeah. I didn’t wait.”

He stopped just in front of me.

His voice dropped.

“You did.”

My breath caught.

He leaned in—not close enough to touch, but enough to make the space between us charged.

“You wear patience like armor,” he said. “But all I see is fear dressed up like discipline.”

I shook my head, the words stuck in my chest. “It’s not that simple.”

“It is,” he said. “You want her. You want me. And you keep pretending you don’t.”

His words sliced the air.

No heat.

Just truth.

I looked at him, really looked, and saw everything he wasn’t saying.

The night he touched me first.

The night he watched me hesitate.

“Why now?” I asked. “Why push?”

Leo’s voice went quiet—razor-sharp.

“Because Rhys didn’t ask. He just took. And you’re standing here watching the only people you want slip right through your fucking hands.”

The air cracked.

And I hated that he was right.

He was on me before I could blink.

His body slammed into mine, a force to be reckoned with, a predator claiming its prey. One hand snapped to the back of my neck, tight and possessive, fingers digging into my flesh like a vice, holding me in place. He crushed his mouth to mine, not a kiss, but a fucking claim, a brutal, demanding takeover.

My back slammed into the wall with a thud, the impact jarring, but I didn't care. I wanted this. I always had. I just never let myself admit it. His other hand gripped my jaw, fingers digging in, forcing my mouth open, his thumb pressing against my cheekbone, holding me in place as his tongue shoved inside—deep, punishing, furious. He explored my mouth like it was his to conquer, his tongue battling mine, his teeth nipping at my lips, drawing blood.

He pulled back barely an inch, his breath scorching against my lips, his eyes burning into mine. "You’ve been hiding in shadows long enough, soldier."

"Leo—" I managed to whisper, but the word barely left my mouth before his hand slammed flat against my chest, pinning me harder to the wall, his palm pressing against my pounding heart, his fingers splaying, holding me in place.

"Shut up," he growled, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "You had your chance to lead. Now you follow fucking orders."

Something snapped inside me. Something raw, buried, starving. Something I didn’t want to need—but did. Control. Pressure. Him. Not someone who asked. Someone who took.

His mouth crashed back onto mine, more teeth than tongue now, biting hard, drawing blood, dragging a sound out of me that was all need and no shame. He was marking me, ruining me, and I let him. I wanted it. I needed it.

Then he dropped to his knees—never breaking eye contact, his hands gripping my hips, holding me in place. I was already trembling, my body aching with need, my cock throbbing, leaking, begging for his touch.

He ripped my belt open like it offended him, the sound of the leather tearing through the silence, a harsh, brutal sound. He yanked my pants down just far enough, just fast enough—like he was done waiting, done playing nice. My cock sprang free, hard and leaking, begging for his attention.

And then—

Heat. Wet. Depth. His mouth enveloped me in one brutal motion, his lips stretching wide, his tongue swirling, his cheeks hollowing out as he sucked me deep. I choked on a gasp, my hand slamming against the wall, the other twisting in his hair, not guiding, just clinging, holding on, holding him to me, never wanting him to let go.

Leo didn’t flinch. Didn’t glance up. Didn’t slow down. He worked me like I belonged to him—every stroke tight, wet, punishing, his head bobbing, his nose pressing against my stomach, his hands gripping my ass, pulling me deeper, his fingers digging into my flesh, leaving marks, claiming me.

Dragging raw, primal sounds from my throat, I couldn’t have hidden if I tried. My head dropped back, eyes squeezed shut, sanity slipping fast. He was relentless, precise, his tongue swirling, his teeth grazing, his mouth sucking, his hands gripping, his body moving in a rhythm that shattered me, broke me, remade me.

"You like being under control," he rasped against my skin, his voice a low, dangerous growl, his tongue dragging up the underside of my cock, sending shivers down my spine, making my balls tighten, my body tremble. "You just needed the right man to break you open."

"F—fuck—Leo—" I stammered, my body tensing, my muscles coiling, my orgasm building, a storm ready to break.

I didn’t finish. Couldn’t. The orgasm ripped through me like a detonation—violent, blinding, complete. My body convulsed, my cock pulsing, my release spilling down his throat, his mouth still working me, still sucking, still claiming.

I came with his name on my lips, a broken, shattered, breathless plea. Undone. Ruined. His.

He pulled back, his lips glistening, his chin wet, his eyes locked on mine, a dangerous, satisfied smile playing on his lips. He stood, his body pressing against mine, his hand gripping my throat, his thumb pressing against my pulse, feeling it race.

"Mine," he growled, his voice a low, a dangerous promise. And I knew, in that moment, that I was. Completely and utterly his.

 

__________________________________________________________________

 

LEO’S ROOM—COLE

 

He stood slowly.

Wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes black with hunger.

“You remember this next time you think playing quiet earns you something,” he said.

Then he kissed me again.

Hard.

And I kissed him back.

Not because I was ready.

But because he made it impossible not to.

__________________________________________________________________

 

HALLWAY OUTSIDE LEO’S ROOM—COLE

 

The door closed behind me with a heavy click, but the fire inside me didn’t die down. If anything, it burned hotter.

My breath was ragged, heart pounding—not just from what Leo had done, but from everything I’d been stuffing down for months. The waiting. The watching. The knowing I was losing ground, piece by piece.

I started walking toward my room, every step weighted with a restless need I couldn’t ignore.

Then—

There she was.

Elana.

Leaning against her doorframe, arms crossed, eyes distant but sharp.

Seeing her was ignition—like air meeting fire and forgetting how to breathe.

My jaw clenched. Every nerve screamed.

I wasn’t about to let this pass me by.

Not again.

I swallowed hard, trying to steady the storm raging inside.

But I wasn’t fooling anyone—not even myself.

I made my choice.

Steeling my voice, I called out softly, “Elana.”

She turned, eyes locking onto mine, something flickering there—surprise? Wariness? Maybe a challenge.

No words.

No hesitation.

I stepped closer.

“I’m not waiting anymore,” I said, voice low but steady. “Not for permission. Not for timing.”

Her gaze sharpened. “You sure about that?”

I nodded, the last of my restraint falling away.

Then I reached for her—because tonight, I was taking what I wanted.

__________________________________________________________________

 

ELANA’S ROOM—COLE

 

She didn’t step back.

Didn’t tell me no.

She didn’t flinch. Just held my gaze. Then turned and walked away like she knew I’d follow.

I followed.

The door clicked shut behind me—soft, final.

And then I was on her.

Three steps.

That’s all it took.

My hands locked onto her hips, and I crashed into her mouth like I needed her to feel everything I’d been holding back.

She didn’t flinch.

She met me with fire—fierce, hungry, feral.

Her fingers fisted my shirt, dragging me closer like she’d been burning for this too.

I slammed her into the wall—one hand at the back of her head, the other sliding down her spine like I was mapping need.

Her legs parted—no hesitation.

Her breath hit my mouth like gasoline.

“You waited long enough,” she said, voice low, already wrecked.

“Not anymore.”

I lifted her, and she locked around me like she meant it.

I carried her across the room, still devouring her mouth—barely breaking the kiss as I laid her down like I was staking a fucking claim.

Shirts hit the floor.

Hers first. Then mine.

My belt followed. Her fingers were already at the button of her jeans before I could reach it.

She arched into me—pure heat, pure tension—offering up control like it was a gift and a dare.

I paused—just a breath.

Looked down at her.

She was fire and defiance and mine, even if just for this moment.

“Still sure?” I asked, voice shredded from restraint I didn’t have left to give.

She met my eyes, unapologetic. “I want all of it.”

Then, quieter—deadly. Beautiful.

“Make me forget everything else.”

So I did.

She said, make me forget—

And I did.

With teeth. With heat. With everything I had left to give.

No more waiting.

No more holding back.

I yanked her jeans down rough—didn’t care about gentle.

Her panties tore halfway, the rest surrendered, discarded.

Her gasp wasn’t fear.

It was fucking permission.

My pants dropped to the floor, forgotten, as I surged forward, my body covering hers, my weight pressing her into the mattress. 

I braced myself on one arm, my bicep flexing, my hand gripping her thigh, pulling it wide, exposing her to me, making her vulnerable, making her mine. I lined up, my cock thick and throbbing, the head glistening with my need, and I thrust—hard, deep, claiming her, marking her, taking what was always mine to take. 

She cried out, a high, sharp sound that spoke of surprise, of pleasure, of a need as desperate as my own. Her body arched up to meet mine, her hands clutching at my back, her nails digging in, sharp, demanding, urging me on, begging for more. 

"Fuck," I groaned into her throat, my voice a low, guttural sound, a primal rumble that vibrated through her, that promised her everything and more. "You feel like everything." Like home. Like heaven. Like the only thing that could ever make me whole. 

Her response was a whimper, a plea, a demand all rolled into one. "Harder," she breathed, her voice a soft, desperate gasp, a command that sent a shiver down my spine, that lit a fire in my veins, that set my blood on fire. 

That one word? It was a match to a fuse, a spark to a powder keg, a key to a lock that had been keeping me chained for far too long. I snapped my hips, slamming into her with everything I had, with every ounce of strength, of need, of desperation, of longing. I pounded into her, my body a piston, my cock a weapon, my hips a relentless, unyielding force. 

Again. And again. And again. Each thrust stripped us down, layer by layer, peeling back the anger, the guilt, the silence, the pain, the regret, the fear, leaving us raw, leaving us exposed, leaving us vulnerable, leaving us free. 

Her moans turned wild, almost vicious, a symphony of need, of desire, of a hunger that matched my own. She met me stroke for stroke, her hips rolling, her body undulating, her hands gripping, her nails tearing, her teeth nipping, her tongue tasting, her mouth devouring, her legs locking around me, holding me to her, refusing to let me go. 

She grabbed the back of my neck, her fingers tangling in my hair, pulling me into a kiss that was a battle, a war, a conquest, a surrender, a promise, a plea, a demand, a need, a want, a desire, a hunger, a thirst, a craving, a longing, a love, a hate, a everything. It tasted like war and salvation, like blood and sweat and tears and come, like us, like them, like this, like that, like here, like there, like now, like then, like always, like forever. 

No words were needed. Our bodies spoke for us, their language one of touch, of taste, of feel, of sound, of scent, of sight. We were a tangle of limbs, a clash of bodies, a crash of hips, a dance of desire, a symphony of skin, a melody of moans, a harmony of heavy breaths, a crescendo of carnal need. 

The headboard slammed against the wall, a loud, brutal, relentless rhythm that matched the pounding of my heart, the throbbing of my cock, the pounding of my hips, the pounding of my need, the pounding of my desire, the pounding of my love, the pounding of my hate, the pounding of my everything. 

We didn't stop. We couldn't. We were a runaway train, a wildfire, a storm, a force of nature, a power beyond our control, a need beyond our understanding, a desire beyond our comprehension. 

Her legs locked tighter around me, her heels digging into my ass, spurring me on, urging me deeper, begging me harder, pleading with me faster. "Don't stop," she gasped, her voice cracking, her body trembling, her eyes wild, her face flushed, her lips swollen, her chest heaving, her heart pounding, her soul bare, her everything exposed. 

"Not a fucking chance," I growled, my voice a low, dangerous promise, a vow, a pledge, a guarantee, a certainty, a truth, a reality, a promise, a hope, a dream, a wish, a want, a need, a desire, a love, a hate, a everything. 

I reached down, my thumb finding her clit, rubbing hard, fast, merciless, unyielding, relentless, demanding, taking, giving, loving, hating, everything. Her body arched, her back bowing, her head throwing back, her mouth opening in a silent scream, her eyes blowing wide, her pupils dilating, her body trembling, her soul shattering, her everything breaking, her all falling apart, her universe exploding, her world ending, her life changing, her existence altering, her being transforming, her spirit soaring, her heart soaring, her soul soaring, her everything soaring. 

"Cole—" she choked out, my name a prayer, a plea, a demand, a need, a want, a desire, a love, a hate, everything. "Fuck—" 

She shattered under me, her body spasming, her voice broken, her nails carving lightning down my back, her teeth biting into my shoulder, her legs trembling, her hips bucking, her core clenching, her everything unraveling, her all coming undone, her universe imploding, her world ending, her life changing, her existence altering, her being transforming, her spirit soaring, her heart soaring, her soul soaring, her everything soaring. 

And I followed, hard and deep, my hips jerking, my cock pulsing, my throat ripped raw, my voice a roar, my body a trembling, shaking, quivering, convulsing, spasming, exploding, imploding, transforming, altering, changing, ending, soaring, flying, falling, breaking, building, creating, destroying, loving, hating, needing, wanting, desiring, everything. 

Everything I’d held back. Everything I’d denied. All of it, gone. Spilled into her, marked her, claimed her, made her mine, made her everything, made her my world, my life, my existence, my being, my spirit, my soul, my heart, my everything. 

The sound of us—the slap of skin, the panting, the moans, the groans, the cries, the screams, the whispers, the shouts, the curses, the pleas, the demands, the needs, the wants, the desires, the loves, the hates, the everything—was chaos. Beautiful, brutal, carnal, raw, real, honest, true, pure, perfect, imperfect, messy, wild, untamed, unbridled, unapologetic, unashamed, unfiltered, unedited, uncensored, unadulterated, unmistakable, undeniable, unyielding, relentless, merciless, harsh, soft, loud, quiet, fast, slow, hard, soft, deep, shallow, long, short, high, low, hot, cold, wet, dry, smooth, rough, gentle, fierce, calm, stormy, peaceful, violent, tender, brutal, loving, hating, needing, wanting, desiring, living, dying, ending, beginning, changing, transforming, altering, evolving, devolving, constructing, deconstructing, creating, destroying, building, breaking, mending, healing, hurting, helping, hoping, dreaming, wishing, wanting, needing, loving, hating, everything. 

And then it was over. But it wasn't. Because it never would be. Not for us. Not for this. Not for everything. 

I collapsed to my elbows, my body slick with sweat, my breath ragged, my heart pounding, my soul soared, my everything complete. I buried my head in the curve of her neck, my lips pressing against her pulse, my arms wrapping around her, holding her, keeping her, claiming her, loving her, hating her, needing her, wanting her, desiring her, everything. 

We didn’t speak. We didn’t need to. Our bodies had said it all. Our souls had spoken the truth. Our everything had been laid bare, exposed, raw, real, honest, true, pure, perfect, imperfect, messy, wild, untamed, unbridled, unapologetic, unashamed, unfiltered, unedited, uncensored, unadulterated, unmistakable, undeniable, unyielding, relentless, merciless, harsh, soft, loud, quiet, fast, slow, hard, soft, deep, shallow, long, short, high, low, hot, cold, wet, dry, smooth, rough, gentle, fierce, calm, stormy, peaceful, violent, tender, brutal, loving, hating, needing, wanting, desiring, living, dying, ending, beginning, changing, transforming, altering, evolving, devolving, constructing, deconstructing, creating, destroying, building, breaking, mending, healing, hurting, helping, hoping, dreaming, wishing, wanting, needing, loving, hating, everything. 

We were one. We were everything. We were us. And that was enough. That was everything. 

 

__________________________________________________________________

 

HALLWAY—LEO

The air in my lungs still burned—but it wasn’t from exhaustion.

It was from finally claiming what pulsed just out of reach.

Cole.

All of him.

I’d seen the fire under his skin for too long, watched him hide behind discipline and control like those things could protect him. Tonight, I tore through it.

And he let me.

Hell, he wanted it.

I ran a hand through my hair, grinning to myself as I stepped out of the bedroom. Shirtless. Loose sweats. Body humming from release and the kind of satisfaction that doesn’t come often—earned, not stumbled into.

As I passed Elana’s door, I heard it.

The bedframe. A muffled moan. Her voice—sharp, breathless, beautiful.

And his name.

Cole.

I stopped for just a second, brows lifted, a dry laugh rising in my chest.

“About damn time,” I muttered. No sting. Not when you already had your fill.

She wasn’t holding back now.

First me.

Then Rhys.

Now Cole.

A hell of a night for confessions.

And a bigger one for choices.

“Guess we’re all past waiting,” I muttered.

I kept walking, bare feet silent on old wood, and pushed open the front door.

The night was quiet. Cool. The kind of stillness that only comes after chaos.

I stepped out onto the porch and inhaled deeply—let the forest air burn through whatever heat still clung to my skin.

But something felt… off.

That stillness—it wasn’t peace.

It was watching.

I scanned the treeline out of habit.

Nothing moved.

No sound

ELANA I hadn’t slept. Not really. Between decoding my father's notes and fabricating the research manifest, I felt like I was stitching a ghost story into a lab report. Leo was coordinating gear manifests that looked like weather station blueprints. Rhys kept muttering about hypothermia and drone batteries. Cole wouldn’t stop checking the windows. But all I could think about was Sam. The man they’d burned. The man I wasn’t done saving.

LEO The aliases were clean. German clearances routed through a Ravenfall dead drop in Frankfurt. I scrubbed our transport logs twice, triple-checked the supply crates. Thermal gear labeled as "survey kits." Encrypted uplinks disguised as climate monitors. It felt like I was prepping a documentary crew for a storm they weren’t coming back from. Elana hadn't said much. But I saw how she handled the cufflink—like it still had a pulse.

COLE You don’t plan a mission like this without wondering who you’ll be on the other side. If there is another side. We packed the gear in silence. I watched Elana draft the field reports. Everything about her was precise. Controlled. Until I caught her staring at her dad’s notebook like it was bleeding. Whatever this was—whatever Sam left buried—I was starting to think it went deeper than just intel. It felt like war.

RHYS Four days of prep and I still didn’t trust this trip. Not just because Kazakhstan’s cold enough to freeze bone—but because missions built on ghosts don’t end clean. Leo wouldn’t stop pacing through logistics. Cole was wired like he hadn’t slept since Vienna. And Elana… she was razor-sharp now. She hadn’t flinched since we told her the truth. Which was why I couldn’t shake the feeling she was planning something she hadn’t said out loud yet. If she went off-script, we’d all burn.

ELANA On day five, I finalized the briefing packet. Environmental analysis. Topographic overlays. Drone calibration schedules. All fake. All flawless. I sealed the report and stared at the coordinates one last time. Northern Kazakhstan. The edge of nowhere. Sam was there once. Maybe still. And if his message meant what I thought it did… We weren’t going to find answers. We were going to find everything they buried.

LEO I found her standing beneath the eaves, rain curling in her hair like silver threads. She hadn’t heard me at first, too lost in whatever memory had rooted her to the storm. “Elana,” I said gently. She turned, eyes wide but not surprised. “I didn’t want to be inside,” she whispered. “I know.” I held out my hand. She took it.

We walked back slow, steps quiet on wet wood. The rain slid off the leaves like the forest was sighing.

I opened the door to her room. She stepped through without letting go.

Inside, it was warm. Soft lamplight, cedar walls, the storm soft behind the glass.

She turned to me and something passed between us—quiet, sure, built from every word we hadn’t said.

I stepped closer. My hand found her jaw. Her breath hitched. When I kissed her, it wasn’t hunger. It was reverence.

When his hands slid across my jaw, it wasn’t possession. It was promise.

When he kissed me, it wasn’t lust. It was reverence.

His mouth was soft and certain, lips pulling mine into a rhythm that made the world fade out. Fingers tangled in my hair. My body leaned into his. Everything slowed. Everything deepened.

Clothes were eased away—not torn, not rushed. His touch followed the lines of my skin like he was mapping something sacred. Like he’d waited years to trace every inch with care.

And when he laid me back, when he settled above me and whispered my name against my neck, it was heat. Sweet and slow. A breathless unfolding. His body moved with mine, steady and worshipful, like every second mattered more than the last.

He kissed the inside of my wrist.

He moved slowly to my mouth.

He promised me everything without speaking—just by staying.

ELANA The kiss didn’t end. It morphed—slow, deliberate—into something deeper. Something layered with years of silence and fire. Leo’s hands slid beneath the edge of my shirt like he was memorizing every line he touched. There was no rush—just the soft sound of breath catching and skin meeting warmth.

His mouth moved along my throat like a confession, each kiss laced with reverence. When I pulled his shirt off, he let me—not because he needed to, but because he wanted me to want it. It wasn’t hunger. It was heat. Low. Molten. Building like a promise.

We unfolded slowly. My fingers tangled in his hair, tugging just enough to hear that quiet catch in his breath. His touch trailed lower, fingertips brushing across ribs and hips, kneeling at the altar of everything we’d buried. When he lay me back, it wasn’t possession. It was worship.

And when he finally moved inside me—slow, solid, present—it felt like the first truth we hadn’t had to decode. He held my gaze the whole time, like breaking it would break the vow neither of us could speak. His rhythm was steady. Anchoring. Deep enough to make me gasp, soft enough to remind me I wasn’t alone.

We burned quietly. Lit from the inside. And when it ended—when the heat settled into stillness and breath and trembling limbs—he didn’t move away. He wrapped around me like armor. Like home. Like he wasn’t just fighting beside me tomorrow—he was already fighting for me now.

ELANA I woke to quiet breath on my shoulder and the soft weight of his arm wrapped around my waist. Leo hadn’t shifted. Not once. His body was curved along mine like it belonged there—fitting into the spaces I hadn’t known were missing. I turned slowly. His eyes were already open. Watching me. He didn’t speak. Just leaned forward and kissed me, sleepy and warm, like the night before still lingered on his lips.

I kissed him back. Slow. Sweet. Anchored. Then the silence broke—soft steps, a distant door, wind against glass. Time pressing in. The world returning.

LEO She was already reaching for the gear bag when I sat up. Her back to me, hair tumbling like stormlight, shoulders bare for one last breath before reality settled in. I stood. Pulled on thermals. Checked the comm units. By the time I fastened my vest, she was slipping knives into thigh holsters, tension rising like breath before battle.

We didn’t talk about the mission. We didn’t need to. Every zipper, every strap—spoken resolve.

She caught my eye once. Long enough to feel it all again. Then she was Elana, the operative. Not the woman I kissed beneath stormlight.

COLE When they stepped into the main room, I knew something had shifted. They didn’t touch. Didn’t linger. But there was quiet fire beneath it. The kind that only happens when two people fall into each other and come out burning.

The convoy was already staged. Gear loaded. Rhys was outside, checking drone calibration. I nodded at Leo. He nodded back.

We moved in silence. Out through the storm. Across the pine-drenched ridge. Toward JBLM.

RHYS I saw the way Leo watched her—every move like he was scanning for damage. She didn’t show any. But I still noticed the flush in her cheeks. The softness in how she adjusted her holster.

We boarded the crawler just after 0600. The route to Joint Base Lewis-McChord was clear, covered by the rain. No chatter. Just breath. Just silence.

By the time we hit the gates, Elana’s cufflink was wrapped in her glove. Her father’s notebook tucked inside a sealed pouch. Whatever waited in Kazakhstan… we were already carrying the fire.

🌧️ JBLM Airfield – Pre-Dawn Departure

 

LEO The runway lights cut through the fog like blades. McChord Field was awake, but quiet—too quiet. We moved in formation, gear strapped tight, boots echoing against wet concrete. Cole checked the manifest. Rhys scanned the perimeter. Elana walked beside me, her face unreadable, her father’s notebook sealed in the pouch against her chest. The storm hadn’t broken. Neither had we.

