I shake my head. “No. He doesn’t get to ‘Sable’ me right now.”
Lazarus meets my glare without flinching. “The Alliance doesn’t pause wars for love stories.”
“That’s funny,” I say, voice trembling now. “Because you didn’t pause it for morality either.”
A beat of silence stretches between us.
Voltar exhales slowly. “Enough.”
I look up at him, anger and fear tangling in my chest until I can’t tell which is which.
“This isn’t fair,” I say.
“No,” he agrees. “It isn’t.”
He turns to Lazarus. “How long?”
“Transport leaves within the hour,” Lazarus says. “You’ll be briefed en route.”
Voltar nods once.
Once.
Just like that.
The finality of it knocks the air out of me.
I step closer, pressing my forehead into his chest because suddenly the world feels too big and too loud and I need something solid.
“You just promised me,” I whisper.
He cups the back of my head, careful, protective. “I promised we’d build something,” he says softly. “I didn’t say it would be easy.”
I pull back, searching his face. “You could refuse.”
A corner of his mouth lifts sadly. “You know I can’t.”
“I hate that,” I say.
“I know.”
We stand there, ash-streaked and broken and very much not ready to say goodbye, while the sun climbs higher and the Alliance machinery grinds back into motion around us.
Medical teams hover awkwardly nearby, pretending not to listen. Lazarus steps back, giving us space he absolutely did not have to give.
“I’ll make sure she’s protected,” he says quietly to Voltar.
Voltar doesn’t look away from me. “See that you do.”
Lazarus inclines his head. “I owe you both.”
“That’s not how debts work,” I mutter.
Voltar leans down, pressing his forehead to mine again, just like he did on the floor hours ago when everything still felt possible.
“This doesn’t end us,” he says.
I close my eyes, breathing him in—smoke, metal, something uniquely him beneath it all.
