Every wound I’ve taken heals easier than the look Kairo gave me when I pulled her out of that cell. The way she held Ben after, like she needed to physically protect himfrom me.
That’s the war now.
Not guns. Not blades. Not syndicate lies or cartel flags.
It’s her trust.
And the crater I left in it.
Back at the safehouse,I strip out of the armor alone. My shoulder stings where the rounds grazed me. My side throbs. Garkin left a medkit on the sink.
I ignore it.
I sit on the edge of the cot, elbows on knees, and stare at the floor like it might tell me what the hell comes next.
Maybe this is what peace feels like.
Just the silence after the storm.
Empty. Echoing.
Terrifying.
A knock.
Soft.
Not frantic. Not angry.
I don’t move.
The knock comes again.
I open the door.
Kairo stands there.
Hair still damp. Shoulders squared like she’s about to take a swing.
She doesn’t come in.
Just looks at me.
For a long time.
And then says, “He’s asleep.”
I nod.
Silence again.
Then, “He drew you again.”
That hits harder than a bullet.
“I’m in the picture?” I ask, barely breathing.
She nods once. “But this time… he gave you a cape.”