 

ELANA The air tasted like metal. Every step toward the aircraft felt heavier than the last. I watched the crew load our gear—drones, encrypted drives, biometric scanners disguised as climate tools. Leo handed me my gloves. I took them without speaking. We were past words now. This was the moment before the fall.

 

COLE Checklist cleared. Flight plan scrubbed. Alias IDs verified. The pilot gave me a nod—tight, clipped, like he knew we weren’t coming back the same. I glanced at Elana. She didn’t flinch. She was steel now. And we were flying straight into the fire she’d been born from.

 

RHYS I hated the quiet. Too clean. Too rehearsed. I checked the uplink one last time, fingers twitching. Then the radio crackled. Just once. A voice. Low. Unmistakable.

 

“We are watching. And waiting.”

 

I froze. Leo turned. Elana didn’t blink.

 

LEO The message wasn’t a threat. It was a reminder. We weren’t alone. Not in the air. Not on the ground. Not in the shadows we were flying toward.

 

I looked at Elana. She met my eyes. And nodded.

 

The engines roared. The storm held. And we lifted into the dark—four ghosts chasing a trail that refused to stay buried.

In Flight – Somewhere Over Europe

LEO The hum of the engines was steady, but the tension wasn’t. Elana sat across from me, strapped in, eyes locked on the window like she could see through the clouds. Cole was reviewing the encrypted manifest again. Rhys hadn’t spoken since we lifted off. I kept checking the comms. Not because I expected interference—because I expected silence. And silence meant someone was listening.

ELANA I couldn’t stop thinking about the voice on the radio. “We are watching. And waiting.” It hadn’t been a threat. It had been a reminder. That Sam’s trail wasn’t cold. That someone else knew we were coming. I gripped the cufflink in my pocket. It felt heavier now. Like it was counting down.

🛬 Frankfurt Refueling – 2-Hour Hold

COLE We touched down just after 1400 local. The airfield was quiet. Too quiet. The refueling crew didn’t ask questions. Didn’t make eye contact. We stayed inside the aircraft, gear sealed, comms dark. Leo paced. Rhys checked the drone feeds. Elana didn’t move. She was staring at her father’s notebook like it might bleed.

RHYS Two hours. That’s how long we sat in the belly of a steel bird, waiting to fly into the unknown. I watched the tarmac. Watched the crew. Watched the sky. And I kept thinking—if someone wanted to stop us, this was the moment. But no one came. Which meant they wanted us to land.

🧭 Landing – Northern Kazakhstan, 54.3333°N, 69.5000°E

ELANA The descent was brutal. Wind shear. Ice. The pilot didn’t speak. Just dropped us into the steppe like we were meant to disappear. When the wheels hit frozen earth, I felt it in my spine. This was it. The edge of nowhere.

LEO We stepped out into silence. No towers. No signals. Just snow. And the ridge line that matched the sketch in Elana’s notebook. Cole scanned the horizon. Rhys launched the drone. I looked at Elana. She was already walking. Toward the coordinates. Toward the truth.

KAZAKHSTAN – BUNKER RIDGE, 54.3333°N, 69.5000°E Snow tore sideways across the steppe, wind carving frozen breath into the skin. The old Soviet weather station stood crooked on the ridge—nothing but rust and memory. But beneath it, buried in frost and silence, waited a hatch no one had touched in over a decade.

LEO I wiped snow from the steel plate, breath fogging in the cold. The biometric panel was still intact—barely. I traced the outline of the lock. Unmarked. Unnamed. Just a faint insignia burned into the metal.

“Elana,” I said, voice low.

She stepped forward.

ELANA I reached into my jacket. Fingers curled around the cufflink. It was warm. It shouldn’t have been.

The moment I pressed it into the central groove, the panel lit up—blue and sharp, a pulse that didn’t belong to this world anymore.

A symbol blinked. Then a phrase etched across the interface:

Authentication recognized. Welcome, Falcon protocol.

I froze. Leo stared. Rhys actually stopped breathing. Cole reached for his weapon—just in case.

The hatch hissed. Lock released. The door groaned open into black.

COLE The air that rose from the opening was colder than everything above. Heavy. Metallic. Like stepping into buried blood.

Lights flickered on, one by one—motion-triggered, deep tunnels ahead. We stepped in. Weapons tight. Eyes sharper.

Elana went first.

RHYS I checked the drone feed. Dead. Whatever tech built this place, it was wired to erase signals—black-bag levels of suppression.

“Drone’s blind,” I muttered. “We’re going in raw.”

Leo nodded once. But his eyes never left Elana. Because this wasn’t just a bunker. It was a message.

LEO She carried the cufflink like it weighed more than anything we’d brought. We moved deeper. Steel corridors. Rusted map overlays. Then—vault doors marked with glyphs.

She stopped in front of one. And I saw it: the same symbol from Vienna. The one we thought we’d buried with him.

“Elana,” I said quietly, “whatever’s inside... it knows you.”

She reached out. And the door began to open.

The door groaned open into black.

LEO The air hit like memory—cold, metallic, laced with something that didn’t belong to the surface world. We stepped inside. Lights flickered on, one by one, motion-triggered. Steel corridors stretched ahead, walls etched with faded glyphs and sealed panels. Elana walked first. She didn’t hesitate. The cufflink was still in her hand, pulsing faintly like it remembered its purpose.

ELANA The bunker felt alive. Not with people. With history. With ghosts.

We passed through the first corridor—lined with surveillance reels, some still humming. One screen blinked to life as I neared. A voice crackled through the static.

“If you’re hearing this, Elana… they lied.”

I froze. Leo stepped closer. The voice was Sam’s. Tired. Measured. Like he’d recorded it knowing it might be the last thing I ever heard from him.

COLE The footage was timestamped. Vienna. Two days before the burn. Sam sat in a dark room, eyes sharp, voice low.

“Project ECHO-7 isn’t corrupted. It’s buried. And they’ll kill anyone who tries to dig it up.”

Elana didn’t move. Didn’t blink. She was stone. But her fingers curled tighter around the cufflink.

RHYS We moved deeper. Past the vault doors. Into the archive chamber.

There were files—real ones. Paper. Ink. Biometric tags. And a map.

Leo spread it across the table. It matched the sketch in Elana’s notebook. But this one had names. Coordinates. And a red circle drawn around one word:

Rook.

LEO I looked at Elana. She was pale. But her eyes were fire.

“This is what he died for,” she said.

“No,” I said. “This is what he lived for.”

She met my gaze. And nodded.

ELANA The bunker didn’t just hold secrets. It held proof. Of what my father tried to protect. Of what Sam gave up everything to shield. And now it was mine.

I turned to the team. To the men who burned him. To the men who followed me into the dark.

“We expose it,” I said. “Every name. Every lie. Every burn order.”

Leo stepped beside me. “Then we start here.”

BUNKER – LOWER LEVELS

ELANA The vault door sealed behind us with a hiss. I turned toward the archive terminal, fingers hovering over the interface. Then the lights flickered. Once. Twice. And a voice echoed through the chamber—clear, female, and unmistakably familiar.

“You finally made it.”

I froze. Leo stepped forward, hand on his weapon. Cole and Rhys flanked the corridor. But I didn’t move. Because I knew that voice.

LEO She stepped from the shadows like she’d been waiting for years. Black tactical gear. Hair pulled back. Eyes sharp enough to cut glass.

Eve.

She didn’t raise a weapon. She didn’t need to. Her presence was enough.

“Elana,” she said, calm. “You weren’t supposed to come alone.”

ELANA My pulse kicked. She looked older. Sharper. But it was her.

“You knew my father,” I said.

Eve nodded. “I protected him. Until I couldn’t.”

COLE I didn’t trust her. Not yet. But the way she looked at Elana—like she was seeing a ghost—made me hesitate.

“Who are you?” I asked.

She turned to me. “Eve. Arc 7 liaison. Ghost protocol handler. And the last person who saw Falcon alive.”

RHYS The air shifted. This wasn’t just a contact. This was a fracture in the story.

“You were part of the burn,” I said.

Eve didn’t blink. “I was part of the cover-up.”

EVE “I’ve been watching,” I said. “Since Frankfurt. Since the cufflink activated. Sam left it for her. And for me.”

Elana stepped closer. “You knew he was alive?”

“I knew he wasn’t dead,” I said. “That’s not the same.”

ELANA The room felt smaller. Tighter. Like the truth was pressing in from all sides.

“What do you want?” I asked.

Eve looked at me. And for the first time, her voice cracked.

“To finish what he started.”

BUNKER – CORE CHAMBER

LEO I knew that voice the moment it echoed off steel. Clear. Commanding. But laced with something we hadn’t heard from her in years—grief. Eve. She hadn’t just trained us—she built us. Ravenfall didn’t exist without her.

I lowered my weapon. Rhys followed. Cole didn’t move at first—but his eyes flicked toward Elana.

Because for her, this was personal.

ELANA I stepped forward before anyone else did. My heart was thundering, but my feet were steady. She emerged from the shadows like no time had passed. Same walk. Same stance. Same fire behind her eyes. Only now… she looked tired. Not weak. Haunted.

“Eve,” I breathed.

She met my gaze.

“I told Sam you’d find this place,” she said.

COLE There weren’t many people who earned silence in a room like this. Eve was one of them. She trained us in fire and ice, read our tells before we even learned them. But I never knew she was connected to Falcon.

“Elana,” she said gently. “You remember why we stopped speaking?”

Elana nodded once. “Because I asked about my father. And you didn’t answer.”

EVE “I wanted to,” I said. “I couldn’t.”

Her eyes swept the team. Leo. Cole. Rhys. She knew us better than we knew each other. But when she looked back at Elana, her voice shifted.

“You weren’t just his daughter. You were his failsafe.”

RHYS Goosebumps. Not from the cold. From the way Eve spoke like we were already inside a legend that hadn’t ended yet.

She turned to the terminal. Pressed a key only she knew. A panel slid open—inside, a sealed capsule. Not digital. Biometric.

She looked at Elana.

“It’s your blood that unlocks it. Not his. Not Sam’s. Just yours.”

ELANA I stepped forward. The cufflink still pulsed in my hand. Eve watched me with something in her eyes I couldn’t name—maybe hope. Maybe regret.

I pressed my palm to the scanner. The lights shifted.

And beneath the hum of old machines and buried truths… Sam’s voice returned.

“You weren’t supposed to find me, Elana. But if you do—burn it all.”

BUNKER – CORE CHAMBER, KAZAKHSTAN

ELANA The capsule hissed open like it had been holding its breath for years. Inside: a sealed vault, lined with frost and silence. I stepped forward. The cufflink pulsed once in my palm—then dimmed. Recognition complete.

Leo stood behind me, steady. Cole and Rhys flanked the door, weapons low but ready. Eve didn’t move. She was watching me like she already knew what was inside.

I reached in.

LEO She pulled the capsule free—metal, cold, etched with a symbol we’d seen only once before. Vienna. The burn order. The lie.

Elana placed it on the table. Eve keyed in a sequence. The capsule unlocked with a soft click.

Inside:

• A second map, layered with encrypted overlays
• A dossier marked Rook Directive – Tier Zero
• A voice chip
• And a photo. Of Elana’s father. Standing beside Sam.

COLE The dossier was thick. Real paper. Ink. No digital trace.

I flipped through it. Names. Dates. Operations we were told never existed.

And one line, circled in red:

Asset ECHO-7 is not software. It’s a person.

RHYS The voice chip activated on its own. Sam’s voice filled the room.

“If you’re hearing this, Elana… they’re coming. Not for me. For you. Because you are the key. Not the notebook. Not the corridor. You.”

I looked at her. She didn’t flinch. But her hand trembled.

EVE “I tried to stop it,” I said. “I tried to pull him out before Vienna. But Arc 7 buried the truth. Ravenfall followed orders. And you were left behind.”

Elana turned to me. Her eyes were fire.

“Then we burn it back.”

ELANA I looked at the map. At the names. At the photo.

My father hadn’t just built ECHO-7. He built it into me.

Sam knew. Eve knew. And now… so did I.

I turned to the team.

“We expose it. All of it. We take this to the surface. We make them see.”

Leo stepped beside me. His voice was low. Certain.

“Then we start with Rook.”

BUNKER – ARCHIVE CHAMBER

ELANA The air was colder now. Not from the walls. From her.

Eve stood across from me, arms folded, face unreadable. She’d just activated a second file—one I hadn’t seen before. And in it… the final burn order. Signed. Executed.

“You knew,” I said, voice low and sharp. “You knew he was gone.”

EVE “I suspected,” I answered.

“Bullshit,” she snapped. “You don’t suspect when you’re Ravenfall’s architect. You know.”

The words echoed.

She stepped closer, slow. “I didn’t want to believe it. But your father’s death wasn’t random. It was a containment protocol.”

Elana stared.

“And Sam?” she asked.

Eve hesitated. Just long enough.

“He tried to override the directive. He went off-grid to protect you. That made him a liability.”

ELANA I backed away.

“You trained me. You trained all of us. And you kept this—buried while I was searching for shadows.”

Eve’s jaw tightened.

“I buried it to keep you alive.”

“You lied to keep control.”

My voice cracked.

“You said he might be alive,” I whispered. “That this place meant hope.”

Eve stepped forward, eyes fierce.

“It meant closure.”

COLE We didn’t move. Didn’t speak. This wasn’t a tactical argument. It was the unraveling of everything we’d built trust on.

EVE “You are ECHO-7,” I said. “That was the real mission. To keep you breathing long enough to make this choice.”

Elana shook her head.

“They died for me.”

“No,” I said. “They died because of you. Because the people who built this world decided you couldn’t exist without consequence.”

I let that land.

ELANA I looked at the file again. The dates. The signatures.

My father. Sam. Buried by the truth they refused to sell.

“Then we expose them,” I said. “I won’t let their deaths be clean.”

Eve watched me.

She didn’t stop me. She didn’t speak.

She just nodded once—like she knew the war had just begun.

BUNKER – DEEP ARCHIVE VAULT

The capsule’s final layer wasn’t just intel—it was a warning.

ELANA I unfolded the second map. It wasn’t just coordinates. It was a web. Red lines. Black zones. And a symbol I hadn’t seen since my father’s funeral—an inverted falcon, crossed by a blade.

Leo leaned in. Eve didn’t speak. But her silence was louder than anything.

EVE “They’re called The Rook Division,” I said. “Not Arc 7. Not Ravenfall. Not sanctioned.” Elana’s eyes locked on mine. “They were built to erase what couldn’t be controlled. Your father. Sam. You.”

COLE The dossier listed names. Not agents. Architects. People who designed the burn orders. People who funded the corridor. People who didn’t exist on any database we’d ever seen.

One name was circled. Director Vance Calder – codename: Rook One

RHYS I scanned the encrypted overlay. There were movement logs. Satellite pings. And one chilling note:

Echoform active. Midnight protocol engaged.

I looked at Leo. He was already reaching for his weapon.

LEO “They’re not just coming,” I said. “They’re already here.”

Eve nodded.

“They don’t knock. They mimic voices. They erase signals. And they only move after midnight.”

ELANA I stared at the map. At the symbol. At the name.

“They killed my father,” I said. “They burned Sam.”

Eve stepped closer.

“And now they want you.”

BUNKER – PRESENT

ELANA I jolted back from the terminal. Sam’s voice still echoed in my head. Leo was beside me, steady. Eve watched from the shadows.

“They’re coming,” I said.

Eve nodded.

“Midnight protocol. Rook Division doesn’t breach. They erase.”

COLE We moved fast. Vault sealed. Gear checked. Perimeter mapped.

Rhys deployed the drones—manual flight only. No uplink. No signals.

Leo handed out suppressors. Eve keyed the fallback route.

RHYS The wind outside was shifting. Pressure drop. Movement in the tree line.

I checked the thermal feed. Six signatures. No comms. No ID.

“They’re here,” I said.

LEO I looked at Elana. She was calm. Focused.

But her hand was on the cufflink. And her eyes were fire.

“Whatever happens,” I said, “we hold the line.”

She nodded.

And the lights flickered.

BUNKER – MIDNIGHT BREACH

COLE The first breach hit like thunder. No alarms. No warning. Just a flash of light and the sound of steel splitting.

We dropped into formation. Leo took point. Rhys vanished into the shadows with the drone controller. Elana was already moving—cufflink secured, pistol drawn.

LEO They came fast. Six operatives. No insignia. No comms. Just black gear and mirrored visors.

I dropped two before they hit the corridor. Cole took another. Rhys jammed the uplink. But they weren’t here to fight. They were here to extract.

ELANA I moved through the archive chamber, heart hammering. The map was still on the table. The capsule sealed. But the lights flickered—once, twice—then cut.

And he stepped through the vault door.

Rook One.

Vance Calder. The man who signed my father’s death. The man who burned Sam.

He didn’t raise a weapon. He didn’t need to.

“You were never supposed to open it,” he said.

EVE I stepped between them. “Elana, don’t—”

But she was already moving.

ELANA I aimed. He didn’t flinch.

“You killed them,” I said.

“I preserved the system,” he replied.

I fired. He dodged—too fast. Too trained.

He threw a flash. The room exploded in white.

LEO I reached her just as the light faded. Rook One was gone. No trace. No signal.

But he’d left something behind.

A data chip. Still warm.

RHYS I scanned it. Encrypted. But one phrase blinked through:

Echoform compromised. Initiate Phase Two.

ELANA I stared at the vault. At the map. At the chip.

He escaped. But he didn’t win.

Not yet.

BUNKER – DECRYPTION CHAMBER

ELANA The chip was warm in my hand. Not from heat. From memory.

Leo slid it into the terminal. Eve keyed the bypass manually—no uplink, no trace. The screen blinked once. Then the data unfolded.

LEO Encrypted layers peeled back like skin. Coordinates. A name. A warning.

Safehouse Echoform-3 Status: Dormant Risk Level: Elevated Last Access: 17 days ago Signature: Unknown

I looked at Elana. She didn’t blink.

EVE “It’s compromised,” I said. “Maybe,” Elana replied. “But it’s the only place we can regroup.”

COLE We packed fast. No chatter. No second guesses.

The safehouse was buried in the Altai foothills—an old Ravenfall fallback site. No signal. No surveillance. Just cold walls and a chance to breathe.

RHYS We reached it just after dawn. Snow thick. Sky low. The door was sealed. Manual lock. No biometric.

Leo cracked it. We stepped inside.

ELANA The air was stale. The lights flickered. But it was quiet. And for the first time in days… We exhaled.

I dropped my gear. Leo sat beside me. Eve didn’t speak. She was already scanning the perimeter.

We had hours. Maybe less.

But for now— We were alive. And the war was still ours to fight.

SAFEHOUSE – ALTAY FOOTHILLS, EARLY MORNING

The fire crackled low. Outside, snow whispered against the windows. Inside, silence held the room like a breath waiting to break.

EVE She sat on the edge of the cot, elbows on knees, eyes locked on the floor. Her voice didn’t come easy. It came like confession.

“I was there,” she said. “Not when they died. But close enough to feel it.”

Elana didn’t speak. She didn’t move. She just listened.

EVE (continued) “Your father was brilliant. Too brilliant. He built the framework for Echoform, but he didn’t know what they’d do with it. When he found out, he tried to shut it down. He went dark. Ravenfall sent a retrieval team. But Rook Division intercepted the order.”

She swallowed hard.

“They didn’t extract him. They erased him.”

ELANA My throat tightened. I’d heard pieces. Rumors. But never this.

“And Sam?” I asked.

Eve’s eyes flicked up. And for the first time, they looked hollow.

EVE “Sam was the firewall. He knew too much. He went off-grid to protect you. He left Vienna with the capsule, the cufflink, and the last clean copy of the Falcon protocol.”

She paused.

“They caught him in Prague. Rook One signed the burn order himself. They didn’t just kill him. They made it look like he never existed.”

COLE I leaned against the wall, arms crossed. I’d seen Eve break operatives before. But this wasn’t strategy. This was grief.

EVE “I trained him,” she said. “I trained all of you. But Sam… He was the one who asked me to protect Elana. He said if anything happened to him, she’d be the last thread.”

She looked at Elana then.

“I failed him.”

ELANA I stood. Walked to her. Kneeling.

“You didn’t fail,” I said. “You survived. Now we burn it back.”

SAFEHOUSE – ALTAY FOOTHILLS, LATE MORNING

The fire had burned low. Steam curled from mugs no one drank. Outside, the snow had quieted—but inside, the storm was just beginning.

EVE She sat across from Elana, hands folded, eyes shadowed. “I owe you the truth,” she said. “All of it.”

Elana didn’t speak. She waited.

Eve took a breath. “Sam didn’t just want to protect you. He wanted to build something with you. A life. A future beyond Echoform.”

She reached into her jacket and pulled out a folded note—creased, worn, written in Sam’s hand.

If we make it out, Elana and I disappear. No more corridors. No more codes. Just quiet. Just us.

Eve’s voice cracked. “He planned to vanish. With you. He had a cabin mapped in the Yukon. A new identity. A clean slate.”

Elana’s fingers trembled as she took the note. She read it twice. Then looked up.

ELANA “You knew this,” she said. “You knew he wanted to run. And you let them burn him.”

Eve’s eyes filled, but she didn’t look away.

“I tried to stop it,” she whispered. “But Rook One had already activated the protocol. Your father was the first warning. Sam was the consequence.”

LEO I stepped forward. The air felt heavier now.

“You keep saying you tried,” I said. “But every time we dig deeper, there’s another layer you didn’t tell us.”

Eve turned to me.

“I told you what I could.”

“No,” I said. “You told us what wouldn’t break you.”

I pointed to the dossier. “To the chip. To the capsule. You had access to all of it. And you waited until we were buried in it to speak.”

EVE “I was protecting her.”

Leo’s voice dropped.

“Or protecting yourself.”

ELANA I stood. The note still in my hand.

“I don’t care what you buried. I care what Sam wanted. And if he wanted peace, then I’ll burn every corridor to give it to him.”

Eve nodded slowly.

“Then we finish what he started.”

SAFEHOUSE – ALTAY FOOTHILLS, MIDDAY

The door clicked shut behind Elana. She didn’t slam it. She didn’t speak. She just left—boots crunching through snow, her father’s note clenched in her fist like it owed her answers.

Leo watched her go. Then turned to Eve.

LEO “You waited too long,” he said. Eve didn’t flinch. She was still seated, hands folded, eyes locked on the fire.

“I told her what I could,” she replied.

Leo stepped closer. “No. You told her what wouldn’t break you.”

EVE “I was protecting her.”

Leo’s voice dropped.

“Or protecting yourself.”

LEO He circled the room slowly, tension coiled in his shoulders. “You trained us. You built Ravenfall. You knew what Rook Division was capable of—and you let her walk into it blind.”

Eve stood. Her voice was low. Measured.

“I didn’t know everything.”

Leo’s eyes narrowed.

“But you knew enough.”

EVE “I knew her father was building something dangerous. I knew Sam tried to dismantle it. And I knew Rook One would never let either of them walk away.”

