He’s up in an instant, leaning over me, one hand sliding into mine without hesitation.
“You’re awake,” he says, voice low, rough. “Thank the stars.”
“You didn’t leave.”
“Didn’t plan to.” He squeezes my hand, thumb brushing my knuckles. “Not ever again.”
Emotion swells in my chest, sharp and sudden, but I push it down. Later. There’s too much to say.
“I need to tell you everything,” I say, throat dry, each word like dragging wire through cloth. “Before it slips.”
“I’m listening.”
“The vault… Dennis’s study. It was a tomb of secrets. Paper files, Kenron. Like he knew someday the net wouldn’t be safe.”
I shift, pain flaring down my leg. He helps me sit up, props a pillow behind me.
“Talk,” he says. “Don’t hold back.”
“There was a prototype. A nanite batch labeled ‘Trial—Verified Lethal.’ I saw the specs. It’s confirmed, Kenron. I found the prototype vial. It matches the specs we saw—the mutation, the sterilization protocols. It’s all there, Kenron. The ambassador. The nanites. The timeline. He signed his name to an apocalypse.”
His face hardens. “Extinction.”
“Yes. And there’s more.” My hands shake as I talk, but I can’t stop. “The documents include deployment schedules. The nanites are staged. They’re already embedded in the Sunrise Festival infrastructure. Dispersal points disguised as decor—gilded urns, flower misters, cooling towers…”
“Gods.” He runs a hand through his hair. “They’re planning a mass kill switch in the middle of a peace celebration.”
“They want it symbolic,” I whisper. “Clean. Controlled. A genocide wrapped in fireworks and pretty speeches.”
“We can’t let it happen.”
“No. But we have motive, means, proof of execution planning. We can expose this. Stop the launch if we hit the right node.”
His eyes meet mine.
“The command node,” we say together.
“Top tier of the festival pavilion,” I continue. “Access locked by triple-layer encryption, council-grade firewalls, and biometric gates.”
He lets out a breath. “We’ll get through them.”
“It’s impossible.”
“It’s not.”
I search his face. The lines of exhaustion. The quiet fury banked just under the surface.
“How do you always believe in me?” I ask, softer.
“Because you keep coming back,” he says, brushing hair from my cheek. “Because you keep standing when most would run.”
My throat tightens. I press my forehead to his.
“We’re not gonna make it out of this clean.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“I don’t want to lose you again.”
