And miracles don’t come cheap.
They’re bought with blood, bartered in secrets, and maintained by a very fine, very sharp blade pressed to the collective throat of an empire that’s learned to smile while choking.
We didn’t make peace. We made rules.
And somehow, that was enough.
I nod to the patrols as I pass them—uniforms tighter, cleaner, expressions sharper than they used to be. They know I’m not just their Warden now. I’m co-leader. Public. Elevated. Official. Nomore hiding behind Aria’s political poise or my own shadows. We rule now. Together.
And the city?
It listens.
The underworld breathes like a beast that’s been collared but not tamed. Trade routes flow without bloodshed. Data lines hum with open encryption. Even the street runners bow now—half in reverence, half in self-preservation.
And the whispers...
The whispers never stop.
“They say she was the Iron Gavel—brought ten kingpins down with one signature.”
“They say he once tore a mercenary apart with his bare hands... smiling the whole time.”
“They say they sleep in the same bed. Rule from the same chair. Love like it’s a weapon.”
I don’t correct them.
Let the myths grow teeth.
They keep the wolves at bay.
I findher in the war room—though it’s not really that anymore. The holotable’s been repurposed for economic flowcharts, not kill grids. Her heels are off, hair pinned back, eyes bloodshot from three hours of trade talks with the Vadrien brokers. She looks... lethal.
Gods, I love her like this.
“Don’t say it,” she mutters without turning.
I lean against the doorway, arms crossed, watching the way her shoulders move as she types.
“Say what?” I ask, voice low.
“That I should delegate. That I need sleep. That I'm doing too much.”
I grin. “You’re doing just enough to be dangerously sexy and politically terrifying. Which, coincidentally, is my type.”
She finally turns, eyes narrowing, mouth curving. “You’re shameless.”
“And you love it.”
“Unfortunately.”
I cross the room slowly, the way one does with wild animals or divine storms. Because that’s what she is now. Not just a lawyer, not just my partner. She’s a sovereign with calloused hands and inked laws carved into her spine.
I kiss her temple.
“You hungry?”
She exhales. “Starving.”