Leo stepped closer.

“Then why didn’t you stop it?”

Eve’s voice cracked.

“Because I thought I could fix it from the inside. I thought if I stayed quiet, I could steer it. I was wrong.”

LEO He stared at her. Hard. Searching.

“What else?” he asked. “What haven’t you told her?”

Eve hesitated. Then reached into her jacket. Pulled out a second chip—smaller, older, marked with a symbol Elana hadn’t seen yet.

“I didn’t tell her about Phase Three,” she said.

Leo’s breath caught.

“What is it?”

Eve looked toward the door Elana had vanished through.

“It’s not a protocol,” she said. “It’s a person.”

SAFEHOUSE – ALTAY FOOTHILLS, MIDDAY

Eve didn’t flinch when Leo asked what else she was hiding. She just stared at the fire like it might burn the truth for her.

“Elana’s father,” she said slowly, “was the architect of Echoform. But he wasn’t the one who built the failsafe.”

Leo narrowed his eyes. “Sam.”

Eve nodded.

“He wasn’t just her protector. He was her designer. Her father gave her the bloodline. Sam gave her the blueprint.”

Leo stepped closer. “You’re saying Sam created the protocol inside her?”

“No,” Eve said. “I’m saying he was the protocol. And he gave it to her willingly.”

FLASHBACK – VIENNA, THREE MONTHS BEFORE THE BURN

Sam stood in the corridor, watching Elana through the glass. She was younger then. Still training. Still unaware.

Eve approached him.

“She’s not ready,” she said.

Sam didn’t look away.

“She doesn’t have to be. She just has to survive.”

He handed Eve a sealed capsule. Inside: the cufflink. And a strand of his own DNA.

“She’s the only one I trust,” he said. “If I disappear, she becomes the firewall.”

SAFEHOUSE – PRESENT

Leo’s jaw tightened.

“So you knew all along,” he said. “That Sam wasn’t just protecting her. He was building her.”

Eve’s voice dropped.

“He loved her. Not like a father. Not like a soldier. Like someone who saw her as the last clean thread in a system built to erase itself.”

Leo looked toward the door Elana had vanished through.

“She doesn’t know.”

Eve nodded.

“And when she finds out… she’ll burn everything.”

SAFEHOUSE – ALTAY FOOTHILLS, AFTERNOON

Elana sat alone at the edge of the bunk, the fire casting flickers across the note Sam had left behind. She’d read it a dozen times—but something felt off. The phrasing. The spacing. The way certain letters leaned just slightly out of rhythm.

She reached into her gear pouch and pulled out the small cipher wheel they’d built together in Vienna—two concentric rings, hand-etched, worn from use. Their private language. Their failsafe.

THE NOTE

If we make it out, Elana and I disappear. No more corridors. No more codes. Just quiet. Just us.

But beneath the ink, faint indentations marked the paper—barely visible unless tilted toward the firelight. She aligned the cipher wheel to their shared key: S-E-V-E-N. Then she began decoding.

Each third letter. Every fifth word. The pattern they’d used in Prague, when the walls had ears.

HIDDEN MESSAGE (Decoded)

Echoform is not the end. Rook is not the top. Phase Three lives beneath the ice. If you reach the Yukon, follow the red star. Trust only Leo. Eve knows more than she says. And Elana—if you’re reading this, I loved you. Not because I had to. Because I couldn’t stop.

Her breath caught. The cipher wheel slipped from her fingers. She stared at the final line, ink trembling in the firelight.

Leo stepped into the room, quiet. She didn’t look up.

“I found something,” she whispered.

He knelt beside her. Read the message. And didn’t speak.

Because some truths didn’t need words. They just needed fire.

SAFEHOUSE – ALTAY FOOTHILLS, TWILIGHT

Elana didn’t move after reading the last line of the decoded note. Her fingers clutched the page like it might vanish if she let go. The firelight curved across her face, painting her in shadows and flickers.

Leo knelt beside her, voice low.

“I’ll stay with you tonight,” he said gently. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Her eyes met his—tired, brimming, but steady.

“I don’t want to be alone,” she whispered.

“You won’t be,” he promised. Then he reached out and brushed her cheek with the backs of his fingers. Soft. Present.

He kissed her temple—slow, grounding—and rose to his feet.

“I need to tell Cole and Rhys what we found,” he added. “They need to know. And they’ll follow you, Elana. They always have. But this changes everything.”

She nodded silently, fingers finally loosening from the note as he turned toward the door.

Leo paused at the threshold, glanced back.

“You’re not just carrying Sam’s name,” he said. “You’re carrying what he couldn’t say out loud. I’ll make sure they understand that.”

She didn’t reply. She didn’t have to.

Because Leo would deliver the truth like he always had—steady, loyal, and with fire.

SAFEHOUSE – OPS ROOM

LEO He moved through the narrow corridor, boots muted against stone, pulse loud in his ears. The note burned in his pocket. Sam’s truth—buried in ink and cipher—was no longer speculation. It was mission-breaking. Heartbreaking.

He found Cole in the gear alcove, checking ammo. Rhys was recalibrating the drone feed, tension wrapped around his jaw.

They looked up when he stepped in.

COLE “Something happened,” Leo said. I nodded. “We felt it.”

Leo handed me the note—decoded, weathered, impossible.

Rhys read over my shoulder. Neither of us spoke for a while.

RHYS “She was Echoform,” I said finally. “Built for it. Written into it. Sam didn’t just protect her. He engineered the escape route.”

Leo’s voice was quiet. “He loved her.”

Cole muttered, “So did we.”

LEO “I told her I’d stay tonight,” I said. “But I needed you both to know what we’re standing in. Rook Division isn’t chasing protocol anymore. They’re chasing her. And Sam’s buried the key in a way only she can unlock.”

Rhys looked at me. “Then we hold the line.”

Cole stood. “No war plan. No tactics. Just her? That’s enough.”

RHYS We dropped our gear and followed Leo down the corridor. Cold winds scraped the stone. But inside... warmth. From the fire. From her.

SAFEHOUSE – BACK ROOM

ELANA The door opened slowly. Leo stepped in first, eyes soft. Then Cole. Then Rhys.

I didn’t speak. They didn’t, either.

Cole sat beside me. Rhys placed the drone controller gently on the table and crouched near the fire.

Leo took my hand.

“We’re here,” he said. “Not because Sam built you to save us. Because we choose you. Again. Now. Always.”

And in the quiet warmth of flickering flame and burned truths— We stayed.

SAFEHOUSE – BACK CORRIDOR, DUSK

Eve stood just beyond the threshold, back to the wall, half-shadowed by firelight slipping through the open door. She hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. Not really. But when Leo spoke—when he said “We choose you. Again. Now. Always,”—she stayed. She listened. And something inside her finally unraveled.

EVE She watched the four of them—Elana wrapped in quiet fire, Leo protective but grounded, Cole leaning in with steady loyalty, Rhys perched near the edge like he’d dive headfirst into any storm for her.

They weren’t fractured. They weren’t followers. They were flame. And for the first time in years… Eve didn’t feel like she had to carry it alone.

She pressed her palm to the cold wall, eyes heavy but warm. “They’re ready,” she whispered to herself. “And when this ends… maybe I don’t have to be the last one standing.”

She turned away—quiet as a whisper—back down the corridor to prep what came next. Because when the final burn ignited, and when Rook finally fell…

Eve wouldn’t be running. She’d be fighting. With them. Beside them. Forward.

SAFEHOUSE – NIGHT

The wind curled against the stone walls, soft and unthreatening now—like the storm outside had finally exhaled. Inside, the flicker of firelight painted long shadows across the room, golden and slow, casting warmth across worn maps and half-drunk mugs.

Elana sat cross-legged on the blanket near the hearth, her expression quiet but open. Leo returned first, boots tucked beside the door, tension eased from his shoulders. Cole and Rhys followed, their movements casual but intentional, like something had shifted in the rhythm they shared. Something invisible. Something soft.

They didn’t speak—not at first.

 

Elana’s Room

 

The room glows with the sultry, dying light of a flickering fireplace, its embers casting long, writhing shadows that dance across the walls like lustful specters. A thick, crimson blanket sprawls across the floor, plush and inviting, begging to be fucked on. The air is heavy, saturated with the musky scent of arousal and the primal crackle of burning wood, every breath laced with raw, aching desire.

Elana lies sprawled at the blanket’s center, her bare cunt glistening with wetness, her skin flushed and feverish under the firelight. Her breaths come in quick, needy gasps, her heavy-lidded eyes burning with want. A wicked smirk plays on her lips as she spreads her thighs wider, beckoning them with a slow, deliberate curl of her fingers, her body screaming to be fucked.

Leo kneels beside her, his cock rock-hard and throbbing, standing tall and eager. His gaze devours her, hungry and feral, before he leans down to crush his mouth against hers in a brutal, kiss that leaves her gasping. His hands roam her body, rough and possessive, squeezing her tits, pinching her nipples until she arches into him, a desperate moan spilling from her throat. He positions his cock at her dripping cunt, teasing her slick folds before thrusting in hard, filling her tight heat completely. He fucks her with slow, deliberate strokes, his hips grinding, his cock sliding in and out of her cunt, the wet, sloppy sounds of their fucking echoing in the room.

Cole moves to her side, his cock just as hard, a glistening bead of pre-cum dripping from the tip. He grabs her hand, guiding it to his shaft, letting her stroke his thick length, her touch hesitant at first, then greedy. He leans in, his lips attacking her neck, sucking and biting along her collarbone. His hands grip her ass, fingers digging into her flesh before finding her tight asshole, teasing it with slow, deliberate circles. His voice is a low growl against her ear, “I’m gonna fuck your ass, Elana. Open up for me.” His finger presses in, stretching her, prepping her for his cock.

Rhys kneels at her head, his cock hard and leaking, balls tight with need. His eyes lock onto hers, dark with primal hunger, as he strokes himself, the sight making her cunt clench around Leo’s cock. He presses his cock to her lips, and she opens wide, her mouth hot and wet, eagerly sucking him in. Her tongue swirls around his shaft, taking him deep, her lips stretching as she fucks him with her mouth. He groans, hips thrusting gently, his cock sliding in and out, her head bobbing in time with his rhythm.

The room is alive with the raw sounds of their fucking—wet slaps of flesh, guttural moans, and ragged gasps blending into a filthy symphony. The air grows thicker, heavy with their sweat and the intoxicating stench of sex, driving their lust to a fever pitch.

Leo’s thrusts turn brutal, his hips slamming into her, his cock pounding her cunt relentlessly, chasing his release. Cole seizes his chance, slicking his cock with her juices before pressing it against her tight asshole. He pushes in slow, letting her adjust to the burning stretch, her moan vibrating around Rhys’ cock, nearly breaking his control. Rhys loses it first, growling as he comes, his cock pulsing, flooding her mouth with hot cum. She swallows every drop, her lips still sucking as he pulls out, his cock still hard and dripping. He shifts to her side, hands grabbing her tits, squeezing hard, his fingers twisting her nipples, sending sharp jolts straight to her cunt.

Leo and Cole fuck her in perfect sync, their cocks filling her cunt and ass, their thrusts a relentless rhythm that rocks her body. Over her shoulder, their mouths crash together in a messy, tongue-fucking kiss, teeth clashing, hands groping each other’s sweat-slicked skin as they pound into her. Elana, caught between them, is a writhing mess of pleasure, her body burning, her cunt and ass clenching around their cocks. She screams as she comes, her body convulsing, her holes milking them, drawing their cum from deep within. With one final, savage thrust, Leo and Cole explode, their cocks pulsing, flooding her cunt and ass with hot, sticky cum, spilling out in a messy, glorious flood.

They collapse onto the blanket, a sweaty, tangled pile of limbs, their breaths harsh and ragged, cocks still twitching inside her. Their hands roam gently now, tracing lazy paths across slick skin, their kisses soft and lingering, their bodies still joined. The fire has burned down to embers, casting a faint, intimate glow over their fucked-out forms. The room is silent except for their soft pants and occasional sighs, their bodies entwined, hearts pounding as one. Their connection pulses in the quiet—a raw, living bond of lust and  that wraps them tightly, binding them in the afterglow.

The fire has died down to embers, and the room is quiet. The only sound is their soft breaths and occasional sighs of contentment. They lie there, their bodies entwined, their hearts beating in sync, their souls connected, their love tangible, a living, breathing entity that surrounds them, protects them, and completes them.

 

SAFEHOUSE – DAWN

The first rays of light cut through the frost-laced windowpanes, soft and golden. Outside, the snow had settled in gentle silence—untouched, undisturbed. Inside, in the still warmth of the fire’s last embers, the four of them remained close. Quiet. Whole.

 

ELANA

She stirred first. Not from cold or fear—but from warmth. The kind found only in rare places. In rare people.

Leo’s arm was draped across her waist, his breath steady at her neck. Cole’s hand rested near hers, palm relaxed, thumb twitching slightly as if still dreaming. Rhys had tucked his shoulder beneath her legs, curled like a barrier against whatever world waited beyond the door.

She didn’t move. Didn’t need to.

There was peace here. And that was rarer than survival.

 

LEO

His eyes opened slowly. Not in alarm—just presence. He blinked once, gaze drifting across Elana’s profile, the tousled hair, the steady pulse at her throat.

He kissed her shoulder, featherlight. And smiled into the quiet.

 

COLE 

He shifted next. Stretching out, bones creaking, then relaxing again with a soft exhale. He didn’t speak—didn’t need to. His palm found her back, warm and grounding.

 

RHYS

 Rhys opened his eyes last. But he didn’t look to the window. He looked to her.

His voice came low. Dry. “It’s still snowing.”

Elana didn’t answer.

Instead, she reached out. And without words, they all touched.

Fingers lacing. Arms folding. Breath syncing.

The war wasn’t over. The storm hadn’t passed. But in that room, wrapped in silence and skin and sacred stillness—

They were fire. They were choice. They were theirs.

 

SAFEHOUSE – THRESHOLD

The door creaked gently on its hinges, the softest protest as morning light spilled across the stone. Eve stepped inside, her silhouette briefly outlined by the pale glow outside—shoulders squared, scarf dusted with snow, eyes already scanning the quiet space.

She paused.

There they were—Elana, Leo, Cole, and Rhys—gathered close on the wide pallet by the hearth, still wrapped in the warmth of something unspoken and steady. No urgency. No armor. Just breath and togetherness.

Eve didn’t speak. She didn’t need to. Not yet.

Her gaze softened—just slightly.

For the first time in far too long, she saw not soldiers… but connection. Resilience. Love threaded through fracture.

She let the door fall shut behind her with a muffled click.

Then: “I put on coffee,” she said quietly. “And we’ve got movement on the northern ridge. Nothing hostile—yet. But it means time’s running.”

Elana stirred, her eyes finding Eve’s.

There was no bitterness in them this morning. Just clarity. Resolve.

“Then let’s burn the map,” Elana said, voice low. “And draw our own lines.”

Eve nodded once, something almost like pride flickering across her face.

“Good. Because Phase Three doesn’t wait.”

ALTAY RIDGE – FIRST LEG

The wind howled like it remembered names. Snow whipped sideways, blinding and sharp, as the team moved in tight formation—Elana at point, Leo just behind, Cole and Rhys flanking wide. Eve had stayed behind to coordinate fallback, but her voice echoed in their comms: “Keep moving. Ridge elevation drops in 2.3 klicks. You’ll see the flare when it’s time.”

ELANA Her breath fogged the inside of her mask. The cipher chip was tucked against her chest, warm from body heat. She didn’t speak. She didn’t need to. The storm was speaking enough.

COLE He scanned the tree line. Nothing but white and wind. Then—movement. Too fast. Too low.

“Contact—left ridge!” he barked.

AMBUSH They came like ghosts. No sound. No signal. Just black shapes in whiteout, rifles raised, visors gleaming.

Leo dropped first, rolling behind a snowbank. Rhys launched a drone—manual override. Elana fired twice, clipped one in the shoulder. Cole took the flank, blade drawn, close and brutal.

LEO “Rook scouts,” he growled. “They’re not here to kill. They’re here to track.”

Elana’s eyes narrowed. “Then we don’t give them the chance.”

RHYS He jammed the uplink. Static burst. Then—flare.

A red streak tore across the sky, arcing from the east. Not theirs. Sam’s.

ELANA She turned toward it, heart hammering. The flare burned crimson against the snow, then burst into a symbol—an inverted falcon.

She didn’t wait.

“This way!” she shouted.

THE BASE They crested the ridge. And there it was.

Half-buried in ice. Steel doors. No markings. Just a keypad blinking faint blue.

Leo reached it first. “Same code?”

Elana nodded. “Sam’s birthday.”

The door hissed open.

And the storm behind them swallowed the trail whole.

 

BUNKER – DECRYPTION CHAMBER

ELANA 

The chip was warm in my hand. Not from heat. From memory.

Leo slid it into the terminal. Eve keyed the bypass manually—no uplink, no trace. The screen blinked once. Then the data unfolded.

LEO 

Encrypted layers peeled back like skin. Coordinates. A name. A warning.

Safehouse Echoform-3 Status: Dormant Risk Level: Elevated Last Access: 17 days ago Signature: Unknown

I looked at Elana. She didn’t blink.

EVE

 “It’s compromised,” I said. “Maybe,” Elana replied. “But it’s the only place we can regroup.”

COLE 

We packed fast. No chatter. No second guesses.

The safehouse was buried in the Altai foothills—an old Ravenfall fallback site. No signal. No surveillance. Just cold walls and a chance to breathe.

RHYS 

We reached it just after dawn. Snow thick. Sky low. The door was sealed. Manual lock. No biometric.

Leo cracked it. We stepped inside.

 

ELANA   

The air was stale. The lights flickered. But it was quiet. And for the first time in days… We exhaled.

I dropped my gear. Leo sat beside me. Eve didn’t speak. She was already scanning the perimeter.

We had hours. Maybe less.

But for now— We were alive. And the war was still ours to fight.

SAFEHOUSE – ALTAI FOOTHILLS, EARLY MORNING

The fire crackled low. Outside, snow whispered against the windows. Inside, silence held the room like a breath waiting to break.

EVE 

She sat on the edge of the cot, elbows on knees, eyes locked on the floor. Her voice didn’t come easy. It came like confession.

“I was there,” she said. “Not when they died. But close enough to feel it.”

Elana didn’t speak. She didn’t move. She just listened.

“Your father was brilliant. Too brilliant. He built the framework for Echoform, but he didn’t know what they’d do with it. When he found out, he tried to shut it down. He went dark. Ravenfall sent a retrieval team. But Rook Division intercepted the order.”

She swallowed hard.

“They didn’t extract him. They erased him.”

ELANA 

My throat tightened. I’d heard pieces. Rumors. But never this.

“And Sam?” I asked.

Eve’s eyes flicked up. And for the first time, they looked hollow.

 

EVE 

“Sam was the firewall. He knew too much. He went off-grid to protect you. He left Vienna with the capsule, the cufflink, and the last clean copy of the Falcon protocol.”

She paused.

“They caught him in Prague. Rook One signed the burn order himself. They didn’t just kill him. They made it look like he never existed.”

COLE 

I leaned against the wall, arms crossed. I’d seen Eve break operatives before. But this wasn’t strategy. This was grief.

EVE 

“I trained him,” she said. “I trained all of you. But Sam… He was the one who asked me to protect Elana. He said if anything happened to him, she’d be the last thread.”

She looked at Elana then.

“I failed him.”

ELANA 

I stood. Walked to her. Kneeling.

“You didn’t fail,” I said. “You survived. Now we burn it back.”

SAFEHOUSE – ALTAI FOOTHILLS, LATE MORNING

The fire had burned low. Steam curled from mugs no one drank. Outside, the snow had quieted—but inside, the storm was just beginning.

EVE 

She sat across from Elana, hands folded, eyes shadowed. “I owe you the truth,” she said. “All of it.”

Elana didn’t speak. She waited.

Eve took a breath. “Sam didn’t just want to protect you. He wanted to build something with you. A life. A future beyond Echoform.”

She reached into her jacket and pulled out a folded note—creased, worn, written in Sam’s hand.

If we make it out, Elana and I disappear. No more corridors. No more codes. Just quiet. Just us.

Eve’s voice cracked. “He planned to vanish. With you. He had a cabin mapped in the Yukon. A new identity. A clean slate.”

Elana’s fingers trembled as she took the note. She read it twice. Then looked up.

ELANA 

“You knew this,” she said. “You knew he wanted to run. And you let them burn him.”

Eve’s eyes filled, but she didn’t look away.

“I tried to stop it,” she whispered. “But Rook One had already activated the protocol. Your father was the first warning. Sam was the consequence.”

LEO

I stepped forward. The air felt heavier now.

“You keep saying you tried,” I said. “But every time we dig deeper, there’s another layer you didn’t tell us.”

Eve turned to me.

“I told you what I could.”

“No,” I said. “You told us what wouldn’t break you.”

I pointed to the dossier. “To the chip. To the capsule. You had access to all of it. And you waited until we were buried in it to speak.”

EVE 

“I was protecting her.”

Leo’s voice dropped.

“Or protecting yourself.”

 

ELANA 

I stood. The note still in my hand.

“I don’t care what you buried. I care what Sam wanted. And if he wanted peace, then I’ll burn every corridor to give it to him.”

Eve nodded slowly.

“Then we finish what he started.”

SAFEHOUSE – ALTAI FOOTHILLS, MIDDAY

The door clicked shut behind Elana. She didn’t slam it. She didn’t speak. She just left—boots crunching through snow, her father’s note clenched in her fist like it owed her answers.

Leo watched her go. Then turned to Eve.

LEO 

“You waited too long,” he said. Eve didn’t flinch. She was still seated, hands folded, eyes locked on the fire.

“I told her what I could,” she replied.

Leo stepped closer. “No. You told her what wouldn’t break you.”

LEO 

He circled the room slowly, tension coiled in his shoulders. “You trained us. You built Ravenfall. You knew what Rook Division was capable of—and you let her walk into it blind.”

Eve stood. Her voice was low. Measured.

“I didn’t know everything.”

Leo’s eyes narrowed.

“But you knew enough.”

EVE 

“I knew her father was building something dangerous. I knew Sam tried to dismantle it. And I knew Rook One would never let either of them walk away.”

Leo stepped closer.

“Then why didn’t you stop it?”

Eve’s voice cracked.

“Because I thought I could fix it from the inside. I thought if I stayed quiet, I could steer it. I was wrong.”

LEO 

He stared at her. Hard. Searching.

“What else?” he asked. “What haven’t you told her?”

Eve hesitated. Then reached into her jacket. Pulled out a second chip—smaller, older, marked with a symbol Elana hadn’t seen yet.

“I didn’t tell her about Phase Three,” she said.

Leo’s breath caught.

“What is it?”

Eve looked toward the door Elana had vanished through.

“It’s not a protocol,” she said. “It’s a person.”

SAFEHOUSE – ALTAI FOOTHILLS

Eve didn’t flinch when Leo asked what else she was hiding. She just stared at the fire like it might burn the truth for her.

