Bam’s hand tightens on my waist, steadying me. I realize my legs are shaking. I can’t remember the last time I felt so hollowed out by hope.
I lean into his side, not caring if the others see. His arm is solid around me, a wall against the world. For once, I want to be protected. For once, I want to let myself feel safe.
I watch Caius show his daughter off to the others again, touting about ‘her mothers eyes’ and ‘fathers lips’, voice low and proud. The way he shields her with his whole body. The way his hands shake a little as he adjusts the blanket.
I look at Bam, at the scars on his skin, the smile hiding under the beard, the way he watches me like I’m the only thing in the room that matters.
And out of nowhere, I say it.
“They’re beautiful together. The three of them.”
The words slip out before I can stop them. For a heartbeat, I want to claw them back, pretend I didn’t say it. But Bam hears, and his hand goes still on my waist. He looks down at me, eyes wide, then soft.
He bends low, lips at my ear. “We could have that, you know. If you wanted.”
I don’t answer. I just press closer, let the warmth of him seep into every ruined part of me. I try to picture it—a future that isn’t just violence and hunger and war. A future where I get to want something, and maybe even have it.
And maybe… it might be possible.
The nurse tries to usher Caius back to the room, telling him she needs to check on mom and baby before anymore socializing.
Bam’s hand slides up, thumb brushing the line of my jaw. He wipes a tear from my face, and I realize I’m crying, silent and unashamed.
He kisses my forehead, fierce and possessive. “You’re not broken, Lia,” he says. “You never were.”
I look at him and believe it.
We stand there, part of the pack now, watching the strategist cradle his new world, and for once I am not afraid. Not of my father, or my legacy, or even myself.
Just of what it means to be truly alive.
We wait for hours. The adrenaline burns out, replaced by exhaustion and the strange warmth of shared survival. Bam finds a vending machine and buys every candy bar inside; he eats half and gives the rest to the guys. Julian sits on the floor, back against the wall, humming to himself. Slade leaves to make a phone call, comes back with coffee for everyone, even me.
Caius never leaves the delivery room. The second the nurse let him back in, he’s at Ophelia’s side, baby in his arms, eyes never straying from either of them.
I watch through the glass, memorizing the way they fit together. O’s hair is damp and tangled, her face shiny with sweat and tears, but she’s smiling, a real smile that lights up the whole room. The baby is nestled against her chest, calm and soft, fist wrapped around Caius’s finger.
It shouldn’t matter to me. But it does.
Bam comes up behind me, arms around my waist, chin on my shoulder. “You want to go in?” he asks.
I shake my head. “Not yet.”
He doesn’t press. He just stands there, holding me, until the world is quiet again.
I wonder if this is what peace feels like. Or if it’s just the eye of the hurricane.
Either way, I want to live here, just for a little longer.
I let myself lean back into Bam’s body, the weight of him holding me up, the future unrolling in waves. Big and terrifying and beautiful.
Bam’s hand never leaves my waist, even as the corridor fills with the noise of victory. More nurses come up, security working on clearing the bodies, janitors mopping the floors. It’s all so nonchalant, I wonder how much they were paid to do this so easily.
Slade is grinning, high on caffeine and adrenaline; Julian is trading mock insults with one of the nurses, both pretending not to watch us. Even the air is lighter—less morgue, more party—because someone made it out alive, and for once the violence did not win.
But it’s not the chaos that holds me. It’s the way Bam’s body cages mine, shutting out everything but the heat between us. He smells like exhaustion, but underneath is the clean tang of sweat and the faint sweetness of the vending machine candy. His fingers tap a slow, deliberate rhythm at the base of my spine, as if to say,Remember, you’re not alone. Remember, you’re mine.
I let myself relax. I don’t know if it’s the exhaustion or the high of a new life, but I feel weightless, like I could float right out of this body and become something new.
