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Harder than the fight.
Harder than almost losing her.
Because this isn’t survival.
This is choice.
This is future.
My grip tightens around hers.
Not holding on—
standing with.
“Good,” I say quietly.
And this time—
it means everything.
97
Lark
We lie in bed, listening to the ocean.
No alarms.
No gunfire.
No countdown clocks.
Just breath.
His.
Mine.
Steady. Real. Here.
“You’re not going back to Delta Five,” I say quietly.
“No.”
No hesitation.
No conflict.
Just truth.
“You’re not going to disappear either.”
A pause.
Then—
“No.”