“Elana’s father,” she said slowly, “was the architect of Echoform. But he wasn’t the one who built the failsafe.”

Leo narrowed his eyes. “Sam.”

Eve nodded.

“He wasn’t just her protector. He was her designer. Her father gave her the bloodline. Sam gave her the blueprint.”

Leo stepped closer. “You’re saying Sam created the protocol inside her?”

“No,” Eve said. “I’m saying he was the protocol. And he gave it to her willingly.”

FLASHBACK – VIENNA, THREE MONTHS BEFORE THE BURN

Sam stood in the corridor, watching Elana through the glass. She was younger then. Still training. Still unaware.

Eve approached him.

“She’s not ready,” she said.

Sam didn’t look away.

“She doesn’t have to be. She just has to survive.”

He handed Eve a sealed capsule. Inside: the cufflink. And a strand of his own DNA.

“She’s the only one I trust,” he said. “If I disappear, she becomes the firewall.”

SAFEHOUSE – PRESENT

Leo’s jaw tightened.

“So you knew all along,” he said. “That Sam wasn’t just protecting her. He was building her.”

Eve’s voice dropped.

“He loved her. Not like a father. Not like a soldier. Like someone who saw her as the last clean thread in a system built to erase itself.”

Leo looked toward the door Elana had vanished through.

“She doesn’t know.”

Eve nodded.

“And when she finds out… she’ll burn everything.”

SAFEHOUSE – ALTAY FOOTHILLS

Elana sat alone at the edge of the bunk, the fire casting flickers across the note Sam had left behind. She’d read it a dozen times—but something felt off. The phrasing. The spacing. The way certain letters leaned just slightly out of rhythm.

She reached into her gear pouch and pulled out the small cipher wheel they’d built together in Vienna—two concentric rings, hand-etched, worn from use. Their private language. Their failsafe.

THE NOTE

If we make it out, Elana and I disappear. No more corridors. No more codes. Just quiet. Just us.

But beneath the ink, faint indentations marked the paper—barely visible unless tilted toward the firelight. She aligned the cipher wheel to their shared key: S-E-V-E-N. Then she began decoding.

Each third letter. Every fifth word. The pattern they’d used in Prague, when the walls had ears.

HIDDEN MESSAGE (Decoded)

Echoform is not the end. Rook is not the top. Phase Three lives beneath the ice. If you reach the Yukon, follow the red star. Trust only Leo. Eve knows more than she says. And Elana—if you’re reading this, I loved you. Not because I had to. Because I couldn’t stop.

Her breath caught. The cipher wheel slipped from her fingers. She stared at the final line, ink trembling in the firelight.

Leo stepped into the room, quiet. She didn’t look up.

“I found something,” she whispered.

He knelt beside her. Read the message. And didn’t speak.

Because some truths didn’t need words. They just needed fire.

SAFEHOUSE – ALTAI FOOTHILLS, TWILIGHT

Elana didn’t move after reading the last line of the decoded note. Her fingers clutched the page like it might vanish if she let go. The firelight curved across her face, painting her in shadows and flickers.

Leo knelt beside her, voice low.

“I’ll stay with you tonight,” he said gently. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Her eyes met his—tired, brimming, but steady.

“I don’t want to be alone,” she whispered.

“You won’t be,” he promised. Then he reached out and brushed her cheek with the back of his fingers. Soft. Present.

He kissed her temple—slow, grounding—and rose to his feet.

“I need to tell Cole and Rhys what we found,” he added. “They need to know. And they’ll follow you, Elana. But this changes everything.”

She nodded silently, fingers finally loosening from the note as he turned toward the door.

Leo paused at the threshold, glanced back.

“You’re not just carrying Sam’s name,” he said. “You’re carrying what he couldn’t say out loud. I’ll make sure they understand that.”

She didn’t reply. She didn’t have to.

Because Leo would deliver the truth like he always had—steady, loyal, and with fire.

SAFEHOUSE – OPS ROOM

LEO 

He moved through the narrow corridor, boots muted against stone, pulse loud in his ears. The note burned in his pocket. Sam’s truth—buried in ink and cipher—was no longer speculation. It was mission-breaking. Heartbreaking.

He found Cole in the gear alcove, checking ammo. Rhys was recalibrating the drone feed, tension wrapped around his jaw.

They looked up when he stepped in.

COLE 

“Something happened,” Leo said. I nodded. “We felt it.”

Leo handed me the note—decoded, weathered, impossible.

Rhys read over my shoulder. Neither of us spoke for a while.

 

RHYS 

“She was Echoform,” I said finally. “Built for it. Written into it. Sam didn’t just protect her. He engineered the escape route.”

Leo’s voice was quiet. “He loved her.”

Cole muttered, “So do we.”

LEO 

“I told her I’d stay tonight, but I needed you both to know what we’re standing in. Rook Division isn’t chasing protocol anymore. They’re chasing her. And Sam’s buried the key in a way only she can unlock.”

Rhys looked at me. “Then we hold the line.”

Cole stood. “No war plan. No tactics. Just her? That’s enough.”

RHYS 

We dropped our gear and followed Leo down the corridor. Cold winds scraped the stone. But inside... warmth. From the fire. From her.

SAFEHOUSE – BACK ROOM

ELANA 

The door opened slowly. Leo stepped in first, eyes soft. Then Cole. Then Rhys.

I didn’t speak. They didn’t, either.

Cole sat beside me. Rhys placed the drone controller gently on the table and crouched near the fire.

Leo took my hand.

“We’re here,” he said. “Not because Sam built you to save us. Because we choose you. Again. Now. Always.”

And in the quiet warmth of flickering flame and burned truths— We stayed.

 

SAFEHOUSE – BACK CORRIDOR, DUSK

Eve stood just beyond the threshold, back to the wall, half-shadowed by firelight slipping through the open door. She hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. Not really. But when Leo spoke—when he said “We choose you. Again. Now. Always,”—she stayed. She listened. And something inside her finally unraveled.

EVE 

She watched the four of them—Elana wrapped in quiet fire, Leo protective but grounded, Cole leaning in with steady loyalty, Rhys perched near the edge like he’d dive headfirst into any storm for her.

They weren’t fractured. They weren’t followers. They were flame. And for the first time in years… Eve didn’t feel like she had to carry it alone.

She pressed her palm to the cold wall, eyes heavy but warm. “They’re ready,” she whispered to herself. “And when this ends… maybe I don’t have to be the last one standing.”

She turned away—quiet as a whisper—back down the corridor to prep what came next. Because when the final burn ignited, and when Rook finally fell…

Eve wouldn’t be running. She’d be fighting. With them. Beside them. Forward.

SAFEHOUSE – NIGHT

The wind curled against the stone walls, soft and unthreatening now—like the storm outside had finally exhaled. Inside, the flicker of firelight painted long shadows across the room, golden and slow, casting warmth across worn maps and half-drunk mugs.

Elana sat cross-legged on the blanket near the hearth, her expression quiet but open. Leo returned first, boots tucked beside the door, tension eased from his shoulders. Cole and Rhys followed, their movements casual but intentional, like something had shifted in the rhythm they shared. Something invisible. Something soft.

They didn’t speak—not at first.

 

Elana’s Room

 

The room glows with the sultry, dying light of a flickering fireplace, its embers casting long, writhing shadows that dance across the walls like lustful specters. A thick, crimson blanket sprawls across the floor, plush and inviting, begging to be fucked on. The air is heavy, saturated with the musky scent of arousal and the primal crackle of burning wood, every breath laced with raw, aching desire.

Elana lies sprawled at the blanket’s center, her bare cunt glistening with wetness, her skin flushed and feverish under the firelight. Her breaths come in quick, needy gasps, her heavy-lidded eyes burning with want. A wicked smirk plays on her lips as she spreads her thighs wider, beckoning them with a slow, deliberate curl of her fingers, her body screaming to be fucked.

Leo kneels beside her, his cock rock-hard and throbbing, standing tall and eager. His gaze devours her, hungry and feral, before he leans down to crush his mouth against hers in a brutal, tongue-fucking kiss that leaves her gasping. His hands roam her body, rough and possessive, squeezing her tits, pinching her nipples until she arches into him, a desperate moan spilling from her throat. He positions his cock at her dripping cunt, teasing her slick folds before thrusting in hard, filling her tight heat completely. He fucks her with slow, deliberate strokes, his hips grinding, his cock sliding in and out of her cunt, the wet, sloppy sounds of their fucking echoing in the room.

Cole moves to her side, his cock just as hard, a glistening bead of pre-cum dripping from the tip. He grabs her hand, guiding it to his shaft, letting her stroke his thick length, her touch hesitant at first, then greedy. He leans in, his lips attacking her neck, sucking and biting along her collarbone. His hands grip her ass, fingers digging into her flesh before finding her tight asshole, teasing it with slow, deliberate circles. His voice is a low growl against her ear, “I’m gonna fuck your ass, Elana. Open up for me.” His finger presses in, stretching her, prepping her for his cock.

Rhys kneels at her head, his cock hard and leaking, balls tight with need. His eyes lock onto hers, dark with primal hunger, as he strokes himself, the sight making her cunt clench around Leo’s cock. He presses his cock to her lips, and she opens wide, her mouth hot and wet, eagerly sucking him in. Her tongue swirls around his shaft, taking him deep, her lips stretching as she fucks him with her mouth. He groans, hips thrusting gently, his cock sliding in and out, her head bobbing in time with his rhythm.

The room is alive with the raw sounds of their fucking—wet slaps of flesh, guttural moans, and ragged gasps blending into a filthy symphony. The air grows thicker, heavy with their sweat and the intoxicating stench of sex, driving their lust to a fever pitch.

Leo’s thrusts turn brutal, his hips slamming into her, his cock pounding her cunt relentlessly, chasing his release. Cole seizes his chance, slicking his cock with her juices before pressing it against her tight asshole. He pushes in slow, letting her adjust to the burning stretch, her moan vibrating around Rhys’ cock, nearly breaking his control. Rhys loses it first, growling as he comes, his cock pulsing, flooding her mouth with hot cum. She swallows every drop, her lips still sucking as he pulls out, his cock still hard and dripping. He shifts to her side, hands grabbing her tits, squeezing hard, his fingers twisting her nipples, sending sharp jolts straight to her cunt.

Leo and Cole fuck her in perfect sync, their cocks filling her cunt and ass, their thrusts a relentless rhythm that rocks her body. Over her shoulder, their mouths crash together in a messy, tongue-fucking kiss, teeth clashing, hands groping each other’s sweat-slicked skin as they pound into her. Elana, caught between them, is a writhing mess of pleasure, her body burning, her cunt and ass clenching around their cocks. She screams as she comes, her body convulsing, her holes milking them, drawing their cum from deep within. With one final, savage thrust, Leo and Cole explode, their cocks pulsing, flooding her cunt and ass with hot, sticky cum, spilling out in a messy, glorious flood.

They collapse onto the blanket, a sweaty, tangled pile of limbs, their breaths harsh and ragged, cocks still twitching inside her. Their hands roam gently now, tracing lazy paths across slick skin, their kisses soft and lingering, their bodies still joined. The fire has burned down to embers, casting a faint, intimate glow over their fucked-out forms. The room is silent except for their soft pants and occasional sighs, their bodies entwined, hearts pounding as one. Their connection pulses in the quiet—a raw, living bond of lust and love that wraps them tightly, binding them in the afterglow.

The fire has died down to embers, and the room is quiet. The only sound is their soft breaths and occasional sighs of contentment. They lie there, their bodies entwined, their hearts beating in sync, their souls connected, their love tangible, a living, breathing entity that surrounds them, protects them, and completes them.

 

SAFEHOUSE – DAWN

 

The first rays of light cut through the frost-laced windowpanes, soft and golden. Outside, the snow had settled in gentle silence—untouched, undisturbed. Inside, in the still warmth of the fire’s last embers, the four of them remained close. Quiet. Whole.

 

ELANA

 

She stirred first. Not from cold or fear—but from warmth. The kind found only in rare places. In rare people.

Leo’s arm was draped across her waist, his breath steady at her neck. Cole’s hand rested near hers, palm relaxed, thumb twitching slightly as if still dreaming. Rhys had tucked his shoulder beneath her legs, curled like a barrier against whatever world waited beyond the door.

She didn’t move. Didn’t need to.

There was peace here. And that was rarer than survival.

 

LEO

 

His eyes opened slowly. Not in alarm—just presence. He blinked once, gaze drifting across Elana’s profile, the tousled hair, the steady pulse at her throat.

He kissed her shoulder, featherlight. And smiled into the quiet.

COLE 

 

He shifted next. Stretching out, bones creaking, then relaxing again with a soft exhale. He didn’t speak—didn’t need to. His palm found her back, warm and grounding.

 

RHYS

 

 Rhys opened his eyes last. But he didn’t look to the window. He looked to her.

His voice came low. Dry. “It’s still snowing.”

Elana didn’t answer.

Instead, she reached out. And without words, they all touched.

Fingers lacing. Arms folding. Breath syncing.

The war wasn’t over. The storm hadn’t passed. But in that room, wrapped in silence and skin and sacred stillness—

They were fire. They were choice. They were theirs.

 

SAFEHOUSE – THRESHOLD

The door creaked gently on its hinges, the softest protest as morning light spilled across the stone. Eve stepped inside, her silhouette briefly outlined by the pale glow outside—shoulders squared, scarf dusted with snow, eyes already scanning the quiet space.

She paused.

There they were—Elana, Leo, Cole, and Rhys—gathered close on the wide pallet by the hearth, still wrapped in the warmth of something unspoken and steady. No urgency. No armor. Just breath and togetherness.

Eve didn’t speak. She didn’t need to. Not yet.

Her gaze softened—just slightly.

For the first time in far too long, she saw not soldiers… but connection. Resilience. Love threaded through fracture.

She let the door fall shut behind her with a muffled click.

Then: “I put on coffee,” she said quietly. “And we’ve got movement on the northern ridge. Nothing hostile—yet. But it means time’s running.”

Elana stirred, her eyes finding Eve’s.

There was no bitterness in them this morning. Just clarity. Resolve.

“Then let’s burn the map,” Elana said, voice low. “And draw our own lines.”

Eve nodded once, something almost like pride flickering across her face.

“Good. Because Phase Three doesn’t wait.”

ALTAI RIDGE – FIRST LEG

The wind howled like it remembered names. Snow whipped sideways, blinding and sharp, as the team moved in tight formation—Elana at point, Leo just behind, Cole and Rhys flanking wide. Eve had stayed behind to coordinate fallback, but her voice echoed in their comms: “Keep moving. Ridge elevation drops in 2.3 klicks. You’ll see the flare when it’s time.”

ELANA 

Her breath fogged the inside of her mask. The cipher chip was tucked against her chest, warm from body heat. She didn’t speak. She didn’t need to. The storm was speaking enough.

COLE 

He scanned the tree line. Nothing but white and wind. Then—movement. Too fast. Too low.

“Contact—left ridge!” he barked.

AMBUSH 

They came like ghosts. No sound. No signal. Just black shapes in whiteout, rifles raised, visors gleaming.

Leo dropped first, rolling behind a snowbank. Rhys launched a drone—manual override. Elana fired twice, clipped one in the shoulder. Cole took the flank, blade drawn, close and brutal.

LEO 

“Rook scouts,” he growled. “They’re not here to kill. They’re here to track.”

Elana’s eyes narrowed. “Then we don’t give them the chance.”

RHYS 

He jammed the uplink. Static burst. Then—flare.

A red streak tore across the sky, arcing from the east. Not theirs. Sam’s.

ELANA 

She turned toward it, heart hammering. The flare burned crimson against the snow, then burst into a symbol—an inverted falcon.

She didn’t wait.

“This way!” she shouted.

THE BASE 

They crested the ridge. And there it was.

Half-buried in ice. Steel doors. No markings. Just a keypad blinking faint blue.

Leo reached it first. “Same code?”

Elana nodded. “Sam’s birthday.”

The door hissed open.

And the storm behind them swallowed the trail whole.

ELANA
The steel door creaked, and a cold hit me—not the air, but something deeper, like the base itself was hollowed out. Rust clung to everything, walls scratched with old scars, the smell of gunpowder sharp in my nose. My boots scraped grit, too loud, like the silence was waiting to swallow it. I couldn’t shake Sam’s voice—Elana, one word, crackling through static in my head.

Leo moved ahead, rifle steady, his shoulders broad, cutting a path through the dark. Rhys was on my right, eyes darting to corners, like he sensed something I couldn’t. Cole stayed close, his quiet steps a comfort, but his hand never left his gun. Eve trailed us, her flashlight slicing through the dim, flickering lights. The base wasn’t just empty—it felt wrong, like it was holding its breath.

“Power’s weird,” Leo muttered, smacking a wall terminal. It flickered, spitting out data, jagged lines of heat signatures in the east wing. “Could be crew. Could be trouble.”

Rhys’s jaw tightened, his glance at me quick, sharp. “Feels like a trap.” His voice was gravel, rough, and it stirred something in me—something I didn’t have time for.

We pushed deeper, the corridor squeezing tight, walls closing in. The chip taped to my ribs pressed hard, warm, like it was alive. Sam’s voice echoed again, and my breath caught, ragged. Cole’s eyes found mine, searching, like he could see the mess inside me.

“You holding up?” he asked, voice soft, just for me.

I shook my head, dodging his look. “Not now.”

He didn’t push, but his silence said he saw more than I wanted. I moved faster, my pulse loud, trying to outrun his gaze, the chip, everything.

The east wing opened into a makeshift command post—cots tipped over, gear broken, a quiet that stuck like damp rot. The kind you feel after screams. I scanned the room, my hand brushing where the chip was, trying to hold myself together.

RHYS
Elana was falling apart, and it fucking hurt to watch. She thought she was hiding it, but I saw her hand press her side, like she could keep that chip from tearing her up. Sam’s voice—one word, she’d said. One goddamn word, and it was breaking her.

I kept my gun low, checking the command post, but my eyes kept dragging back to her. Her red hair caught the red emergency lights, her jaw set tight, fighting something I couldn’t touch. She was fierce, reckless, and it was doing things to me—things I didn’t need on a job like this.

Eve stepped up, all sharp edges, no bullshit. “You’re spiraling,” she told Elana, voice like a blade, cutting through the quiet.

Elana didn’t argue. She pulled the chip out, its casing glinting, and shoved it into Eve’s hand. “You don’t know what I heard…” Her voice cracked, just a bit, and it hit me like a punch.

I wanted to grab her, tell her to let it go, but I stayed put. Hope’s a bitch in a place like this.

Eve turned the chip over, eyes narrow. “Sam?”

Elana nodded, and that name—it fucking stung. Whoever Sam was, he was still in her, and that made her a liability. Made me want her more, too, which was worse.

“Rook,” Eve said, flat, cold. “They break you with hope. It’s their game.”

“Then we find out,” Elana said, voice steadier than her hands. “All of us.”

ELANA
We crowded around a rusted table, the chip plugged into Leo’s terminal. The screen hissed, spitting out garbled data—images, code, then audio. A voice, too clear, too perfect. Sam.

My chest tightened, like I’d been hit. Leo’s fingers froze on the controls, his frown deep. “Sounds fake. AI, maybe.”

Eve didn’t blink. “Deepfake.”

“We can’t rule it out,” Leo said, his eyes on me, heavy, like he knew what it cost me to hear this. “Could be real. Could be a trick.”

I swallowed, the red lights throwing shadows across them—Leo’s steady gaze, Eve’s cold focus, Rhys’s tense shoulders, Cole’s quiet watch. “If there’s a chance it’s him…” I couldn’t finish. They got it.

“Stay sharp,” Eve said, already checking her gear, her movements quick, precise.

Leo nodded, taking charge. “Cole, you’re with me. Eve, power grid. Rhys, Elana—sweep inside.”

No one argued. The air was thick, tense, as we split off. Rhys stayed close, his presence heavy, like a storm waiting to break.

RHYS
The lower corridors were a fucking maze—cold, damp, smelling of mold and metal. Elana moved beside me, steps sure but eyes haunted, like she was chasing ghosts. The thermal room hummed ahead, a low buzz that crawled up my spine. Cages lined the walls, rats scratching, their claws sharp in the quiet.

“Rook’s screwing with us,” Elana muttered, kicking a rusted wrench. Dust kicked up, catching the emergency lights.

“They want us chasing shadows,” I said, voice rougher than I meant. “What’s the play?”

Her eyes flicked to me, green and sharp, and fuck, I felt it—like she was pulling me in, no matter how hard I fought it. I kept my focus on the corridor, but she was everywhere, her scent—sweat, steel, something soft—messing with my head.

We scavenged in silence—cans, old ammo, nothing worth a damn. Her hand kept drifting to her side, where that chip had been, like it was still burning her. Sam. Whoever he was, he was tearing her up, and I wanted to rip him out of her head.

SCRAAAAPE. Metal on metal, far off but too fucking close.

I threw up a hand, stopping her. Her pulse was jumping in her neck, her grip tight on her gun. “Quiet’s not safe,” I whispered, voice low, but it came out raw, like I was fighting more than the shadows.

Her eyes met mine, wide, vulnerable, but there was fire there too. “This job…” she said, barely a breath, “it’s personal.”

I stepped closer—too close. The air crackled. “Sam?”

She nodded, and that name fucking gutted me. “If it’s a lie…” Her voice broke, and it snapped something in me.

“You can hope, Elana,” I said, rough, raw. My hand brushed her arm, lingering, deliberate. Her breath hitched, and it went straight to my dick, lighting me up.

She leaned in, her body close, her scent hitting me like a drug. I grabbed her waist, pulling her against me, the cold wall at her back. Her eyes were dark, needy, and I couldn’t hold back. My lips crashed into hers, hungry, desperate, tasting her like she was the only thing real. She moaned, fingers digging into my gear, her body pressing into mine, soft and fierce.

My hands slid under her shirt, rough against her skin, tracing her spine. I growled, low, my cock hard against her hips. Her nails bit into my shoulders, her breath ragged, her lips chasing mine. “Rhys,” she whispered, my name a plea, and it drove me fucking wild.

CLICK. Metal. Behind us.

I pulled back, heart slamming, gun up. Elana’s eyes were wild, her breath uneven, but her weapon was steady. The lights flickered out, the hum loud, wrong.

ELANA
Red lights flared, turning the corridor bloody. Above us—movement. Not steps. Crawling.

I looked up. Spines. A shape, glistening, too big, too wrong.

“Run,” Rhys hissed, his hand yanking my arm, his touch still hot from the kiss.

We sprinted, crashing into the staging room, sweat-soaked, gasping. Cole spun, rifle half-up. “What the—”

“Down,” Rhys snapped, voice still rough, his eyes flicking to me, checking if I was okay.

Eve was up, flashlight cutting the dark. “You saw it,” she said, flat, her eyes sharp, reading us.

“Glimpsed,” I said, voice shaky, Rhys’s lips still burning on mine. “Not human.”

Rhys nodded, jaw tight. “It’s something else.”

Leo’s calm cracked, his eyes narrowing. “Talk.”

“Big. Fast. Spines,” I said, hands trembling—not just from the thing, but from Rhys, from everything. “Built, not born.”

