The journeyback to Shadowmist territory passes in a haze of pain and silver-induced delirium. I drift in and out of consciousness, vaguely aware of Lithia’s voice keeping me anchored, her hand never leaving mine.
When we finally arrive at the den, Elena and her medical team are waiting with a fully equipped surgical bay. The silver bullet comes out in pieces, each fragment burning like liquid fire as it’s extracted from my shoulder.
“He’ll be fine,” Elena assures Lithia as she stitches the wound closed. “No major damage to bone or arteries. The silver poisoning will take a few days to clear his system, but he’s young and strong.”
“Thank you,” Lithia says quietly, and I can hear the relief in her voice.
I drift back to consciousness sometime later to find myself in a medical bed, my shoulder immobilized but the agonizing burn of silver finally gone. Lithia sits beside me, her pale blue eyes showing exhaustion and worry.
“How do you feel?” she asks when she sees I’m awake.
“Like I’ve been shot,” I reply, managing a weak smile. “But alive. How did the other teams do?”
“Successful extractions at both facilities. Thirty-seven prisoners rescued in total. No casualties on our side beyondyour wound.” Her expression darkens. “But Adelaide and Prudence weren’t at any of the sites.”
“That lynx said they’re at something called the Sanctum?”
“We’ll find them,” she promises fiercely. “This was just the beginning.”
I shift position slightly, testing the limits of my mobility. The shoulder is stiff and sore, but functional. “What about the intelligence Levi gathered?”
“Still being analyzed, but it’s extensive. Facility locations, operational plans, financial records. It’s enough to start dismantling their network.”
She catches my hand, her fingers trembling slightly as her thumb grazes across my palm. The simple touch sends electricity up my arm, but it’s the vulnerability in her eyes that nearly undoes me.
“Kier, when that guard took aim at me…” Her voice wavers, barely above a whisper.
I turn my hand over, catching her fingers with mine. “I wasn’t going to let him hurt you,” I say simply, though the memory of that moment—seeing the rifle trained on her, knowing I had seconds to act—still makes my chest tight with panic.
“You could have died.” The words come out strangled, like they’re being torn from somewhere deep inside her. “The bullet hit bone, Kier. A few inches lower and it would have severed an artery.”
“Better me than you.”
She stares at me, and I watch emotions war across her face—disbelief, gratitude, something that looks dangerously like love before fear chases it away. Her pale blue eyes search mine like she’s trying to solve a puzzle.
“Why?” The question is barely audible, but it hits me like a physical blow.
The question hangs between us, loaded with implications neither of us has been ready to acknowledge. But lying here,her hand in mine, silver bullet wound still aching in my shoulder, having nearly lost everything that matters—pretense seems not just pointless but cruel.
My throat works as I struggle to find words equal to what’s burning in my chest. Three years of isolation taught me to survive on scraps of hope, but this woman gave me something to live for. The thought of losing her, of a world where she doesn’t exist, makes something fundamental inside me rebel.
“Because I love you,” I say quietly, each word deliberate, weighted with everything I’ve been too afraid to voice. “Because a world without you in it isn’t one I want to live in.”
Her breath catches audibly, pupils dilating until they nearly swallow the silver of her irises. I watch the words hit her, see the way they make her entire body go still except for the rapid flutter of her pulse at the base of her throat.
“Kier—” My name comes out as barely a breath, full of wonder and terror in equal measure.
“I know you’re scared,” I continue, needing to say this while I have the courage, while the nearness of losing her still burns fresh in my memory. My free hand comes up to cup her cheek, thumb tracing the scar that runs from temple to jaw. “I know you think caring about people means losing them. I know you’ve built walls so high even you can’t see over them anymore.”
Tears gather in her eyes—the first time I’ve seen her cry since our escape. “Everyone I’ve ever loved has been taken from me,” she whispers, her voice breaking. “My parents, and now almost—” She can’t finish the sentence.
“But I’m here,” I say firmly, pressing my forehead to hers. “I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere. You couldn’t get rid of me if you tried.”
A sound escapes her—half laugh, half sob. “You don’t know that. You can’t promise that.”
“I can promise that I’ll fight like hell to stay. That I’llchoose you, every day, for as long as I have breath in my body.” My voice grows rougher with emotion. “I can promise that loving you is the easiest thing I’ve ever done, even when you make it difficult. Especially when you make it difficult.”
The tears spill over now, cutting silver tracks down her cheeks. “I love you too,” she whispers, the admission torn from somewhere deep. “Gods help me, I love you so much it terrifies me.”
