“Guess I’m worth something after all,” I say.
Lazarus doesn’t smile. “That’s not just a hit. That’s a bounty with fireworks.”
Voltar’s hand finds mine, anchors me. I don’t realize I’m shaking until he stills me.
I look up. “What does it mean?”
Lazarus sighs. “It means this isn’t just about your salon. Or some witness protection case. You’re not just a target anymore.”
He leans in, voice grim.
“You’re a symbol.”
The word drops like a blade.
My throat’s tight. “Of what?”
“Hope. Defiance. That someone ordinary stood up and survived.”
I let that settle. Let it crawl over my skin.
It terrifies me.
“I didn’t ask for this,” I whisper.
“No one ever does,” Voltar says.
I meet his gaze. Storm in his eyes. Steady.
He turns to Lazarus. “We use it.”
“Use what?” I ask.
“The chip. The outrage. We leak just enough to draw Otto out. Tugun too, if he’s tangled in this mess.”
Lazarus nods slowly. “Dangerous.”
Voltar shrugs. “So’s breathing.”
I swallow. “And if it fails?”
He leans in, hand brushing my cheek, thumb soft beneath my eye.
“Then we improvise. That’s kind of my thing.”
Gods.
No hesitation. No bluff. Just raw, unshakable belief—in himself, in us.
And I realize... I’ve never met anyone like him.
Bold. Brutal. But never careless with me.
Not once.
He kisses my temple, breath warm against my skin. “Whatever comes, I’ve got you.”
And somehow, for the first time in days, I believe it.