Cole’s grip tightened on his rifle, his eyes searching mine, like he saw the heat still there. “Now what?”

I chambered a round, the click sharp. “We hunt it. Before it hunts us.”

We moved back out, air colder, hum louder. I led, flare gun ready, my heart pounding—Rhys’s kiss, the creature, Sam’s voice, all tangled. It was waiting.

It lunged, all teeth and spines, a blur of wrong. I fired the flare, its hiss splitting the dark, hitting a gas line. BOOM. Fire roared up its legs. It screamed—static ripping my head—but didn’t stop.

“Eve, left!” I yelled, sliding low as it charged.

Eve’s shot tore its jaw, ichor spraying. Rhys leaped from crates, blade flashing, sinking into its spine. It shrieked, staggering, but kept coming, adapting.

Leo moved right, rifle barking. “Elana, back!”

I dodged, heart hammering, as his shot sparked off its neck—metal or bone, who the fuck knew. Rhys struck again, knife deep in its skull. It spasmed, then dropped, dead.

We stood, panting, smoke and blood thick. Eve crouched, snapping a charred rib into a bag. “Evidence,” she said, voice flat. “This was made.”

I slumped against the wall, hands shaking, Rhys’s kiss still hot on my skin. The creature wasn’t Sam, but it meant someone was playing us.

Leo knelt by the body, face grim. “Built. Bag it. Burn the rest.”

I nodded, catching Rhys’s eyes. His words—That’s the problem—stuck with me. The heat wasn’t gone, and I didn’t know if I could outrun it.

ELANA
The staging room was a wreck—rusted walls, scarred and peeling, lit by a flickering red light that made us look half-dead. My pulse was still wild from the fight, Sam’s voice—Elana—scratching at my brain like a bad signal. But Leo, Rhys, and Cole were here, close, their heat louder than the grief, pulling me somewhere else.

We’d stumbled in, gear tossed on a warped table, our bodies bruised but alive. Leo slouched against the wall, rifle nearby, his dark eyes catching mine, heavy with something that wasn’t just duty. Rhys prowled the edges, fists clenched, like he was fighting himself more than anything we’d faced. Cole sat on a cot, cleaning his knife with slow swipes, but his gaze kept finding me—soft, too soft, like he saw the broken parts I hid.

My legs shook, not from the fight but from them. The chip’s weight lingered, a cold burn under my ribs, Sam’s ghost clawing at me. But their nearness was hotter, reckless, and admitting I wanted them—all of them—felt like jumping off a cliff.

“Elana,” Leo said, voice rough, like he’d swallowed gravel. He straightened, closing the gap, his scent—sweat, metal, that damn pine soap—hitting me hard. “You’re still chasing him, aren’t you?”

I swallowed, throat tight. “Can’t stop.”

Rhys stopped pacing, eyes burning, pinning me where I stood. “You don’t do it alone,” he said, voice low, almost a growl. “You’re ours now.” The way he said it, raw and possessive, sent heat straight to my core.

Cole’s knife clattered onto the cot, his hands unsteady as he stood. “We’re here,” he said, softer, eyes locked on mine, warm but fierce. “All of us.” His fingers twitched, like he wanted to touch me but didn’t trust himself.

The air was heavy—not just desire, but everything. The tunnel, the creature, Sam’s voice. I stepped toward Leo, hand grazing his chest, feeling his heart pound. His breath caught, jaw tight, and I saw him fighting it—control versus need. “You want this,” he said, half-question, half-order, hands on my hips, pulling me close. His grip was firm, steady, but his eyes were fire.

I nodded, shaky, as Rhys moved behind me, hands rough on my waist. His breath was hot, uneven against my ear. “Fuck, Elana, you’re tearing me apart,” he muttered, voice raw, his cock hard against my ass through his gear. My pussy was already wet, aching, his need pulling at me.

Cole stepped in, fingers brushing my jaw, tilting my face up. His touch was soft, but his eyes were dark, hungry. “Say it,” he said, voice cracking, like he was begging. “Say you need us.”

“I need you,” I said, words spilling out, messy, desperate. “All of you.” My skin burned, their scents—sweat, leather, gun oil—mixing with the bunker’s rust. My thoughts were a mess—Sam’s voice, the creature’s scream, their hands.

Leo’s lips hit mine, hard, claiming, his tongue pushing in, tasting me like he’d been starving. I moaned, fingers clawing his gear, the canvas scratching my palms. Rhys’s hands slid under my shirt, calluses scraping, teasing the edge of my bra. “Fucking perfect,” he growled, teeth nipping my neck, each bite sending a jolt to my clit. I pressed back, grinding against his cock, feeling how much he wanted me.

Cole knelt, fumbling with my pants, not smooth, just urgent. His hands shook, tugging them down, my panties catching on my thighs. “God, Elana,” he whispered, breath hot on my hip, lips brushing my skin. His voice was thick, almost reverent, and it twisted something in my chest. My cunt was bare, dripping, the cool air sharp against my heat.

I gasped, head falling back as Leo kissed my throat, his stubble rough, real. Rhys’s fingers found my nipples, pinching through fabric, not gentle, and I whimpered, pussy throbbing. “Like that, huh?” Rhys said, voice dark, hips rocking, his cock hard, insistent.

Cole’s tongue grazed my thigh, teasing, too close. “You’re so wet,” he said, voice breaking, eyes meeting mine as he licked my clit, slow, deliberate. I cried out, knees buckling, pleasure spiking. Leo’s hands steadied me, his growl vibrating. “Fuck, Elana.”

Rhys’s fingers slid down, teasing my entrance, then pushing in, rough, deep. “Come for us,” he said, voice raw, fingers curling to hit that spot. Cole’s tongue moved faster, relentless, and I was gone—Leo’s strength, Rhys’s hunger, Cole’s worship. My nails dug into Leo’s arm, thoughts fracturing—Sam fading, their touch louder.

My orgasm crashed through me, pussy clenching around Rhys’s fingers, cries bouncing off the walls. Cole didn’t stop, drawing out every shudder, hands gripping my thighs. Leo’s lips found mine, softer now, but his grip was tight, like he couldn’t let go. Rhys’s breath was ragged, cock still pressed against me, his whispered “We’re not done” a promise.

We collapsed onto the cot, tangled in sweat, their arms around me. Leo’s hand stayed on my thigh, heavy, protective. Rhys traced my spine, restless, jaw clenched like he was still fighting himself. Cole’s lips brushed my forehead, too soft, his heart racing against my side.

No one spoke. The silence wasn’t empty—it was us, raw, holding on.

RHYS
The command room’s red glow was too damn bright after that. Elana sat on a cot, a ration bar in her hand, eyes distant but haunted. My knife scraped against the whetstone, grounding me, but my head was still in that room—her moans, her body under my hands, the way she gave herself up. I wanted her again, and it was a fucking problem.

Cole handed her a water pouch, fingers brushing hers, and she tensed, pulse jumping. He said something low, teasing, and her lips twitched, but she was somewhere else. I gripped my knife harder, hating how much I cared.

Eve was sorting supplies, all precision, but her glance at Elana was sharp. “That chip’s still eating you,” she said, not asking.

Elana nodded. “It’s not just Sam. It’s what it means.”

I wanted to tell her to drop it, but I didn’t. Hope was her fight.

Leo stood by the terminal, a map flickering after Elana’s scan. A hidden level—B4, Ridge Access, Lab Transit. A subfolder blinked: ROOK-R2 CONTINGENCY – LOCKED.

“Elana,” Eve said, sharp. “Sam’s voice—before or after the power spike?”

“Right after,” she said, moving to Eve’s side. The name Rook made her flinch, and I felt it in my gut.

Eve pointed at the screen. “Hidden protocol. Sam might’ve had clearance. Your scan opened it.”

Elana pressed the ID pad, jaw tight. The screen showed a rough map, hand-drawn, tunnels under the ridge.

“They buried a level,” Leo said, voice low, heavy.

Eve’s tone was tight. “Not in our intel. Someone scrubbed it.”

I crossed my arms, eyes on Elana. “What’s down there?”

“I don’t know,” she said, staring at the map, hands shaking. I wanted to grab her, pull her close, keep her safe from whatever was coming.

ELANA
We moved through the east corridor, quiet except for gear clicking and boots scraping. Eve pried open a rusted panel, sparks jumping. The air got colder, older, dust thick in untouched rooms. Oxygen systems hummed below, alive but wrong.

We hit the access shaft, paint peeling: B4 – RIDGE TRANSPORT TUNNEL. Leo stopped, eyes on me, steady, heavy. Eve nodded. Rhys brushed my back as he passed, a quick touch that sent heat through me, even now.

I stepped forward, heart loud. Whatever was down there, I’d face it. Even if it broke me.

We descended, one by one, into the dark. Rhys was behind me, his presence a burn. Cole’s flashlight cut ahead, Leo’s voice steady. Eve’s silence was sharp, ready.

The creature wasn’t the end. It was the start.

And somewhere below, Sam’s voice—or its shadow—waited.

 

Chapter 9 Ashes of Valor

 

ELANA

The steel door creaked, and a cold hit me—not the air, but something deeper, like the base itself was hollowed out. Rust clung to everything, walls scratched with old scars, the smell of gunpowder sharp in my nose. My boots scraped grit, too loud, like the silence was waiting to swallow it. I couldn’t shake Sam’s voice—Elana, one word, crackling through static in my head.

Leo moved ahead, rifle steady, his shoulders broad, cutting a path through the dark. Rhys was on my right, eyes darting to corners, like he sensed something I couldn’t. Cole stayed close, his quiet steps a comfort, but his hand never left his gun. Eve trailed us, her flashlight slicing through the dim, flickering lights. The base wasn’t just empty—it felt wrong, like it was holding its breath.

“Power’s weird,” Leo muttered, smacking a wall terminal. It flickered, spitting out data, jagged lines of heat signatures in the east wing. “Could be crew. Could be trouble.”

Rhys’s jaw tightened, his glance at me quick, sharp. “Feels like a trap.” His voice was gravel, rough, and it stirred something in me—something I didn’t have time for.

We pushed deeper, the corridor squeezing tight, walls closing in. The chip taped to my ribs pressed hard, warm, like it was alive. Sam’s voice echoed again, and my breath caught, ragged. Cole’s eyes found mine, searching, like he could see the mess inside me.

“You holding up?” he asked, voice soft, just for me.

I shook my head, dodging his look. “Not now.”

He didn’t push, but his silence said he saw more than I wanted. I moved faster, my pulse loud, trying to outrun his gaze, the chip, everything.

The east wing opened into a makeshift command post—cots tipped over, gear broken, a quiet that stuck like damp rot. The kind you feel after screams. I scanned the room, my hand brushing where the chip was, trying to hold myself together.

RHYS

Elana was falling apart, and it fucking hurt to watch. She thought she was hiding it, but I saw her hand press her side, like she could keep that chip from tearing her up. Sam’s voice—one word, she’d said. One goddamn word, and it was breaking her.

I kept my gun low, checking the command post, but my eyes kept dragging back to her. Her red hair caught the red emergency lights, her jaw set tight, fighting something I couldn’t touch. She was fierce, reckless, and it was doing things to me—things I didn’t need on a job like this.

Eve stepped up, all sharp edges, no bullshit. “You’re spiraling,” she told Elana, voice like a blade, cutting through the quiet.

Elana didn’t argue. She pulled the chip out, its casing glinting, and shoved it into Eve’s hand. “You don’t know what I heard…” Her voice cracked, just a bit, and it hit me like a punch.

I wanted to grab her, tell her to let it go, but I stayed put. Hope’s a bitch in a place like this.

Eve turned the chip over, eyes narrow. “Sam?”

Elana nodded, and that name—it fucking stung. Whoever Sam was, he was still in her, and that made her a liability. Made me want her more, too, which was worse.

“Rook,” Eve said, flat, cold. “They break you with hope. It’s their game.”

“Then we find out,” Elana said, voice steadier than her hands. “All of us.”

ELANA

We crowded around a rusted table, the chip plugged into Leo’s terminal. The screen hissed, spitting out garbled data—images, code, then audio. A voice, too clear, too perfect. Sam.

My chest tightened, like I’d been hit. Leo’s fingers froze on the controls, his frown deep. “Sounds fake. AI, maybe.”

Eve didn’t blink. “Deepfake.”

“We can’t rule it out,” Leo said, his eyes on me, heavy, like he knew what it cost me to hear this. “Could be real. Could be a trick.”

I swallowed, the red lights throwing shadows across them—Leo’s steady gaze, Eve’s cold focus, Rhys’s tense shoulders, Cole’s quiet watch. “If there’s a chance it’s him…” I couldn’t finish. They got it.

“Stay sharp,” Eve said, already checking her gear, her movements quick, precise.

Leo nodded, taking charge. “Cole, you’re with me. Eve, power grid. Rhys, Elana—sweep inside.”

No one argued. The air was thick, tense, as we split off. Rhys stayed close, his presence heavy, like a storm waiting to break.

RHYS

The lower corridors were a fucking maze—cold, damp, smelling of mold and metal. Elana moved beside me, steps sure but eyes haunted, like she was chasing ghosts. The thermal room hummed ahead, a low buzz that crawled up my spine. Cages lined the walls, rats scratching, their claws sharp in the quiet.

“Rook’s screwing with us,” Elana muttered, kicking a rusted wrench. Dust kicked up, catching the emergency lights.

“They want us chasing shadows,” I said, voice rougher than I meant. “What’s the play?”

Her eyes flicked to me, green and sharp, and fuck, I felt it—like she was pulling me in, no matter how hard I fought it. I kept my focus on the corridor, but she was everywhere, her scent—sweat, steel, something soft—messing with my head.

We scavenged in silence—cans, old ammo, nothing worth a damn. Her hand kept drifting to her side, where that chip had been, like it was still burning her. Sam. Whoever he was, he was tearing her up, and I wanted to rip him out of her head.

SCRAAAAPE. Metal on metal, far off but too fucking close.

I threw up a hand, stopping her. Her pulse was jumping in her neck, her grip tight on her gun. “Quiet’s not safe,” I whispered, voice low, but it came out raw, like I was fighting more than the shadows.

Her eyes met mine, wide, vulnerable, but there was fire there too. “This job…” she said, barely a breath, “it’s personal.”

I stepped closer—too close. The air crackled. “Sam?”

She nodded, and that name fucking gutted me. “If it’s a lie…” Her voice broke, and it snapped something in me.

“You can hope, Elana,” I said, rough, raw. My hand brushed her arm, lingering, deliberate. Her breath hitched, and it went straight to my core, lighting me up.

She leaned in, her body close, her scent hitting me like a drug. I grabbed her waist, pulling her against me, the cold wall at her back. Her eyes were dark, needy, and I couldn’t hold back. My lips crashed into hers, hungry, desperate, tasting her like she was the only thing real. She moaned, fingers digging into my gear, her body pressing into mine, soft and fierce.

My hands slid under her shirt, rough against her skin, tracing her spine. I growled, low, my body reacting, hard against her hips. Her nails bit into my shoulders, her breath ragged, her lips chasing mine. “Rhys,” she whispered, my name a plea, and it drove me wild.

CLICK. Metal. Behind us.

I pulled back, heart slamming, gun up. Elana’s eyes were wild, her breath uneven, but her weapon was steady. The lights flickered out, the hum loud, wrong.

ELANA

Red lights flared, turning the corridor bloody. Above us—movement. Not steps. Crawling.

I looked up. Spines. A shape, glistening, too big, too wrong.

“Run,” Rhys hissed, his hand yanking my arm, his touch still hot from the kiss.

We sprinted, crashing into the staging room, sweat-soaked, gasping. Cole spun, rifle half-up. “What the—”

“Down,” Rhys snapped, voice still rough, his eyes flicking to me, checking if I was okay.

Eve was up, flashlight cutting the dark. “You saw it,” she said, flat, her eyes sharp, reading us.

“Glimpsed,” I said, voice shaky, Rhys’s lips still burning on mine. “Not human.”

Rhys nodded, jaw tight. “It’s something else.”

Leo’s calm cracked, his eyes narrowing. “Talk.”

“Big. Fast. Spines,” I said, hands trembling—not just from the thing, but from Rhys, from everything. “Built, not born.”

Cole’s grip tightened on his rifle, his eyes searching mine, like he saw the heat still there. “Now what?”

I chambered a round, the click sharp. “We hunt it. Before it hunts us.”

We moved back out, air colder, hum louder. I led, flare gun ready, my heart pounding—Rhys’s kiss, the creature, Sam’s voice, all tangled. It was waiting.

It lunged, all teeth and spines, a blur of wrong. I fired the flare, its hiss splitting the dark, hitting a gas line. BOOM. Fire roared up its legs. It screamed—static ripping my head—but didn’t stop.

“Eve, left!” I yelled, sliding low as it charged.

Eve’s shot tore its jaw, ichor spraying. Rhys leaped from crates, blade flashing, sinking into its spine. It shrieked, staggering, but kept coming, adapting.

Leo moved right, rifle barking. “Elana, back!”

I dodged, heart hammering, as his shot sparked off its neck—metal or bone, who the fuck knew. Rhys struck again, knife deep in its skull. It spasmed, then dropped, dead.

We stood, panting, smoke and blood thick. Eve crouched, snapping a charred rib into a bag. “Evidence,” she said, voice flat. “This was made.”

I slumped against the wall, hands shaking, Rhys’s kiss still hot on my skin. The creature wasn’t Sam, but it meant someone was playing us.

Leo knelt by the body, face grim. “Built. Bag it. Burn the rest.”

I nodded, catching Rhys’s eyes. His words—That’s the problem—stuck with me. The heat wasn’t gone, and I didn’t know if I could outrun it.

The staging room was a wreck—rusted walls, scarred and peeling, lit by a flickering red light that made us look half-dead. My pulse was still wild from the fight, Sam’s voice—Elana—scratching at my brain like a bad signal. But Leo, Rhys, and Cole were here, close, their heat louder than the grief, pulling me somewhere else.

We’d stumbled in, gear tossed on a warped table, our bodies bruised but alive. Leo slouched against the wall, rifle nearby, his dark eyes catching mine, heavy with something that wasn’t just duty. Rhys prowled the edges, fists clenched, like he was fighting himself more than anything we’d faced. Cole sat on a cot, cleaning his knife with slow swipes, but his gaze kept finding me—soft, too soft, like he saw the broken parts I hid.

My legs shook, not from the fight but from them. The chip’s weight lingered, a cold burn under my ribs, Sam’s ghost clawing at me. But their nearness was hotter, reckless, and admitting I wanted them—all of them—felt like jumping off a cliff.

“Elana,” Leo said, voice rough, like he’d swallowed gravel. He straightened, closing the gap, his scent—sweat, metal, that damn pine soap—hitting me hard. “You’re still chasing him, aren’t you?”

I swallowed, throat tight. “Can’t stop.”

Rhys stopped pacing, eyes burning, pinning me where I stood. “You don’t do it alone,” he said, voice low, almost a growl. “You’re ours now.” The way he said it, raw and possessive, sent heat straight to my core.

Cole’s knife clattered onto the cot, his hands unsteady as he stood. “We’re here,” he said, softer, eyes locked on mine, warm but fierce. “All of us.” His fingers twitched, like he wanted to touch me but didn’t trust himself.

The air was heavy—not just desire, but everything. The tunnel, the creature, Sam’s voice. I stepped toward Leo, hand grazing his chest, feeling his heart pound. His breath caught, jaw tight, and I saw him fighting it—control versus need. “You want this,” he said, half-question, half-order, hands on my hips, pulling me close. His grip was firm, steady, but his eyes were fire.

I nodded, shaky, as Rhys moved behind me, hands rough on my waist. His breath was hot, uneven against my ear. “Fuck, Elana, you’re tearing me apart,” he muttered, voice raw, his body hard against my ass through his gear. My pulse raced, heat pooling low, his need pulling at me.

Cole stepped in, fingers brushing my jaw, tilting my face up. His touch was soft, but his eyes were dark, hungry. “Say it,” he said, voice cracking, like he was begging. “Say you need us.”

“I need you,” I said, words spilling out, messy, desperate. “All of you.” My skin burned, their scents—sweat, leather, gun oil—mixing with the bunker’s rust. My thoughts were a mess—Sam’s voice, the creature’s scream, their hands.

Leo’s lips hit mine, hard, claiming, his tongue pushing in, tasting me like he’d been starving. I moaned, fingers clawing his gear, the canvas scratching my palms. Rhys’s hands slid under my shirt, calluses scraping, teasing the edge of my bra. “Fucking perfect,” he growled, teeth nipping my neck, each bite sending a jolt through me. I pressed back, grinding against him, feeling his need.

Cole knelt, fumbling with my pants, not smooth, just urgent. His hands shook, tugging them down, my panties catching on my thighs. “God, Elana,” he whispered, breath hot on my hip, lips brushing my skin. His voice was thick, almost reverent, and it twisted something in my chest.

I gasped, head falling back as Leo kissed my throat, his stubble rough, real. Rhys’s fingers found my skin, rough, not gentle, and I whimpered, heat building. “Like that, huh?” Rhys said, voice dark, hips rocking, his need insistent.

Cole’s lips grazed my thigh, teasing, too close. “You’re so wet,” he said, voice breaking, eyes meeting mine as he moved higher, slow, deliberate. I cried out, knees buckling, pleasure spiking. Leo’s hands steadied me, his growl vibrating. “Fuck, Elana.”

Rhys’s fingers slid lower, teasing, then pushing in, rough, deep. “Come for us,” he said, voice raw, fingers curling to hit that spot. Cole’s touch was relentless, and I was gone—Leo’s strength, Rhys’s hunger, Cole’s worship. My nails dug into Leo’s arm, thoughts fracturing—Sam fading, their touch louder.

My cry bounced off the walls, raw, desperate. We collapsed onto the cot, tangled in sweat, their arms around me. Leo’s hand stayed on my thigh, heavy, protective. Rhys traced my spine, restless, jaw clenched like he was still fighting himself. Cole’s lips brushed my forehead, too soft, his heart racing against my side.

No one spoke. The silence wasn’t empty—it was us, raw, holding on.

RHYS

The command room’s red glow was too damn bright after that. Elana sat on a cot, a ration bar in her hand, eyes distant but haunted. My knife scraped against the whetstone, grounding me, but my head was still in that room—her moans, her body under my hands, the way she gave herself up. I wanted her again, and it was a fucking problem.

Cole handed her a water pouch, fingers brushing hers, and she tensed, pulse jumping. He said something low, teasing, and her lips twitched, but she was somewhere else. I gripped my knife harder, hating how much I cared.

Eve was sorting supplies, all precision, but her glance at Elana was sharp. “That chip’s still eating you,” she said, not asking.

Elana nodded. “It’s not just Sam. It’s what it means.”

I wanted to tell her to drop it, but I didn’t. Hope was her fight.

Leo stood by the terminal, a map flickering after Elana’s scan. A hidden level—B4, Ridge Access, Lab Transit. A subfolder blinked: ROOK-R2 CONTINGENCY – LOCKED.

