I press down; the faint click swallowed by the steady hum of the computers. Across the monitors, lines of code spill forward in rapid succession, text scrolling so fast it looks like language coming alive. The system spins up, lights flicker in response, and the air itself seems to shift—charged, electric, alive with motion.
Beside me, Berk exhales, a quiet sound that’s equal parts relief and satisfaction.
“It’s done,” she murmurs. “It’s all out there now.”
I turn toward her, caught between pride and something heavier. The blue light paints her features in soft shadows, and when I reach up to brush a strand of hair from her face, she doesn’t pull away. She leans into it. My thumb grazes her cheek, and for a moment, the tension of war fades beneath something tender and raw.
“We did it,” I whisper.
Her eyes lift to mine, steady and unflinching, and she gives a small, certain nod. “Yes,” she says softly. “We did. And we just set their whole empire on a collision course with its end.”
I don’t realize how close we’ve gotten until her breath fans against my lips. The energy between us hums—too much loss, too much triumph, too much ofeverythingthat’s been building for years. Her hand slides up to rest on my chest, right over the hammering of my heart. I cover it with my own, fingers tangling with hers.
For a long moment, neither of us moves. The monitors keep flashing, showing chaos beginning to ripple through networks andsystems we’ve been hunting for months. But all I see is her—calm, fierce, beautiful Berk, staring up at me like I’m something worth believing in.
She finally breaks the silence, her mouth curving into something small and lethal. “Now,” Berk says quietly, “we watch them burn.”
Ronan exhales a sharp, humorless laugh, dragging a hand over his face. “All this time,” he mutters. “We told ourselves it was an accident. That it was just… bad luck.”
Rowan’s jaw flexes, the muscle ticking like it might snap. “They didn’t just kill them,” he says, voice low and rough. “They planned it. Daphne. Evelyn. They planned it—and then they lived off the lie.”
“And tonight,” I add, the words tasting bitter, “Bryce didn’t even hesitate. He pulled the trigger like it was nothing.” My chest tightens, but the pain feels old, familiar—like a wound that never healed, only scarred over. “Kimber watched it happen. I watched it happen. I don’t think I ever really imagined that moment until I saw it.”
Berk’s fingers lace through mine, grounding, steady. “It doesn’t feel new,” she says softly. “It just feels… confirmed.”
“That’s what hurts the most,” Ronan agrees. “We already grieved them. We already survived the fallout. This just drags it all back into the light and tells us we weren’t crazy for feeling something was wrong.”
Rowan nods once. “It hurts,” he admits. “But not like it would have back then. Back then, it would’ve destroyed us.”
The room hums around us—screens glowing, systems running—but the conversation stays tight, contained. Heavy, but controlled. We’re not breaking apart. We already did that years ago. This is something else. This is reckoning.
Berk squeezes my hand, her voice steady when she speaks again. “They took our mothers. They took your mom long before tonight. And they thought time would bury it.”
I meet her gaze and feel the truth settle, cold and immovable. “They were wrong,” I say.
Berk rises slowly, her chair rolling back with a soft scrape against the floor. She steps close—close enough that I feel her warmth before she ever touches me. My breath stutters when her fingers skim my jaw, and then her lips brush mine, barely there. It’s a question, not a claim.
“You want to go shower?” She murmurs, her breath warm against my mouth.
Behind us, the twins grunt in unison—low, knowing—pretending not to watch. I don’t trust my voice, so I nod, probably looking stunned in the way only surprise can manage. Berk smiles, small and amused, then reaches for my hand. Her fingers lace with mine, confident and steady, pulling me out of my head as she leads me away from the cold blue glow of the monitors.
“Check on Kimber before you two come to bed,” she calls over her shoulder, her tone light but edged with authority.
I hear Ronan chuckle and Rowan’s faint “Got it,” but I barely register anything beyond the tug of her hand and the way her thumb strokes over my knuckles as we walk.
She doesn’t look back, just holds my hand like a tether, her fingers hooked around mine until we reach the bathroom.
The sound of running water fills the small space, echoing off the tile, softening the edges of the night’s tension. Steam curls between us like smoke. We still don’t speak. Words would feel too sharp in a moment like this—too small for what’s building in the quiet.
Her hands move first, brushing against my chest as she slides her palms up to my shoulders. The touch is deliberate, reverent, as if she’s memorizing me one inch at a time. When she reaches the hem of my shirt, she pauses, searching my eyes for permission that I give without hesitation. The fabric lifts over my head, and her gaze trails down my body, not hungry but focused, tracing every scar, every line life left behind.
I reach for her in return, fingers trembling slightly as I find the edge of her top. She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t look away. Together, we move slowly, pulling away barriers until there’s nothing left but skin and breath and the steady pulse between us.
The steam thickens, wrapping us in a cocoon of warmth. Water patters against the tile; the sound is steady and rhythmic. She steps in first, her hand still linked with mine, guiding me beneath the cascade. The shock of heat gives way to calm, the kind that seeps into my bones.
We still haven’t said a word, and we don’t need to. I just stand there, taking her in—bare and unguarded beneath the spray, the water tracing slow paths down her pink-flushed skin like it’s learned to worship her. It clings to the curves of her shoulders, slipsalong her collarbone, gathers and falls, turning her into something unreal, something I can’t quite believe is standing in front of me. She’s breathtaking in a way that steals the air from my lungs, not just because she’s naked, but because she’s here—whole, alive, choosing this moment with me.
The silence between us isn’t empty. It’s weighted with what we’ve survived, what still sits unspoken, and what waits beyond this room. Wrapped in steam and quiet, it feels like time has loosened its grip—holding us here for a single breath, a single heartbeat, in a pause that’s fragile and rare.
