CHAPTER 32
JAV
She’s asleep against my chest, and I don’t move.
Her hand is splayed across my ribs like it’s holding me in place. Maybe it is. Maybe if she let go, I’d dissolve into steam, float straight out that cracked window and disappear into the rain.
I watch the way her hair sticks to her temple, the slow rise and fall of her breath. Her mouth twitches faintly like she’s still whispering my name in a dream. The silence isn’t empty—it’s full of everything we just said without words. Every shiver, every kiss, every moment where I felt more human than I have in years.
She makes me feel real.
She makes me feel seen.
Which is dangerous. Because I’ve spent my whole life learning how not to be.
My fingers trace light circles along her spine. Her skin is soft under my calloused hands. Scarred, just like mine, but different—each line a story of someone who survived for someone else. She doesn’t flinch under my touch. That still stuns me.
I close my eyes. Try to soak it in.
But the thoughts come anyway.
The League cartel. The Nine. The bleeding accountant with half a confession on his tongue before we dragged him out.
They touched my family.
And I can’t let that stand.
I inhale, slow. The scent of her still lingers on my skin—lavender, warmth, rain, and breath. If I stay here too long, I’ll talk myself out of what has to come next.
And I can’t afford hesitation.
Not anymore.
I shift gently,easing out from beneath her. She murmurs something soft—maybe my name, maybe just air—but doesn’t wake. I stand and grab my shirt from the floor, careful not to let the hem drag across her bare legs. The lamp still glows a soft gold, throwing lazy shadows against the wall. It catches her collarbone, the way her body curls into the impression I left.
It almost undoes me.
But I’ve got work to do.
I dress in silence. One sleeve at a time. My ribs protest when I tighten my belt. The bruises from the last op haven’t faded. I deserve worse. I grab my coat, check my compad for unread messages. Garkin’s sent a simple dot-ping. No words. Just a location tag.
He’s waiting.
I step to the edge of the couch, crouch down. Brush a lock of hair from Kairo’s face.
“I’ll be back,” I whisper, and kiss her forehead.
I don’t say “I promise.” Because promises are a currency I’ve burned before.
I just kiss her and leave.
Outside,the rain’s tapered off. The air smells like wet concrete and ozone, like the city just exhaled. I cross the street, boots slick on the pavement. The lights of Haven-7 pulse low and mean across the sky. The kind of night you don’t make plans in.
The dropship is idling behind the service station, its lights dark but engines hot. Garkin’s already standing by the open ramp, arms crossed, looking like he hasn’t blinked in an hour.
“You’re late,” he says, voice like gravel.
I glance back once. Just once.