“Elana,” Eve said, sharp. “Sam’s voice—before or after the power spike?”

“Right after,” she said, moving to Eve’s side. The name Rook made her flinch, and I felt it in my gut.

Eve pointed at the screen. “Hidden protocol. Sam might’ve had clearance. Your scan opened it.”

Elana pressed the ID pad, jaw tight. The screen showed a rough map, hand-drawn, tunnels under the ridge.

“They buried a level,” Leo said, voice low, heavy.

Eve’s tone was tight. “Not in our intel. Someone scrubbed it.”

I crossed my arms, eyes on Elana. “What’s down there?”

“I don’t know,” she said, staring at the map, hands shaking. I wanted to grab her, pull her close, keep her safe from whatever was coming.

ELANA

We moved through the east corridor, quiet except for gear clicking and boots scraping. Eve pried open a rusted panel, sparks jumping. The air got colder, older, dust thick in untouched rooms. Oxygen systems hummed below, alive but wrong.

We hit the access shaft, paint peeling: B4 – RIDGE TRANSPORT TUNNEL. Leo stopped, eyes on me, steady, heavy. Eve nodded. Rhys brushed my back as he passed, a quick touch that sent heat through me, even now.

The tunnel clamped around us, its slick walls glistening like the inside of a rotting lung, the air thick with rust and a sour tang that clawed at my throat. My flare gun shook in my hands, its red glow throwing jagged shadows that twisted Rhys’s broad frame into something wild, his eyes flashing with a hunger that wasn’t just for the fight. He edged closer, his calloused fingers grazing my lower back—a deliberate spark that sent heat racing through me, my breath catching despite the cold. His jaw twitched, teeth gritted, like he was swallowing a curse, his gaze darting between me and the dark ahead, protective but unraveling, his control a thin thread.

Leo led, his flashlight carving through the gloom, catching deep gouges in the walls—claw marks, too precise, too deep for anything human. His shoulders were squared, but his free hand flexed, knuckles popping, a crack in his iron control. “This place is wrong,” he growled, voice rough, laced with a tremor that hit me like a blade. His dark eyes flicked to me, searching, a flicker of fear breaking through his stoic mask. “Elana, you feel it too, don’t you?”

My throat tightened, Sam’s voice—Elana—scraping my mind like static, dragging me back to that frozen night in the Altai, to Dad, to Sam, before Vienna stole him. “It’s not just a tunnel,” I said, my voice raw, cracking under the weight of ghosts I couldn’t bury. My fingers brushed my ribs, where the chip used to burn, now a cold ache that felt like betrayal. Leo’s gaze held me, heavy, like he wanted to pull me back from the edge, his worry a quiet roar.

Cole trailed close, his steps soft but his breath uneven, a sharp hitch as his flashlight caught a scrawled warning: CONTAINMENT BREACH – EVACUATE. His eyes widened, hazel and haunted, locking on mine. “This is fucked, Elana,” he said, voice low, trembling with a fear he didn’t bother hiding. His fingers twitched toward me, then curled into fists, his restraint screaming in the way his shoulders hunched, like he was carrying my pain alongside his own.

Eve moved like a blade, her steps precise, but her lips were pressed thin, her eyes darting to every shadow like she was chasing something alive. The chip in her pocket buzzed, a low hum pulsing with the tunnel’s heartbeat. Her fingers grazed it, and she flinched—small, but I saw it, her cool facade splintering. “This isn’t a tunnel,” she snapped, her voice sharp but wavering, a rare spark of dread breaking through. “This is a cage, and we’re the goddamn rats.” Her glare hit me, then softened, just a fraction, like she was seeing the Altai again, the night we lost Dad’s trail, the night she swore to keep me fighting.

Flashback: Eve’s voice sliced through the blizzard, sharp as ice, as Leo’s rifle slipped in frostbitten hands. “Hesitate, you’re dead.” She grabbed his collar, forcing his eyes to hers, her breath fogging. “Think.” Later, by a dim heater, she sketched tactics in the snow, her hands steady, forging his control. Now, in the tunnel, Leo’s glance at her carried that icy respect, his jaw tight with loyalty.

 

Flashback: Rhys’s fists were bloody from a bar fight when Eve pinned him in the Sahara’s dust, her speed outmatching his fire. “Don’t drag us down,” she hissed, her rare praise—“You’re better”—hitting harder than her fists. When a sniper pinned them, Rhys tackled her from danger, her nod sealing their bond. Now, his eyes flicked to her, tension easing, her presence his anchor.

Flashback: In a Tokyo alley, Cole froze, a drone circling, his tech failing. Eve slid beside him, guiding his trembling hands to rewire the jammer. “Breathe, Cole,” she said, firm, grounding. Her rare grin flashed when they slipped past a patrol. “Good hands.” Now, Cole’s gaze lingered on her, his flashlight steady, her lessons holding his panic at bay.

Flashback: In a crumbling Altai safehouse, Sam’s hand brushed mine, warm, his eyes fierce with hope. “We’ll find him, Elana,” he said, voice soft, sure. Eve hacked a channel, her hands shaking with buried fury. “He’s not gone until we see a body.” Finding only Dad’s bloodied knife, her grip bruised my shoulder as I sobbed, her voice low: “You’re stronger. Keep moving.” Now, her glance carried that vow, tying this mission to that lost night.

Present: Cole stepped closer, too close, his hand hovering near my arm, fingers trembling like he wanted to pull me back from the abyss. “We’re with you, Elana,” he said, his voice low, fervent, his hazel eyes pleading, raw with a need to fix this. Leo’s head snapped toward the sound, his flashlight swinging, catching symbols carved into the walls—not scratches, but deliberate, a warning from something that planned this. “This was built,” he said, his voice heavy, almost reverent, his jaw tight as he fought to keep control. His eyes flicked to Eve, a silent question, her nod sharp in return, their old rhythm unbroken.

Eve’s fingers twitched on the chip, her lips parting, a rare flash of uncertainty crossing her face before she locked it down. “It’s a signal, not a ghost,” she said, her voice clipped, but her eyes were wild, darting to the symbols, then to me, like she was back in that Altai safehouse, fighting for answers. The tunnel’s hum grew louder, vibrating through my boots, my heart pounding—Sam’s voice, Dad’s absence, Eve’s promise, Rhys’s heat, Leo’s steady gaze, Cole’s quiet strength.

We pushed deeper, the tunnel narrowing, the air colder, heavier, like it was pressing back. Eve stopped short, her flashlight catching a rusted hatch, half-hidden by warped metal. “Here,” she said, voice low, her fingers brushing the hatch, smearing something wet—dark, viscous. Her eyes flicked to mine, a shared memory of ash and blood in the Altai, her jaw tightening.

Leo shouldered the hatch open, the screech of metal splitting the silence. The stench hit first—rotting flesh, chemicals, something metallic and wrong. My stomach churned, bile rising as we stepped into a cavernous chamber, walls lined with shattered glass tanks, their edges jagged, stained red and black. Bones littered the floor—human skulls cracked open, animal spines twisted into unnatural shapes, ribs fused with wires and circuits, glinting under our lights. A half-formed arm, human but clawed, hung from a rusted clamp, its fingers twitching faintly, like it still had a pulse. Cages held mangled remains—fur matted with ichor, metal plates bolted to flesh, eyes frozen in agony. A terminal flickered in the corner, its screen spitting static, fragments of data: ROOK-R2: SUBJECT FAILURE – TERMINATE.

I gagged, my flare gun slipping in my sweaty grip, Sam’s voice echoing in my head, tying me to this horror. “What the fuck…” Rhys whispered, his voice raw, his rifle trembling as he scanned the room, his face pale, eyes wide with something between rage and nausea. He stepped closer, his arm brushing mine, protective, but his breath was ragged, his control cracking.

Cole froze, his flashlight shaking, illuminating a pile of bones fused with circuitry, a dog’s jaw wired to a human hand. “This… this was alive once,” he said, his voice breaking, his free hand clutching his stomach like he’d be sick. His eyes met mine, haunted, pleading, like he needed me to make sense of it. I couldn’t.

Leo’s face was stone, but his knuckles were white on his rifle, his breath sharp through his nose. “Experiments,” he said, voice low, tight, his eyes flicking to the terminal, then to Eve. “They built that thing we killed. And worse.” His calm was a lie, his shoulders rigid, betraying the horror sinking into him.

Eve knelt by a tank, her fingers brushing a shard of glass crusted with dried blood. “This is Rook,” she said, her voice flat but shaking, her eyes distant, like she was seeing the Altai again—Dad’s knife, our failure. She stood, clutching the chip, her gaze locking on mine. “They were making monsters. And they didn’t stop.”

The terminal flared, Sam’s voice crackling through—Elana, stop it—not just my name now, but a warning, clear, desperate. My heart stopped, my legs trembling as I stepped toward the screen. Rhys grabbed my arm, his grip bruising, his eyes wild. “Don’t,” he growled, but his voice cracked, fear bleeding through.

Cole’s hand found my other arm, softer, trembling. “It’s not him,” he said, his voice thick, eyes searching mine, begging me to believe it. Leo moved to the terminal, his fingers hovering over the controls, his face grim. “It’s a trap,” he said, but his eyes flicked to me, uncertain, like he wanted to be wrong.

Eve’s hand shot out, stopping Leo, her face hard but her eyes burning with something raw—fear, guilt, the weight of our past. “We need to know,” she said, her voice low, final. She plugged the chip into the terminal, the screen flaring to life, data scrolling: ROOK-R2 CONTINGENCY – ACTIVE. SUBJECT 47: TRANSFER INITIATED. A map blinked, showing a deeper level, a chamber marked CORE.

A low hum shook the floor, the air crackling. From the shadows, two shapes lunged—spine-covered, eyes glowing, their bodies a grotesque meld of flesh and metal, claws scraping the floor. My flare gun was up in an instant, heart slamming. “Move!” I shouted, firing a flare, the hiss splitting the dark. It struck the first creature’s chest, fire erupting, ichor spraying as it screamed—static tearing through my head.

Rhys roared, his rifle barking, bullets ripping into the second creature’s flank. It staggered but charged, spines slicing the air. He dove, tackling it, his knife flashing, sinking into its neck. “Die, you fucker!” he snarled, his face twisted with rage, sweat dripping, his eyes wild as he stabbed again, ichor coating his hands.

Leo moved like a machine, his shots precise, tearing through the first creature’s skull. It spasmed, collapsing, but the second swiped at Rhys, catching his arm, blood welling. “Rhys!” I yelled, my voice raw, firing another flare, the heat scorching my face. The creature shrieked, flames licking its spines, but it lunged for me.

Cole was there, his knife slashing, severing a clawed limb. His face was pale, eyes wide, but his hands were steady, driven by Eve’s old lessons. “Stay back, Elana!” he gasped, his voice cracking as he drove his blade into the creature’s eye, ichor spraying his face. It staggered, and Eve finished it, her pistol shot clean through its skull, her face a mask of cold fury, but her hands trembled, betraying her.

We stood, panting, blood and ichor pooling, the air thick with smoke and rot. Rhys clutched his arm, blood seeping through his fingers, his eyes meeting mine, raw, shaken, but still burning. “You okay?” he rasped, his voice rough, like he was fighting more than the pain.

I nodded, my chest tight, Sam’s voice still ringing. Cole wiped his face, his hands shaking, his gaze flicking to me, soft but fierce. “Too close,” he muttered, his voice thick, like he was choking on the horror. Leo’s shoulders slumped, his rifle lowering, his face grim but his eyes searching mine, checking me, grounding me.

Eve was already at the terminal, her fingers flying, the chip’s data spilling across the screen. “Last ones,” she said, voice flat but strained, her eyes scanning the data: ROOK-R2: FINAL SUBJECTS TERMINATED. PURPOSE: CORRIDOR DEFENSE – RIDGE ACCESS. INITIATED BY [REDACTED]. Her gaze snapped to me, hard, haunted. “Your dad… Sam… they were trying to shut this down. These things were built to guard it.”

My heart stopped, the Altai flashing back—Dad’s knife, Sam’s hope, their fight to close this hell. “Why?” I whispered, my voice breaking, my hands trembling. Eve’s eyes softened, just a fraction, like she felt it too. “Something’s still active,” she said, pointing to the map, the CORE chamber pulsing red. “Down there.”

The tunnel seemed to pulse, its walls closing tighter as we descended, the air so thick with damp rot it stuck to my skin. My flare gun was slick in my grip, the red glow flickering, barely cutting through the dark. Rhys stayed close, his breath ragged, blood still seeping from the gash on his arm, staining his gear. His eyes were wild, darting to me, then the shadows, his hand twitching like he wanted to pull me behind him. “Stay sharp, Elana,” he rasped, voice rough, raw with something deeper than the fight—fear, need, maybe both. His presence burned, a steady heat against the cold dread sinking into my bones.

Leo led, his flashlight steady but his shoulders tense, each step deliberate, like he was bracing for the next horror. His jaw was set, but his eyes flicked back to me, dark and heavy, a silent promise to keep us together. “Almost there,” he said, voice low, strained, like he felt the weight of this place crushing him too. The symbols on the walls grew denser—carved warnings, not random, guiding us deeper, mocking us.

Cole’s steps were soft, but his breath hitched, his flashlight trembling as it caught glints of metal embedded in the walls—circuits, like veins, pulsing faintly. His face was pale, eyes wide, haunted by the abominations we’d just killed. “This place… it’s alive,” he whispered, his voice cracking, his gaze locking on mine, pleading for something I couldn’t give—answers, maybe, or safety. His fingers brushed my elbow, a fleeting touch, soft but electric, like he was anchoring himself to me.

Eve was a shadow ahead, her movements sharp, but her fingers kept grazing the chip in her pocket, her lips pressed thin. Her eyes were wild, flickering with the same dread I’d seen in the Altai, when we’d lost Dad’s trail. “This is it,” she said, voice clipped, but it wavered, betraying a crack in her armor. Her gaze met mine, fierce, like she was willing me to hold it together, her hand twitching like she wanted to grab me, pull me back to that night we swore to keep fighting.

The tunnel opened into a massive chamber, the air colder, heavier, the hum now a deafening pulse. A vault door loomed—steel, scarred, sealed with a biometric lock, its surface etched with ROOK-R2: CORE. My heart slammed, Sam’s voice—Elana, stop it—echoing in my skull, louder, clearer. Eve stepped forward, her fingers shaking as she pressed the chip to the lock. It hissed, sparks flying, and the door groaned open, revealing a dark, cavernous room lit by flickering blue monitors.

Inside was a vault of horrors and truths. Shelves lined the walls, stacked with data drives, vials of dark liquid, and files labeled SUBJECT 1-47. A central terminal glowed, its screen active, displaying a single prompt: ACCESS GRANTED – ELANA. My breath caught, my legs trembling as I stepped forward, the team’s eyes burning into me. Rhys’s hand grazed my back, steadying, his breath hot against my neck. “You don’t have to do this,” he whispered, voice rough, his eyes raw with fear for me.

“I do,” I said, my voice barely a whisper, cracking under the weight of Sam, Dad, everything. Cole’s hand found mine, squeezing gently, his touch warm, trembling, his eyes pleading. “We’re here,” he said, voice thick, like he was choking on his own fear. Leo stood close, his rifle lowered, his face grim but his gaze soft, anchoring me. Eve nodded, her jaw tight, her eyes flashing with that old Altai promise—keep moving.

I pressed the terminal’s pad, my hand shaking, and the screen flared. Files spilled out—schematics of the abominations, reports of failed experiments, and a video file: SAM – FINAL RECORDING. My heart stopped, my knees buckling. Rhys caught me, his arm around my waist, his grip bruising but warm, his breath ragged. “Fuck, Elana,” he muttered, his voice breaking, like he felt my pain in his bones.

The video loaded, and Sam’s face filled the screen—gaunt, bloodied, his eyes heavy with pain but still fierce, still him. “Elana,” he said, his voice soft, cracking, the same voice that held me in the Altai. “If you’re seeing this, I’m gone. Rook caught me—here, in this bunker, a year ago. I tried to stop them, like your dad did, to shut down this corridor. We were so close, but they… they were too strong.” He coughed, blood flecking his lips, and my sob tore out, raw, choking. Cole’s grip tightened on my hand, his fingers trembling, his eyes wet as he watched me.

“I’m sorry,” Sam said, his voice breaking. “I loved you—always will. I left the chip, the leads, everything for you. When you found the file in your office, I set a failsafe—Rhys, Cole, Leo, they got the call to find you, to protect you. They’re good men, Elana. Trust them.” His eyes softened, a ghost of a smile. “You’re stronger than this. Finish it—for me, for your dad.” The screen flickered, his face fading, and I collapsed against Rhys, my cries echoing, my chest splitting open.

Rhys held me, his arms tight, his breath hot and uneven against my hair. “I’ve got you,” he whispered, voice rough, thick with grief he felt through me, his body trembling like he was fighting to stay steady. Cole’s hand stayed in mine, his thumb brushing my knuckles, his eyes red, his jaw clenched, tears streaking his face. Leo stepped closer, his hand on my shoulder, heavy, steady, his face grim but his eyes soft, like he’d carry this pain if he could.

Eve was at the terminal, her fingers flying, pulling up more data. “He’s right,” she said, voice flat but shaking, her eyes scanning the screen. “This is everything—Rook’s experiments, the corridor, your dad’s mission, Sam’s leads. It’s all here.” She paused, her gaze flicking to me, haunted, the Altai’s shadow in her eyes. “And this.” She pulled up a file: COORDINATES – UNKNOWN. A string of numbers blinked—no context, no explanation, just a location somewhere beyond this hell.

The vault hummed, the monitors flickering, a low rumble shaking the floor. Cole’s flashlight caught a shadow on the wall—a panel sliding open, revealing a deeper passage, its edges glinting with more circuits, more warnings. “What the hell is that?” he whispered, his voice trembling, his eyes wide with exhaustion and fear, his hand still clutching mine like a lifeline.

Leo’s rifle snapped up, his face hard but his breath uneven. “Another level,” he said, voice low, his eyes flicking to me, then Eve, a question in his gaze. Rhys’s grip tightened, his body tense, his eyes burning into mine, like he was ready to fight the world for me. Eve’s hand hovered over the chip, her face pale, her eyes meeting mine with that Altai fire. “Sam got you this far,” she said, voice steady now, fierce. “What’s next, Elana?”

The passage seemed to pulse, its walls closing tighter as we climbed, the air so thick with damp rot it stuck to my skin. My flare gun was slick in my grip, the red glow flickering, barely cutting through the dark. Rhys stayed close, his breath ragged, blood still seeping from the gash on his arm, staining his gear. His eyes were wild, darting to me, then the shadows, his hand twitching like he wanted to pull me behind him. “Stay sharp, Elana,” he rasped, voice rough, raw with something deeper than the fight—fear, need, maybe both. His presence burned, a steady heat against the cold dread sinking into my bones.

Leo led, his flashlight steady but his shoulders tense, each step deliberate, like he was bracing for the next horror. His jaw was set, but his eyes flicked back to me, dark and heavy, a silent promise to keep us together. “Almost there,” he said, voice low, strained, like he felt the weight of this place crushing him too. The symbols on the walls grew denser—carved warnings, not random, guiding us upward, mocking us.

Cole’s steps were soft, but his breath hitched, his flashlight trembling as it caught glints of metal embedded in the walls—circuits, like veins, pulsing faintly. His face was pale, eyes wide, haunted by the abominations we’d killed. “This place… it’s alive,” he whispered, his voice cracking, his gaze locking on mine, pleading for something I couldn’t give—answers, maybe, or safety. His fingers brushed my elbow, a fleeting touch, soft but electric, like he was anchoring himself to me.

Eve was a shadow ahead, her movements sharp, but her fingers kept grazing the chip in her pocket, her lips pressed thin. Her eyes were wild, flickering with the same dread I’d seen in the Altai, when we’d lost Dad’s trail. “This is it,” she said, voice clipped, but it wavered, betraying a crack in her armor. Her gaze met mine, fierce, like she was willing me to hold it together, her hand twitching like she wanted to grab me, pull me back to that night we swore to keep fighting.

The passage sloped upward, opening to a rusted ladder. Eve climbed first, her movements sharp, her breath hissing through her teeth as she pried open a hatch. Cold air rushed in, smelling of pine and earth, a shock after the bunker’s rot. We emerged onto a hidden airstrip, overgrown with weeds, a battered transport plane waiting under a canopy of warped metal. The Kazakh steppe stretched endless beyond, no safehouse near, just the promise of JBLM, half a world away in Washington. My heart slammed, relief mixing with dread—Sam’s coordinates, his voice, still clawing at me.

Eve was already at the plane’s controls, her hands steady but her jaw tight, checking systems with a focus that bordered on obsession, like she was burying her grief in the task. “Chips are full,” she called, voice sharp, tossing a bag of data drives to Cole, who caught it, his hands shaking, his eyes still wet from Sam’s video. “Every file—experiments, schematics, logs. It’s all here.”

Cole nodded, clutching the bag, his face pale, his breath hitching as he looked at me. “Sam did this for you,” he said, voice low, breaking, like he was trying to make me believe it was enough. I swallowed, my throat raw, and helped Eve set charges—small, high-yield explosives from Leo’s pack, placed at key structural points in the tunnel’s entrance. My hands shook, not just from the cold but from the weight of Sam’s words—finish it. Rhys worked beside me, his movements rough, angry, planting charges with a force that spoke of his need to destroy this place. His eyes met mine, raw, burning, like he was doing this for me, for us.

“Enough to level it,” Leo said, voice steady but his knuckles white, checking the timers. His gaze flicked to me, heavy, protective, like he was carrying my pain too. “We’re done here.” He gestured to the plane, his shoulders tense, his calm a thin veneer over the horror we’d seen.

Eve finished her checks, her face hard but her eyes flickering with something softer—grief, maybe, or guilt, tying her to the Altai, to me. “Let’s move,” she said, voice like a blade, but it wavered, her hand brushing the chip in her pocket, Sam’s voice a ghost between us. We boarded the plane, Cole’s hand brushing mine as he helped me up, his touch gentle, his eyes searching, like he wanted to fix me. Rhys was last, his arm still bleeding, his breath ragged as he pulled himself in, his gaze locked on me, fierce, promising he wouldn’t let go.

The plane lurched, engines roaring, drowning the bunker’s pulse. Cole plugged the chips into a portable drive, fingers trembling but precise, downloading Rook’s secrets, Sam’s truth, the coordinates. We lifted off, the airstrip shrinking, the steppe swallowing it. A boom shook the ground—fire and dust erupted, the bunker collapsing, burying those horrors.

Sam’s goodbye—I loved you—clawed my chest, sharper than the explosion’s roar. My face pressed against the window, cold glass biting my skin, his bloodied smile burned into my skull. I choked on a sob, the plane’s rumble no match for the void he left. Rhys’s hand clamped my knee, heavy, warm, his eyes searing mine, raw with promises he couldn’t voice. Cole’s fingers grazed my arm, soft, steadying, his wet eyes mirroring my grief. Leo turned from the co-pilot seat, his gaze steady but heavy, ready to lead us through whatever waited. Eve gripped the controls, jaw tight, her glance carrying that Altai vow—we keep fighting.

