Damian kneels beside me, shielding the tablet from falling snow with his body. His presence warms me from the inside out, even though the wind bites through my clothes.
“You’re sure?” he asks quietly.
“Yes,” I whisper. “This is the only way left.”
My fingers become number as I type, my breath fogging in front of me.
I can’t quit. Can’t quit.
Can’t.
The final prompt stares at me, the one that will end the chase, the lies, the empire she tried to build with our ruined lives. The one that could ruin something else we haven’t admitted aloud.
My thumbs presssend.
The files launch upward, tiny streams of light rippling across the cracked screen before racing into the network. The loading bar sweeps forward with ruthless momentum.
Please, please, please—
I beg like I have never begged before, beg to gods I’ve never believed in before.
The loading bar is the lifeline that’s keeping me alive. Damian’s palm presses against the head of my crown.
I know he’s probably praying harder than I am to someone that won’t ever answer.
Kiro’s breathless and incredulous voice bursts through my headset.
“Harper—Harper, is it—”
His voice is cracked, tired, but there’s wonder in it.
“What?” Damian grunts shortly.
“Damian—Harper, you did it.”
You did it.
“It’s everywhere,” Kiro exhales loudly into the comms, “every channel, every agency. It’s—holy shit, she can’t shut it down.”
Damian closes his eyes, falling to his knees in front of me. His head hangs and my palm covers his own, cuts and scrapes that match my own.
Snow continues falling, quiet, indifferent. A soft white shroud over the battlefield we escaped.
“Your name is clear,” he murmurs wetly, tiredly. “Ours is clear.”
“But nothing we lost comes back.”
I meet his gaze, and in the cold morning light, his eyes look raw like ice cracked open to reveal fire beneath.
“No,” I whisper. “But we’re still here.”
For the first time, surviving feels like the beginning rather than the end.
Chapter 23 - Damian
Helicopters carve circles through the pale morning sky, their blades chopping the cold air into ragged pieces. Snow kicks upward in spiraling halos.
Harper stands beside me, her breath ghosting into white ribbons, her shoulders tight as if bracing for shackles. I feel the instinct too with every muscle coiled, waiting for a command that ends with guns raised.
