ALFA07/Helios is still out there.
Dean and Arrow and everyone else are still hunting ghosts through code and shadows.
But in this small circle of lamplight and shared body heat, it’s just us. Knight, wrapped around me like armor. Me, wrappedaround him like I’ve finally found the place I was trying to hack my way into all along.
Sleep comes easier this time.
And even when my brain tries to spin up worst-case scenarios, the steady weight of his arm around my waist and the warm press of him remind me of one stubborn, glowing fact:
Whatever’s hunting us?
They’re underestimating just how hard two people in love—and yes, I said it, I own it—will fight to keep each other breathing.
Their mistake.
Our advantage.
I fall asleep with his heartbeat in my ear and his promise in my bones.
THIRTEEN
IMPACT TESTING
KNIGHT
I don’t know when worrying about Lark became my default operating system.
Probably around the time she blackmailed her way into our missions.
Definitely by the time I watched her face appear on a bounty board.
Absolutely the second she fell asleep in my arms last night, breathing warm against my chest like I was some kind of security blanket instead of a guy who’s spent most of his life breaking things.
Now it’s morning.
The forest outside the cabin is still damp and gray, mist caught in the trees like cotton. The cabin smells like coffee and pancake mix remnants and the faint citrus of her shampoo.
Lark is at the table in one of my t-shirts, bare legs tucked under her, hair in a messy knot, scrolling through the offline logs wedownloaded. The little wrinkle between her brows means she’s thinking hard.
I’m standing by the tiny window, mug in hand, trying not to stare at her like she’s a screensaver I don’t want to turn off.
You’re falling,some traitorous part of me whispers.
Yeah,another part answers.No shit.
It’s not subtle anymore.
It’s not a crush. Not infatuation.
It’s the way my entire body registers her state before my brain does. The way my thoughts run in her direction whenever there’s silence. The way last night’s “I love you” from her replayed in my head until three in the morning like a song I didn’t want to skip.
She looks up, catching me. “What?” she asks.
I take a sip of coffee. “You’re frowning at my logs.”
“Your logs are being stubborn,” she corrects. “Helios is a slippery jerk.”
“Flattered you think they’re mine,” I say. “Pretty sure Dean’s team is doing the heavy lifting on this part.”