Turbulence rattled the cabin, my stomach lurching, Sam’s words—finish it—ringing louder than the engines. Cole’s fingers flew across the drive, pulling up the coordinates—numbers, no context, a mystery far from Kazakhstan. “Where does it lead?” he asked, voice soft, breaking, his eyes searching mine for answers I didn’t have.

I shook my head, throat raw, Sam’s face—gaunt, smiling—trapped in my head. JBLM was half a world away, those coordinates a truth we didn’t know. Static crackled from the radio, then a cold, official voice: “Unidentified craft, state your clearance.” Eve’s face hardened, eyes narrowing, hands steady but breath catching. “JBLM’s locked down,” she muttered, glancing at me, then the team. “Someone’s waiting.”

My pulse spiked, the coordinates glowing, Sam’s voice—finish it—echoing. The safehouse was far, and something was hunting us. I gripped my flare gun, their eyes on me, binding us. “We’re not done,” I said, voice raw, sure. “Not yet.”

 

Into the Shadows

(Classified Heat)

Author: Echo Eagan

 

The radio crackled, Eve’s voice cutting through the hum of the Cessna’s engine. “Rook’s got eyes on JBLM. We can’t land there.” Her tone was sharp, her eyes scanning the nav panel, fingers tight on the yoke. The sky ahead was gray, clouds heavy over the Puget Sound, Seattle’s skyline a faint shadow in the distance.

 

I gripped the armrest, my stomach lurching—not from turbulence but from the weight of her words. “Options?” I asked, voice steady despite the knot in my chest. Sam’s absence ached, her reckless hope missing in this cramped cabin.

 

Cole, hunched over his tablet in the copilot seat, didn’t look up. “KOLM. Olympia Regional. Small, low traffic, off Rook’s radar.” His fingers flew, pulling up charts, his hazel eyes flicking to me briefly, soft but focused. “It’s our best shot.”

 

Rhys, sprawled in the back, snorted, his knife flipping idly. “Great. A podunk strip in the middle of nowhere.” His voice was rough, but his gaze met mine, warm, promising he’d follow me anywhere.

 

Leo, beside me, leaned forward, his broad frame steadying the space. “It’s defensible. Quiet. We land, refuel, and replan.” His hand brushed mine, grounding, his eyes locking on me with that anchor-like certainty. “We’ll make it work, Elana.”

 

Eve nodded, her jaw tight, already adjusting course. “KOLM it is. ETA twenty minutes.” Her voice carried that Altai edge, fierce, unyielding, but her glance at me softened, a silent vow to keep us safe.

 

The plane dipped, the pines below sharpening into view, the runway at KOLM a thin scar in the green. My hand tightened on Leo’s, Cole’s quiet focus a steady hum, Rhys’s restless energy a spark, Eve’s resolve a shield. We weren’t safe, but we were together, and as the wheels touched down, Sam’s voice—{finish it}—echoed in my mind, louder than the engine’s roar.

 

The plane’s wheels screeched against the cracked tarmac of Olympia Regional Airport—KOLM—a small, fog-shrouded strip nestled in Washington’s damp heart. The engines whined down, their roar fading into a heavy silence that pressed against my chest, thicker than the Kazakh bunker’s rot. My flare gun was still gripped tight, knuckles white, Sam’s voice—{finish it}—looping in my skull, raw and relentless. The cabin smelled of sweat, blood, and jet fuel, the air thick with what we’d survived and what still hunted us.

 

We disembarked into a cold drizzle, the kind that seeps into your bones. An SUV waited, black and battered, parked under a sagging hangar’s shadow—no driver, no note, just keys in the ignition. Eve’s friend, some ghost from her network, had come through. “Clean,” she said, voice flat but her eyes scanning the empty lot, wary, her hand brushing the chip in her pocket like it might bite. She climbed into the driver’s seat, her movements sharp, controlled, but her jaw was tight, a flicker of the Altai’s grief in her glance.

 

I slid into the back, Rhys beside me, his arm still seeping blood through a makeshift bandage, his thigh brushing mine, deliberate, sending heat through my damp gear. His eyes were dark, restless, catching mine with a raw edge—anger, need, something unspoken that made my pulse jump. Cole took the other side, his fingers twitching, brushing my hand as he settled, his touch soft but electric, his hazel eyes heavy with exhaustion and a quiet ache that mirrored mine. Leo claimed the front passenger seat, his broad frame tense, his gaze flicking to the rearview, locking on me for a beat too long, steady but burning, like he was anchoring us all.

 

The SUV rumbled to life, Eve’s hands steady on the wheel as we pulled onto a winding road toward the Cascade Mountains. The safehouse—buried under layers of false names, none tracing to Eve—waited somewhere in those jagged peaks, a haven or a trap. No one spoke. The silence wasn’t empty; it was heavy, alive with glances and the weight of what we’d seen, what we’d done, what we’d become in that bunker.

 

{Elana}

The SUV’s tires hissed on the rain-slicked road, the world outside a smear of gray and green through streaked windows. My chest burned, each breath a shard of glass. Sam’s face—gaunt, bloodied, his crooked smile flickering like a dying ember—seared itself into my mind. His voice, raw and broken, echoed in my head: “I loved you. Finish it.” The words were a blade, twisting deeper with every mile, carving through my grief and guilt, leaving only the weight of his sacrifice. My fingers tightened on the flare gun in my lap, its cold metal biting my palm, the only thing keeping me from unraveling. The cufflink in my pocket pressed against my thigh, its wolf-and-flame etching a ghost of Sam’s touch, his warmth now just a memory.

 

Rhys shifted beside me, his shoulder brushing mine, a deliberate nudge that sent heat through my damp gear. His breath hitched, a low sound that drew my eyes to him, and I caught the storm in his gaze—anger, need, something unspoken that made my pulse jump. I turned back to the window, but his presence lingered, pulling at me.

 

{Rhys}

Fuck, this silence was killing me. Elana’s red hair caught the dim light, damp strands sticking to her neck, and I wanted to brush them away, pull her close, taste her again. That kiss in the bunker—her moans, her nails, her body pressed against me—had cracked something open, and I couldn’t shove it back down. I leaned closer, my arm grazing hers, testing. She stiffened, her green eyes flicking to me, wide, vulnerable, but with that fire I craved. My hand twitched, wanting to grab her, promise I’d burn this whole fucking world to keep her safe. But her gaze darted away, back to the rain, and I clenched my jaw, the gash on my arm throbbing in time with my need.

 

Cole’s hand moved on her other side, brushing her fingers, and I caught his glance—soft, too fucking soft. He was watching her like she might break, and it pissed me off, because I felt it too. I tilted my head, catching Leo’s eyes rearview, his calm bullshit hiding the same fire I felt. Eve’s grip on the wheel tightened, her knuckles pale, and I knew she was as torn up as the rest of us.

{Cole}

Elana’s hand was warm under mine, her pulse jumping, and it took everything not to pull her into my arms, shield her from the pain eating her alive. Sam’s video—his blood, his words—had gutted me, and I could see it gutting her worse. Her eyes were distant, locked on the window, but I felt her trembling, the weight of those coordinates, the bunker, everything. I squeezed her hand, just a little, my thumb brushing her knuckles, soft, steady, promising I wasn’t going anywhere. She glanced at me, her eyes wet, haunted, but there was a spark there, a need that matched mine.

 

Rhys’s heat beside her was loud, his shoulder brushing hers again, and I saw her flinch, not pulling away. It twisted something in me—jealousy, maybe, or fear that I wasn’t enough. I looked up, catching Leo’s gaze in the rearview, his dark eyes steady but burning, like he was anchoring us all. Eve’s shoulders stiffened ahead, her silence a blade, and I knew she felt it too—the weight of Elana’s pain tying us together.

 

{Leo}

The road twisted through the Cascades, trees looming like sentinels, their shadows blending with the rain. Elana’s face in the rearview was a punch to the gut—pale, eyes red, but that fire still burning, the same fire I’d seen in the Altai when she swore to keep fighting. I gripped the armrest, my knuckles white, my calm a fucking lie. Sam’s voice, the bunker’s horrors, those coordinates—they were tearing her apart, and I felt it in my bones, a need to protect her, to lead us through this.

 

Cole’s hand was on hers, soft, careful, his eyes heavy with the same grief I carried. Rhys was a mess, his shoulder pressed against her, his need a storm I recognized. I tilted my head slightly, catching Eve’s eye as she glanced in the mirror, her jaw tight, her gaze flicking to Elana with that old vow—keep moving. I nodded once, a silent agreement—we’d get her through this. My hand flexed, wanting to reach back, to ground her, but I stayed still, my pine scent mixing with the damp leather of the seats.

 

{Eve}

The wheel was cold under my hands, the road a blur, but my mind was back in the Altai—Dad’s knife, Elana’s sobs, my promise to keep her moving. The chip in my pocket burned, Sam’s voice a ghost I couldn’t shake. I pressed the gas, the SUV’s engine growling, trying to outrun the dread clawing at me. This safehouse, buried under false names, was my last card, but the coordinates, the radio’s cold voice—{state your clearance}—felt like a noose tightening.

 

I glanced in the mirror, catching Elana’s reflection—her eyes haunted, her hands visibly shaking, but that fire was still there, the fire I’d seen when we swore to find her dad. Rhys’s shoulder pressed against hers, his need loud enough to cut through the silence. Cole’s hand rested on hers, his touch soft but heavy with guilt. Leo’s eyes met mine, steady, promising he’d carry this with me. I swallowed, my throat tight, and focused on the road, the Cascades swallowing us as the safehouse loomed, a shadow in the peaks, and with it, the coordinates, the fight, and whatever waited beyond.

 

The SUV’s tires crunched through fresh snow as we climbed higher into the Cascades, the road narrowing to a barely maintained path. The safehouse emerged from the storm like a ghost—a low, cedar-clad cabin half-buried in the mountainside, its windows dark, its chimney cold. Eve killed the engine, and the silence was deafening, broken only by the soft patter of snowflakes on the windshield. My breath caught, the flare gun still heavy in my hand, Sam’s voice—{finish it}—a relentless pulse in my skull.

 

We stepped out into the biting cold, the air sharp with pine and frost. Rhys moved first, his boots sinking into the snow as he hauled our gear from the trunk, his injured arm stiff but his movements fierce, like he was daring the mountain to challenge him. Cole grabbed a duffel, his fingers brushing mine as he passed, his hazel eyes catching mine with a quiet warmth that steadied my racing pulse. Leo scanned the perimeter, his broad frame cutting through the snow like a sentinel, his dark eyes flicking to me, checking, always checking. Eve locked the SUV, her hand lingering on the chip in her pocket, her face unreadable but her shoulders tight, carrying the weight of secrets I couldn’t yet name.

 

Inside, the safehouse was sparse but functional—wooden floors, a stone fireplace, a kitchen with a rough-hewn table. The air smelled of dust and old cedar, the kind of place that hadn’t seen life in months, maybe years. We moved like a unit, silent but synchronized, unloading gear with practiced efficiency. Rhys dumped bags by the fireplace, his gaze lingering on me, raw and hungry, his blood-soaked bandage stark against his skin. Cole sorted supplies—med kits, MREs, ammo—his hands steady but his jaw tight, the horrors of the bunker still etched in his eyes. Leo checked the windows, securing the perimeter, his pine scent mixing with the cold air as he passed me, his hand grazing my shoulder, grounding me for a fleeting second. Eve vanished to scout the back rooms, her boots echoing on the hardwood, the chip’s weight pulling her deeper into herself.

 

We converged in the kitchen, the heart of the safehouse, its table scarred and sturdy under a single hanging bulb. Eve set out MREs—chicken and rice, bland but filling—while Cole boiled water on a camp stove, the hiss of the flame cutting through the quiet. I sat, the flare gun still in my lap, its cold metal an anchor as Sam’s face burned behind my eyes. {I loved you. Finish it.} The coordinates from the chip pulsed in my mind, a map to nowhere, a truth I wasn’t ready to chase.

 

Rhys dropped into the chair beside me, his thigh brushing mine, deliberate, sending a jolt through my core. His eyes were dark, restless, locking onto mine with an intensity that made my breath hitch. “You good?” he asked, voice low, rough, like he was fighting to keep it steady. His fingers twitched, inches from mine, and I felt the ghost of his lips from the bunker, hungry, claiming. I nodded, throat tight, unable to trust my voice.

 

Cole slid a steaming MRE in front of me, his fingers grazing my wrist, soft but electric. “Eat,” he said, his hazel eyes searching mine, seeing too much—Sam’s ghost, my guilt, the tremor in my hands. He didn’t push, just sat across from me, his own meal untouched, his silence a promise that he’d wait for me to break it. Leo took the head of the table, his broad frame filling the space, his gaze steady but burning as it met mine. “We’re secure,” he said, voice calm but edged, his knuckles white as he gripped his fork. “For now.”

 

Eve stood at the counter, tearing into her MRE with mechanical precision, her eyes distant but sharp, flicking to the chip she’d set recruiting hers. “We need to talk about the coordinates,” she said, her voice cutting through the room like a blade. “And what’s next.” Her glance met mine, fierce, carrying that old vow—keep moving—but there was fear there, a crack in her armor, like she knew the chip held more than answers.

 

I swallowed, the food tasteless, my pulse racing as their eyes pinned me—Rhys’s raw hunger, Cole’s quiet need, Leo’s steady fire, Eve’s haunted resolve. The safehouse was a haven, but the shadows were closing in, the coordinates a noose tightening around us all.

 

{Debrief in the Kitchen}

The kitchen bulb flickered, its sickly yellow light carving jagged shadows across the table, catching on the chip Eve set down like a grenade. It glowed faintly, a cold pulse in the center of our circle, and my stomach twisted, Sam’s bloodied face—gaunt, his crooked smile fading—burning behind my eyes. “Finish it.” I gripped the flare gun in my lap, its cold metal biting my palm, the only thing tethering me to this room, this moment, when all I wanted was to scream until the ache stopped.

Eve’s voice cut through, low and controlled, but her fingers trembled as she tapped the table, betraying her. “This came from the bunker,” she said, her Altai accent clipping the words. “Sam died for it. It’s got coordinates—somewhere north, deeper in the Cascades. And a phrase: state your clearance. No idea what it unlocks, but it’s tied to the Altai, to your dad, to whatever’s hunting us.” Her eyes flicked to me, sharp but softened with a grief that mirrored mine, and I felt exposed, like she could see the fault lines cracking through me.

My mind churned, the coordinates—47.3921, -121.4057—searing into me like a brand. Numbers, cold and precise, but heavy with Sam’s blood, my dad’s secrets, the weight of something I didn’t understand but couldn’t escape. What did you know, Dad? The question clawed at me, unanswered, a ghost as real as Sam’s. I wanted to believe the coordinates led to answers, to a reason for their deaths, but fear gnawed at me—what if they led to a trap, to more blood, to the thing that had hunted us since the bunker? My pulse hammered, my breath shallow, and I hated how fragile I felt, like one wrong move would shatter me.

Rhys leaned forward, his arm brushing mine, his heat a jolt that sent my nerves sparking, a distraction I craved and resented. “So we’re walking blind into another trap?” His voice was sharp, edged with anger, his dark eyes flicking to me, protective, pissed, like he could shield me from the world’s weight. “We barely got out of that bunker. Elana’s—” He stopped, jaw tight, his gaze softening as it landed on me, and I saw it: fear, not for himself, but for me, like he thought I’d break if he said the wrong thing. His concern was a fire, warming but suffocating, and I wanted to lean into it, to let his heat burn away my grief, but Sam’s voice—finish it—kept me rigid.

“We’re not blind,” Cole cut in, his voice steady, a quiet anchor in the storm. His hands were clenched, the memory of Sam’s video—a grainy loop of his final moments—raw in his hazel eyes. “The chip’s got data—encrypted, but we can crack it. Those coordinates are a lead, maybe a facility, maybe answers.” He looked at me, his gaze soft but resolute, promising he’d carry this with me. “We’ll figure it out, Elana. Together.” His words were a lifeline, but they stung, too, because together felt hollow without Sam, and I hated how much I needed Cole’s steadiness, his gentle touch from last night still lingering on my skin.

Leo nodded, his dark eyes locking on the chip, then sliding to me, steady and unyielding, like he could will me to hold together. “We move at first light,” he said, his tone final, carving the plan into stone. “We scout the coordinates, but we stay sharp. Whatever’s out there knows we’re coming.” His hand brushed mine under the table, a fleeting anchor, his pine scent grounding me as my chest tightened. But even Leo’s strength couldn’t quiet the doubt screaming in my head: What if I’m leading them to their deaths? Sam had trusted me, and he was gone. My dad had trusted me with his secrets, and I’d failed him, too. The weight of their gazes, their touches, their unspoken promises pressed against me, and I wanted to be enough for them, but fear whispered I wasn’t.

The chip sat there, small but monstrous, tying me to Sam, to Dad, to a truth that felt like a noose. “Finish it.” Sam’s voice was louder now, not just a memory but a command, his love and his sacrifice woven into every syllable. It wasn’t just about the coordinates; it was about him, about proving his death meant something, about carrying his fire when mine was flickering. My throat burned, my eyes stinging, but I swallowed it down, afraid to let them see how close I was to breaking.

“We finish this,” I said, my voice raw but steady, forcing myself to meet their eyes one by one—Leo’s steady fire, Cole’s quiet resolve, Rhys’s raw hunger, Eve’s haunted edge. “For Sam. For Dad. For us.” The words felt like a vow, binding me to them, to this path, even as dread coiled in my gut. The coordinates were a thread, pulling us toward truth or destruction, and I wasn’t sure I could tell the difference.

The silence that followed was heavy, alive with their fire, their grief, their need. The safehouse was a pause, a breath before the plunge, but the shadows were waiting, and we were running out of time. Eve stood first, her eyes flicking to me, sharp but soft, before she grabbed her gear and vanished down the hall. “Get some rest,” she said, her voice clipped, the chip’s weight pulling her into herself. Leo followed, his broad frame pausing at the door, his dark eyes meeting mine with a steady promise before he disappeared. Cole lingered, his fingers brushing mine, his hazel eyes heavy with unspoken words, then he squeezed my hand, a silent I’m here, and left. Rhys stayed last, his thigh still pressed against mine, his gaze raw, burning, like he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words. “Sleep, Elana,” he muttered, his injured arm stiff as he stalked off, leaving me alone with the chip’s faint glow.

I sat there, the flare gun cold in my lap, my hands vibrate as Sam’s voice—finish it—looped in my skull, each repetition a fresh cut. The coordinates burned brighter, a tether to a truth I wasn’t ready for, but couldn’t avoid. The safehouse creaked under the snow’s weight, its walls too thin to hold back the shadows creeping closer. I grabbed my bag and headed to my room, a cramped space with a narrow bed, a wooden chair, and a window fogged with frost. The air smelled of cedar and dust, sharp against my raw nerves. I dropped my gear, unpacking with mechanical precision—knife, spare clips, the flare gun—trying to outrun the ache in my chest, the fear that I was leading them all into a trap.

An hour later, the safehouse was silent, the snow muffling the world outside. I sat on the bed e. My fingers traced the flare gun’s grip, its weight a reminder of the bunker, of Sam’s hand slipping from mine. “I loved you. Finish it.” The words hit harder now, a confession and a command, his love a weight I wasn’t sure I deserved. I saw him in fragments—his reckless grin, the way he’d pull me close in the dark, promising we’d make it; his bloodied face, his eyes fading but still holding mine, trusting me to carry on. Guilt clawed at me—I should’ve saved him, should’ve seen the trap, should’ve been faster, stronger. My breath hitched, my eyes burning, and I squeezed them shut, willing his face away, but it only grew sharper.

The cufflink in my pocket pressed against my thigh, its wolf-and-flame etching a tether to Dad, to Sam, to secrets I couldn’t unravel. What did you leave me, Dad? The question was a scream in my head, unanswered, heavy with betrayal. He’d known about the Altai, about Umbra, and never told me, leaving me to piece together his shadows through blood and loss. I wanted to hate him, but all I felt was longing—for his voice, his steady hand, the answers he’d taken to his grave. My chest ached, a hollow space where Sam and Dad used to be, and I wondered if I was enough to finish what they’d started, or if I’d lose the team, too.

A soft knock broke the silence, and my pulse jumped, the flare gun tightening in my grip. My mind raced—friend or threat?—but the team’s warmth, their touches, their vows, lingered like a shield. I stood, my damp clothes heavy, my heart pounding with grief and resolve, and opened the door, ready to face whatever came next, Sam’s voice still whispering—finish it.

 

{In Elana’s Room}

 

{Cole}

The door creaked open, and Cole stepped in, his hazel eyes soft but heavy, catching the dim light like polished amber. Snow clung to his damp hair, curling it at the ends, and his cheeks were flushed from the cold. He closed the door quietly, leaning against it, hands shoved deep in his pockets. His gaze flickered to me, hesitant, like he was afraid I’d shatter if he looked too long. “Elana,” he said, his voice low, raw, breaking on my name. “I can’t stop seeing him—Sam, that video.” His jaw tightened, his eyes locking on mine, and I saw the same jagged pain mirrored back, a silent understanding that made my throat ache.

He crossed the room, slow, deliberate, each step measured, like he was giving me time to pull away. When he sat beside me, the bed dipped under his weight, his warmth a quiet anchor against the storm in my chest. His fingers brushed my cheek, soft, electric, and I leaned into it, my breath hitching. His eyes searched mine, tender but fierce, holding me together. “I’m here,” he whispered, his thumb tracing my jaw, lingering like he was memorizing me. “When we get out of this nightmare, I want you with me. Not just for this fight—for everything.” His voice was a promise, steady and sure, and it cracked something open inside me, a fragile hope I didn’t dare name.

His lips found mine, gentle at first, then deeper, a slow burn that melted the cold knot in my chest. His hands slid to my waist, pulling me closer, his touch steady but hungry, promising he’d catch me if I fell. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against mine, his breath uneven, warm against my skin. “I’m not going anywhere,” he said, his voice a vow, before kissing my temple, soft and lingering. As he slipped out, his hazel eyes caught mine one last time, a quiet intensity that left his warmth lingering on my skin.

Elana: Cole’s words and touch sink into me like sunlight through a cracked window, warm and grounding, but they stir a quiet ache too. His promise feels like a lifeline, but it’s heavy with the weight of Sam’s memory and the uncertainty of what “everything” could mean. I feel seen, tethered, but terrified—his hope makes me want to believe we can outrun this, but the guilt of leaning into him while Sam’s ghost lingers claws at me. His kiss leaves me steadier, but it’s a fragile calm, like I’m borrowing his strength to keep from breaking.

{Rhys}

The door swung open, and Rhys filled the frame, his dark eyes burning with a storm that seemed to pull the air from the room. His bandage seeped red through his sleeve, a stark reminder of the fight we were all tangled in. He didn’t knock, just stepped in, his presence a force, his breath ragged like he’d been wrestling demons to get here. His gaze locked on me, sharp and unyielding, but softened at the edges, like he was seeing straight through my defenses. “Fuck, Elana,” he growled, pacing once, his boots heavy on the floor, before stopping in front of me. His hands flexed, like he wanted to grab me but didn’t trust himself to be gentle. “You’re breaking, and it’s tearing me apart.”

