“Jesus, Ren…” he murmured. The words came out rough. “What’d you do?”
She doesn’t flinch. “What I had to.”
He took a step closer, mud sucking at his boots. He wanted to touch her, but something about the air between them said don’t. Not yet. It’s still humming, still dangerous.
Her fire might be dimmed, but it hasn’t gone out.
He looked at Shadow again—what’s left of him—and back at her. “You, okay?”
A pause.
Then, quietly: “I don’t know.”
Something in his chest twisted hard. He’s seen her bleed before, but never like this. Never with that kind of stillness in her eyes—the calm after something that can’t be undone.
He finally closed the distance, slow, careful, like approaching a wild animal. Reaches out. His hand hovers just short of her cheek, not quite touching.
“You’re still here,” he says. Not a question. Just truth.
She let out a breath that might almost be a laugh. “Barely.”
“That’s enough for me.”
The wind shifted, carrying the smell of smoke downhill. Engines in the distance—his boys, maybe Eagle. But right then, none of it mattered.
He took the chain from her fingers, cold and wet, and wrapped it once around his own hand.
“You done with this?” he asked.
She nodded. “No more ghosts.”
He slipped it into his pocket. “Good. Then we start fresh.”
For a long time, neither of them spoke. Just rain, the hum of the dragon fading, and the storm breaking somewhere beyond the ridge.
When he finally did move, it was to tilt her chin up gently. “C’mon, darlin.’ Let’s go home.”
They didn’t say much after that.
Some things don’t need words.
Tater slid his arm around her waist, careful of the blood and the tremor still running through her. Ren leaned into him without hesitation—no pride left, just exhaustion and the fragile steadiness that followed survival.
Their bikes sit a few feet apart, slick with rain. Her front tire’s half-buried in mud, chrome dulled under the storm light. His still stood upright where he left it, water dripped from the seat.
He walked her to it slowly. “You ain’t riding in this condition and your bike is in no shape to be ridden.”
She opened her mouth to argue, but he shook his head. “Not tonight, Ren.”
After a heartbeat, she nodded. “Then you better not crash.”
“Wouldn’t dare with you on the back.”
He swung a leg over, started the engine. The sound is steady, grounded. She climbed behind him, her hand found his side, fingers curled weak but sure.
“Hold on,” he said.
She pressed her forehead against his back. “Always.”
