“You’re not a ghost, Diego,” she whispers.
“It’s Halo, and I am.”
“Ghosts don’t bleed.” She presses a bandage over the fresh cut. “And they don’t have heartbeats like this.”
She rests her hand on my chest.
My heart is hammering against my ribs. Betraying me.
“Cassie.” It’s a warning.
“What?”
“Don’t.”
“Don’t, what?”
“Don’t make me human. It’s dangerous.”
She pulls her hand back. But her eyes don’t leave mine. “Maybe dangerous is what we need.”
She stands. Moves away. The loss of her warmth is a physical ache.
“I’m going to get some sleep,” she says. “Wake me if the world ends.”
I want to argue. But she’s already curling up on the worn cushions, pulling the blanket around her.
I grab a chair. Position it by the window. Gun in hand.
She sleeps.
She’s terrified. She’s lost her life, her career, her name. But she’s still fighting. She learned the map. She cleaned my wound. She challenged me.
Competent.
Brave.
Trouble.
Outside, the woods are quiet. Birds chirping. Wind rustling leaves. Peaceful.
Deceptive.
Phoenix is out there. Somewhere. Running calculations. Adjusting algorithms and planning its next move.
And I’m here. One man. One gun. One promise.
Keep her alive.
I check my burner phone. Message from Brass.
BRASS: STATUS?
I type back: HALO: SECURE. SECONDARY LOCATION. NO CONTACT.
BRASS: GOOD. PHOENIX ACTIVITY INCREASING. STAY DARK.
HALO: COPY.