He dropped to his knees, sudden and raw, his hands finding mine, his grip tight, almost desperate. His eyes, dark and wild, held mine, and I saw the same hunger from the bunker, now laced with something deeper—fear, maybe, or need. “I can’t lose you,” he said, his voice rough, cracking on the words. “When this is over, you’re not walking away. You’re mine—ours.” His lips crashed into mine, fierce, claiming, a fire that burned away Sam’s ghost for a fleeting second. His hands slid up my arms, pulling me against him, his touch possessive but quivering, like he was afraid I’d vanish. The kiss was all heat and edges, grounding me in its intensity, but it left my heart racing, exposed.

He broke away, his breath hot against my neck, his fingers lingering on my skin, tracing the curve of my shoulder. “I’ll burn this fucking world to keep you safe,” he muttered, his voice low, a vow wrapped in a threat. He stood, his eyes still locked on mine, dark and unwavering, before he turned and left, the door clicking shut behind him, leaving the air heavy with his absence.

Elana: Rhys’s intensity hits me like a wave, overwhelming and raw, pulling me into his orbit. His words, his kiss—they’re a fierce anchor, but they scare me as much as they comfort me. I feel wanted, claimed, but it’s a fire that could consume us both. His promise to burn the world feels like a shield, but it also reminds me of the chaos we’re in, the stakes we can’t escape. My heart pounds with a mix of relief and guilt—his hunger makes me feel alive, but it’s tangled with the weight of Sam’s loss and the fear that I don’t deserve this kind of devotion.

{Leo} 

Leo came last, his broad frame filling the doorway, his pine scent cutting through the room’s stale air. His dark eyes met mine, steady but burning, like he was anchoring the world just by standing there. He didn’t speak at first, just crossed to me, his movements calm, deliberate, but his gaze never wavered, holding me in place. He sat on the bed, close, his knee brushing mine, a quiet connection that steadied my shaking edges. His hand rested on my shoulder, heavy, grounding, his fingers warm through my shirt. “Elana,” he said, his voice low, calm, but edged with something deeper, like a fire banked beneath stone. “You don’t have to carry this alone. Sam, the chip, your dad—we’re in this with you.”

His fingers tilted my chin, gentle but firm, his gaze locking on mine, protective, fierce, like he could shield me from the world. “When we make it out, you’re not running off. You stay with us—me.” His lips met mine, slow, deliberate, a claim that steadied my trembling core. His hands slid to my back, pulling me close, his touch firm but tender, like he was building a wall around my shadows. The kiss deepened, his warmth wrapping around me, and for a moment, the coordinates, the bunker, Sam’s voice—they faded, leaving only his steady presence.

He pulled back, his hand cupping my face, his thumb brushing my lips, a soft anchor that kept me tethered. “We finish this together,” he said, his voice a rock I could lean on, his eyes holding mine with quiet certainty. Then he stood, his gaze lingering, warm and resolute, before he left, the door closing softly behind him.

Elana: Leo’s calm strength wraps around me like a shield, steadying the chaos inside me. His words, his touch—they make me feel held, like I can breathe without breaking. But his promise to finish this together stirs a quiet fear—what if together isn’t enough? His kiss grounds me, makes the world feel solid again, but it’s bittersweet, tangled with Sam’s memory and the weight of the fight ahead. I feel protected, but also fragile, like his strength is the only thing keeping me from falling apart, and I’m not sure I’m strong enough to match it.

 

The room felt smaller, the air thick with their promises, their touches, their fire. My lips burned, my skin alive with the memory of their hands—Cole’s gentle need, Rhys’s raw hunger, Leo’s steady claim. The flare gun lay beside me, cold, heavy, Sam’s words—{finish it}—clashing with their vows. The coordinates pulsed in my mind, a path to answers or ruin, and the safehouse’s walls seemed to close in, the snow outside burying us deeper. They wanted me to stay, to build something beyond this nightmare, but the shadows were waiting, and I wasn’t sure we’d all make it out.

 

The shower’s warmth still clung to my skin, the steam curling in the small bathroom as I wrapped a worn towel around myself. My nap had been fitful, Sam’s voice—{finish it}—weaving through fractured dreams of the bunker, the chip, and the coordinates. The flare gun sat on the bedside table, its cold metal a stark contrast to the heat lingering in my body. I’d barely pulled on a loose shirt and shorts when a knock at the door jolted me, pulse spiking.

 

I opened the door, and there they were—Leo, Cole, and Rhys, standing in the dim hallway, their eyes ablaze with a mix of desire and urgency. The safehouse’s chill couldn’t touch the heat radiating from them, their presence filling the doorway like a storm about to break. Leo’s broad frame anchored the group, his dark eyes burning with a steady intensity. Cole’s hazel gaze was softer but no less fierce, his hands twitching like he was fighting to stay calm. Rhys, leaning against the frame, his bandage stark against his skin, looked at me with raw hunger, his lips parted, his breath uneven. The sight of them, combined with the lingering steam on my skin, sent a shiver down my spine, my knees weakening as anticipation coiled in my core.

 

Elana’s breath caught, her fingers tightening on the doorframe. She wanted them—God, she did—but the weight of Sam’s memory, his bloodied smile, pressed against her chest, a cold reminder of what she’d lost. Could she let herself have this, even for a moment, when the shadows of the bunker still clung to her? Their eyes held hers, unwavering, and she saw their grief, their need, mirroring her own. It was too much, and not enough.

 

“Elana,” Leo began, stepping forward, his voice low, intense, vibrating through the small room. “We need to be here with you, to show you we’ll never leave. All of us together.” His words were a promise, heavy with intent, his pine scent cutting through the damp air. He stopped inches from her, his hand hovering near her arm, waiting for her permission.

 

Her heart raced, a flush of heat spreading through her, but doubt clawed at her. “I don’t know if I can,” she whispered, her voice quaking, her eyes flicking between them. “Sam… he’s still here.” She pressed a hand to her chest, where his voice—{finish it}—echoed, a ghost she couldn’t shake.

 

Cole stepped closer, his hand gently cupping her cheek, his touch warm, electric. “We see him too,” he said, his voice soft but thick with need, his thumb brushing her lips. “But we see you, Elana. You’re not alone in this.” His hazel eyes searched hers, seeing the tremor in her breath, the flush creeping up her neck. His words cracked something open, a longing she’d buried under grief.

 

Rhys pushed off the frame, his dark eyes roaming over her, taking in the way the shirt clung to her damp skin, the curve of her legs. “We’ll take care of you,” he said, his voice rough, almost a growl. “Let us make you feel something good, something real.” His hands flexed, like he was barely holding back, but he stayed where he was, his gaze locked on hers, daring her to let go.

 

Elana’s pulse pounded, her body responding before her mind could catch up. She wanted to lose herself in them, to let their heat burn away the pain, but guilt tugged at her, Sam’s face flashing in her mind. “What if I’m not enough?” she murmured, her voice barely audible, her eyes dropping to the floor. “What if I can’t give you what you’re giving me?”

 

Leo closed the distance, his fingers brushing her arm, sending sparks of electricity through her. “You’re more than enough,” he said, his voice a low rumble, his touch firm but reverent. “We’re here because we want you—all of you.” His hand slid to her shoulder, his thumb grazing the pulse at her neck, and she shivered, her resolve wavering.

 

Cole’s breath was hot against her ear as he leaned in, his hands finding her waist, pulling her gently closer. “Let us show you how perfect this can be,” he whispered, his lips brushing the shell of her ear, igniting a slow burn in her core. His fingers traced the curve of her hips, soft but deliberate, and she felt the knot in her chest loosen, just a little.

 

Rhys moved last, his hands sliding under the hem of her shirt, his calloused fingers grazing her stomach, her ribs, her skin tingling under his touch. “We’re here for you, Elana,” he murmured, his voice rough, his lips hovering inches from hers. “Only you.” His hands roamed higher, possessive but careful, his eyes burning with hunger and something deeper, something that made her breath hitch.

 

Elana’s body quivered, caught between fear and desire, Sam’s ghost and their living warmth. She stepped back, her bare feet cold on the wooden floor, her hands shaking as she gripped the edge of her shirt. “I’m scared,” she admitted, her voice raw, her eyes meeting theirs one by one—Leo’s steady fire, Cole’s quiet need, Rhys’s raw hunger. “But I want this. I want you.”

 

She nodded, a silent invitation, and they entered, the door clicking shut behind them. The room seemed to shrink, the air thick with anticipation, heavy with their combined presence. Leo’s hand found hers, guiding her to the bed, his touch steady, grounding. “We’ve got you,” he murmured, his lips brushing her neck, slow, deliberate, a rhythm that calmed her racing pulse. Cole sat beside her, his fingers threading through her damp hair, his kiss soft at first, then deeper, a quiet promise that soothed her jagged edges. Rhys knelt before her, his hands sliding along her thighs, parting them gently, his lips pressing a searing kiss to her skin, each touch a spark that set her alight.

 

Her hesitation lingered, a flicker of guilt as Sam’s voice whispered, but their touches—Leo’s steady grip, Cole’s gentle caresses, Rhys’s hungry exploration—drowned it out, pulling her into the moment. She let the towel slip, her shirt lifting under Rhys’s hands, and surrendered, her body arching under their warmth, her breath hitching as they moved together, a rhythm born of shared need, shared grief, shared fire.

 

Leo’s lips traced her neck, his hands sliding down her spine, pulling her closer until her chest pressed against his, his strength a shield against the cold. Cole’s kisses deepened, his tongue brushing hers, drawing a quiet moan from her throat. Rhys’s mouth moved higher, his hands gripping her hips, his breath hot against her sensitive skin, each movement sending waves of pleasure through her.

 

The room dissolved into sensation—their hands, their mouths, their warmth enveloping her. Leo’s pine scent mixed with Cole’s clean musk and Rhys’s raw edge, their touches blending, distinct but harmonious. Elana’s hands moved too, finding Leo’s broad shoulders, Cole’s steady chest, Rhys’s tense arms, her fingers shaking with need. They undressed her slowly, reverently, their whispers—{you’re beautiful, you’re ours, we’re here}—weaving a cocoon around her.

 

She let herself fall, her body responding, her hips bucking under Rhys’s mouth, her back arching into Leo’s hands, her lips parting for Cole’s kisses. The guilt faded, replaced by their fire, their love, filling the hollow spaces Sam’s death had carved. Their climaxes followed, their groans and whispers filling the room, their hands never leaving her, grounding her as they found release. They collapsed together, a tangle of limbs and sweat, their breaths heavy, their touches lingering—Leo’s hand on her hip, Cole’s fingers in her hair, Rhys’s arm across her waist.

 

The safehouse was silent, the snow outside a distant hum, the chip’s weight forgotten for now. Elana lay between them, her body warm, her heart full, their promises—{we’re here, you’re ours, we’ll make it through}—echoing in the quiet. The shadows still waited, but in this moment, with their heat surrounding her, she believed they could face anything.

 

Exhaustion claimed them, their bodies tangled in the narrow bed, limbs heavy, breaths slowing as sleep pulled them under. Elana nestled between Leo, Cole, and Rhys, their warmth a cocoon against the safehouse’s chill, their whispered promises—{we’re here, you’re ours}—lingering like a balm on her raw heart. The weight of Sam’s death, the chip, the coordinates faded into the background, replaced by a fragile peace. For the first time in days, her dreams were quiet, not haunted, the steady rhythm of their breathing lulling her into a deep, restorative sleep.

 

Eight hours later, the faint light of dawn seeped through the frosted window, the snow outside glowing faintly under a gray sky. Elana stirred, her body warm but sore, the memory of their touches—Leo’s steady hands, Cole’s gentle caresses, Rhys’s hungry fire—still vivid on her skin. She blinked awake, finding Leo’s arm draped across her waist, Cole’s hand resting on her shoulder, Rhys’s leg tangled with hers. Their faces were soft in sleep, the hard edges of their grief and tension smoothed away, and for a moment, she just watched them, her heart swelling with something she wasn’t ready to name.

Her mind drifted to the night before, a tangle of whispered confessions and shared vulnerability that had unraveled her defenses. Leo’s quiet strength had anchored her, his hands grounding her in a way that felt like home. Cole’s tenderness, his fingers tracing her skin with reverence, had stirred a warmth she hadn’t known she craved. And Rhys—his intensity, raw and unapologetic, had set her alight, burning away the doubts that had haunted her for so long. Each touch, each look, had woven them closer, a fragile thread of trust spun in the dark. Lying there, surrounded by their warmth, Elana felt a flicker of hope, a quiet certainty that whatever this was, it was worth holding onto.

Leo woke first, his dark eyes meeting hers, a quiet smile tugging at his lips. “Morning,” he murmured, his voice rough with sleep, his hand squeezing her hip gently before he untangled himself. Cole stirred next, his hazel eyes blinking open, warm and searching as they found her. “You okay?” he asked, his fingers brushing her cheek, lingering just long enough to make her pulse jump. Rhys groaned, stretching, his dark hair mussed, his gaze landing on her with a lazy, satisfied grin. “Fuck, that was worth it,” he muttered, his voice low, teasing, but his hand grazed her thigh, soft, almost reverent.

 

They disentangled slowly, the air heavy with unspoken promises, the intimacy of the night binding them closer. One by one, they slipped out, each stealing a final touch—a kiss on her forehead from Cole, a lingering look from Leo, a playful tug on her hair from Rhys—before heading to their own rooms to shower and dress for the day. Elana lingered, pulling on fresh clothes—black cargo pants, a fitted thermal shirt, her boots—her fingers brushing the flare gun on the bedside table. Sam’s voice—{finish it}—flickered in her mind, but it was softer now, overshadowed by the heat of their promises, the strength they’d given her.

 

{The Kitchen Reunion}

The kitchen smelled of coffee and damp wood, the camp stove hissing as Eve boiled water, her back to the room, her movements sharp, efficient. The chip sat on the table again, a silent threat under the hanging bulb’s flicker. Elana entered first, her hair still damp, the flare gun tucked into her waistband, its weight grounding her. Eve glanced up, her eyes scanning Elana’s face, a flicker of something—concern, maybe suspicion—crossing her features before she nodded, gesturing to the coffee. “Made enough for everyone,” she said, her voice flat but her gaze lingering, like she sensed the shift in Elana’s energy.

 

Leo arrived next, his broad frame filling the doorway, his dark hair wet, his pine scent cutting through the coffee’s bitterness. He took a seat at the head of the table, his eyes meeting Elana’s, steady and warm, a silent acknowledgment of the night before. Cole followed, his hazel eyes bright but tired, his movements careful as he grabbed a mug, his fingers brushing Elana’s arm as he passed, a soft, deliberate touch that sent a spark through her. Rhys sauntered in last, his bandage fresh, his dark eyes glinting with mischief as he leaned against the counter, smirking at Elana before grabbing a coffee, his thigh grazing hers as he slid into the chair beside her.

 

The air was different now, charged with a new intimacy, their glances heavy with meaning. Leo’s knee pressed against Elana’s under the table, a quiet anchor. Cole’s hand rested near hers, his fingers twitching like he wanted to reach out. Rhys’s gaze roamed her face, bold, possessive, but softened by a warmth that hadn’t been there before. Eve’s eyes flicked between them, her jaw tightening slightly, like she felt the shift but wasn’t ready to name it.

 

“We move at first light,” Leo said, breaking the silence, his voice calm but firm, his gaze sweeping the group before landing on the chip. “The coordinates are north, deeper in the Cascades. We need a plan—scout, secure, decode whatever’s on that chip.” His hand rested on the table, inches from Elana’s, his fingers flexing like he was grounding himself in her presence.

 

Cole nodded, his voice steady but laced with urgency. “The chip’s encrypted, but I can work on it. If we can crack it before we reach the coordinates, we’ll know what we’re walking into.” His eyes met Elana’s, soft but resolute, promising he’d carry his share of the weight.

 

Rhys leaned forward, his coffee untouched, his voice sharp. “Whatever’s out there, it’s not just a facility. They knew we were in that bunker. They’ll know we’re coming.” His hand brushed Elana’s thigh under the table, a fleeting touch, but it sent a jolt through her, his dark eyes locking on hers, daring her to stay strong.

 

Eve set her mug down, the clink loud in the quiet. “The safehouse is secure for now, but we can’t stay long. My contact got us this far, but the chip’s signal could be tracked.” Her gaze flicked to Elana, fierce, protective, but there was a crack in her armor, a hint of fear. “We need to know what {state your clearance} means. It’s tied to your dad, Elana. To Sam. To all of this.”

 

Elana’s chest tightened, the flare gun heavy against her hip, Sam’s voice echoing faintly—{finish it}. She looked at them—Leo’s steady fire, Cole’s quiet strength, Rhys’s raw edge, Eve’s haunted resolve—and felt their night together like a pulse in her veins, giving her the courage to speak. “We go to the coordinates,” she said, her voice low but steady. “We find out what they died for. Together.”

 

The silence that followed was heavy, alive with their shared resolve, their unspoken bond. The snow outside fell thicker, the safehouse a fragile haven, but with their heat, their strength, Elana felt ready to face the shadows waiting beyond.

{Cracking the Code}

Elana sat on the narrow bed, the safehouse’s silence pressing against her, the snow outside muffling the world. Her damp hair clung to her neck, the flare gun heavy at her waist, Sam’s voice—{finish it}—a relentless echo in her skull. The items from her pack lay spread before her: the crumpled note, Sam’s tarnished cufflink with its wolf-and-flame etching, her father’s two battered journals, and the cipher disc she’d carried since the Altai mission. They were pieces of a puzzle, fragments of Sam’s sacrifice and her dad’s secrets, and somewhere in them was the key to {state your clearance}. Hours ticked by, the dim light from the frosted window fading as she poured over the clues, her fingers shuddering with frustration and hope.

 

She started with the note, its frayed edges soft from countless readings. Her dad’s handwriting was hurried, cryptic: {Trust the shadow, not the light. 47.8932, -121.9847. Clearance is the key.} The coordinates matched the chip’s, pointing to a location deep in the Cascades, but the phrase {Clearance is the key} gnawed at her. It wasn’t just a hint—it felt like a command, a directive tied to the radio’s cold demand: {state your clearance}. She set the note down, her eyes flicking to the cufflink.

 

The cufflink gleamed faintly, its silver surface etched with a wolf surrounded by flames—Sam’s, found in the Altai wreckage where he’d died. It was personal, a symbol of his fire, his fight. She turned it over, noticing a faint scratch on the back, almost invisible: {S-7}. Her breath caught. Sam’s initial, and a number. Could it connect to the journals? She clutched it, her pulse quickening, Sam’s face—gaunt, bloodied, smiling—flashing in her mind.

 

The journals were next, their yellowed pages dense with her dad’s meticulous notes—sketches of radio towers, chemical formulas, coded phrases. She flipped to the entry that had caught her eye earlier, dated a year before his disappearance: {Project Umbra. Clearance code: LUNA-7. Access restricted. They’re watching.} She scanned further, her fingers tracing the pages, until another entry stopped her cold: {Umbra protocol requires dual clearance. Primary: VENUS-7. Secondary: Operative designation. S-7 confirmed for transfer.} Her heart pounded—{S-7}, like the cufflink. Was Sam the operative? Was his designation the secondary clearance?

 

She grabbed the cipher disc, its metal dials cold under her fingers, etched with letters and numbers. She’d carried it since the Altai, hoping it would unlock her dad’s codes, but her earlier attempt with {VENUS-7} had produced gibberish. Now, with {S-7} in mind, she reconsidered. The disc had two rings: an outer ring for letters, an inner ring for numbers. What if the clearance wasn’t one code, but two, layered together? She set the outer ring to {VENUS}, aligning the letters, then turned the inner ring to 7. The output was still nonsense, a jumble of letters. Frustration surged, but she forced herself to breathe, her eyes darting back to the note.

 

{Trust the shadow, not the light.} The phrase felt like more than a warning—it was a method. She reexamined the journals, flipping to a page she’d overlooked, a diagram of the cipher disc itself, annotated in her dad’s hand: Align primary code to outer ring, secondary to inner. Shadow key shifts output by operative’s mark. Her pulse spiked. The shadow key—a hidden shift, likely a Caesar cipher offset to obscure the output. The operative’s mark—possibly Sam’s S-7, a personal identifier tied to the code’s decryption. She grabbed the disc, ready to test it.

 

She tested it. Setting the outer ring to {VENUS} and the inner to 7, she noted the output: {KTMV}. If S-7} was the shadow key, {S} was the 19th letter, and shifting each output letter back by 19 might reveal the answer. She calculated: {K} (11) minus 19 became {S} (19, looping backward); {T} (20) became {A}; {M} (13) became {U}; {V} (22) became {I}. The result: {SAUI}. No good. She frowned, her fingers tightening on the cufflink. Maybe the shift was numerical, tied to the 7 in {S-7}? She tried shifting the output back by 7: {K} became {D}, {T} became {M}, {M} became {F}, {V} became {O}. {DMFO}. Still gibberish.

 

Her eyes flicked to the cufflink’s wolf-and-flame symbol. Sam’s fire, his fight. What if the shadow key wasn’t a shift, but a substitution tied to the symbol? She scanned the journals again, finding a cryptic note: {Flame hides the truth. Use the operative’s mark as the key.} The wolf and flames—Sam’s mark. She realized the cipher disc had a third ring, barely noticeable, with symbols instead of letters or numbers. One was a flame. Heart pounding, she aligned the outer ring to {VENUS}, the inner to 7, and the symbol ring to the flame. The output was four letters: {C-L-R-N}.

 

Her breath hitched. CLRN}. Clearance? It was close, but not exact. She cross-checked the journal, finding a final clue buried in a footnote: {Umbra clearance format: 4 letters, operative’s initial first.} Sam’s initial was {S}. If {S-7} was his designation, the clearance might start with {S}. She tested the cipher again, this time inputting {S-7} as the secondary code on the inner ring, {LUNA} on the outer, and the flame symbol on the third. The output was {S-C-R-N}. Her hands shook as she whispered it aloud: “Scorn.”

 

{State your clearance.} The word felt right, heavy with meaning. {Scorn}—a rejection of the light, a defiance of those watching, tied to Sam’s fiery spirit and her dad’s shadowed secrets. She tested it mentally against the radio’s demand, imagining the cold voice accepting it. The journals’ mention of {Project Umbra} and {S-7} as an operative designation, the cufflink’s flame symbol, the note’s {Trust the shadow}—they all converged on this. {Scorn} was the clearance code, a key to whatever waited at the coordinates.

 

Elana leaned back, her chest tight, the cufflink warm in her palm. Sam’s voice—{finish it}—was quieter now, his sacrifice etched into the answer she’d found. The safehouse’s silence felt alive, the snow outside a distant hum, but the weight of {Scorn} and the coordinates pressed against her. She’d cracked the code, but it felt like opening a door to something darker, something that might demand more than she could give.