My pulse flutters. “Yes.”
We hold our breath against the rain, the night, the fragile promise of what comes next.
This wasn’t surrender.
This was choice.
CHAPTER 19
AEBON REXX
Iwake to the soft hush of morning, the world refracted through reinforced glass and distant hum of hovercar engines. The storm has softened to a gentle drizzle, and moonlight—washed pale by dawn—creeps across the sheets, illuminating the curve of her shoulder as she sleeps. Aria. Against all expectations, she fell asleep next to me. There’s something miraculous in that—like she decided I was worth the risk.
My hand drifts to her waist, steady in her warmth. I cradle her like a treasure, silent and scared the moment might burst. But it doesn’t. She stirs—long lashes fluttering open to reveal profound green depths that still catch me off guard.
“Morning,” I murmur, voice husky from sleep and unshed tears of disbelief.
She yawns—an act so utterly human it nearly unravels me. “Morning,” she echoes. Doesn’t roll away. Doesn’t pull her heat away from mine. Doesn’t ask if last night happened.
It did. For both of us. It was violent, beautiful, brutal, and healing all at once.
I kiss her temple. “You okay?”
She breathes in, soft and steady. “Hypnotized,” she half-jokes. Then more seriously: “You... you look different.”
I trace the ridge of her spine with my fingertip. “I feel different.”
Sunlight shifts—heated and slow—dragging the world out of shadow. I roll onto my back for the first time in years, looking at the ceiling like I might actually see something new. Something better.
I speak with the weight of a man unburdening a decade of blood and regret:
“I want to try, Aria. To make peace.”
Her eyes flick to me—bright, hopeful, cautious.
“A summit,” I say. “Between me… and what’s left of Nar’Vosk. We end this. I step out of war, into something legit. Aebon Rexx, protector and leader—not killer. And you... you helped me see that.”
She swallows, words soft but fierce: “If you do that, I’ll be with you. Every step.”
I close my eyes. The line between monster and man trembles beneath us, and we’re ready to cross it together.
The conference room in the Centauri tower smells of polished wood, fresh lemongrass incense, and the distant tang of ozone from the storm-trimers outside. It’s a world away from vaults soaked in blood, from phones whispered in dead alleys. The table is set with crystalline water glasses, data tablets chained but idle, and a single folded cloth banner of peace—not a treaty or contract, but a symbol.
My inner circle sits at one end—Bruna, Haarvik, Ellex—stoic, curious, tense. And at the other end, Nar’Vosk’s remaining leaders, gaunt and wary, exiled from the power they once commanded. Every guard in this floor is neutral—no Centauri crest, no Nar’Vosk bristle—just hired personnel watching quietly.
Aria stands by my side—simple black blouse, hair in a careless wave, her ribs bruised but her posture upright. She’s theinnocence here; I’m the scarred general. She fixed me last night. Now we stand together in this moment.
I clear my throat. The room goes quiet.
“Thanks for showing,” my voice echoes, low. “I know that sitting here is a risk. But the gamble of our survival is bigger—too many lives lost, too many streets stained. I’m willing to be the first to say: stop.”
Nar’Vosk’s leader, Demira Vosk, eyes me from across the table. Narrow. Haunted. “This is unexpected. A Reaper calling for peace.”
I lean forward. Fngers steepled. “I’m not calling for yours or theirs. I’m calling for ours. Centauri and Nar’Vosk. We pull back. We trade territory for trade routes. We free Goldwin from internal war and make it a place where people sleep with their doors unlocked—not their throats.”
Gasps ripple. My men tighten. Nar’Vosk shifts in their seats—some hopeful, some disgusted.
Demira’s eyes soften. “And if I refuse?”
