Blade’s arm tightens, but he doesn’t interrupt.
“He said the Iron Reapers thought I was a traitor,” I keep going, words spilling out faster now. “That they thought I worked with him. That I flipped. That I set you up. And I believed him because I didn’t know anything anymore and I was so scared and I couldn’t talk to anyone.”
My throat burns. I swallow hard and force myself to keep going.
“It killed me,” I say. “Every day. Thinking I ended you. Thinking that the man I love died because I pulled a trigger I didn’t even understand. I couldn’t breathe some days, Blade. I couldn’t sleep. I just… existed.”
He presses his face into my hair, his breathing heavy, but he lets me talk.
“And then Alexei started acting differently,” I whisper. “Kinder. Like he cared. Like he was trying to make me comfortable. And I knew he wanted more from me. I could feel it. The way he looked at me. The way he touched my wrist, my back.” I shudder. “But I couldn’t do it. I wouldn’t. No matter what he gave me or promised me, I couldn’t.”
I turn slightly in his arms, my fingers curling into his shirt.
“I’m so sorry,” I choke. “I never meant to shoot you. I wasn’t trying to betray you. I was trying to save you. I swear to god I was.”
He pulls me tighter, one hand cradling the back of my head like he’s holding me together.
“I love you,” I whisper, the words coming out broken and raw. “I love you more than anything in this entire world. And spending almost two months thinking you were gone, thinking I’d never see you again, and then suddenly you’re here…” I shake my head. “It’s messing with my head. I don’t know how to turn the fear off.”
He doesn’t rush me. He just holds me, breathing with me, anchoring me while I cry into his chest. “I’m here,” he says quietly, voice rough with emotion. “You didn’t betray me. You didn’t kill me. You saved me. And you survived something no one should have had to.” His hand moves slowly up and down my back, steady and patient. “We’ll take this one piece at a time,” he murmurs. “You don’t have to be okay yet. You just have to stay.”
I close my eyes, finally letting myself sink back against him.
Dinner isquiet in that soft, almost tentative way, like we’re both afraid of saying the wrong thing and breaking whatever fragile calm we’ve managed to build. Blade cooked. Actually cooked. Nothing fancy. Real food. The kind that smells like home and effort and care.
I’m halfway through my plate when I notice it.
His forearm shifts as he reaches for his glass, and there it is. Fresh ink. Dark and angry against his skin, the edges still a little raised, still healing.
I freeze.
“Blade,” I say softly.
He follows my gaze immediately and stills, then exhales through his nose like he knew this moment was coming. He sets his fork down and turns his arm slowly so I can see it properly.
Up close, it steals the breath right out of my chest.
A heavy chain runs along his forearm, thick links inked so solid they look like they could weigh something down. Halfway up, the metal is torn apart, snapped violently, jagged edges frozen mid-break.
And growing through it is a wildflower.
Not delicate. Not pretty-pretty. It looks stubborn. Fierce. The stem wraps through the broken chain like it refuses to be stopped, petals slightly rough, roots pushing through iron like the metal never stood a chance.
Above it, in clean block letters, is my name.
BRIANNA.
Below the break, closer to his wrist, two words sit quiet and permanent.
STILL BREATHING.
My throat closes so hard I can’t speak for a second.
“When did you—” I start, then stop, because the answer already feels obvious.
“While you were gone,” he says quietly.
I look up at him, heart pounding. “Blade…”
