Alive.
Here… we were right, thank fuck.
Cole moves to block my line of sight, adjusting just enough to try and hold control of the space, but it’s already slipping from him. I step forward anyway, shifting my angle until I can see past him.
She’s on the floor, back against the wall, wrists bound behind her. Pale, but upright. There’s strain in the set of her shoulders, in the way she holds herself still, but her eyes…
Her eyes find mine.
Everything else falls away for half a second. The noise, the tension, the past, all of it dissolves until there’s only her, still here, still breathing, still fighting.
Relief hits first, sharp enough to hurt, and then a coldness settles over it, controlled and purposeful that locks everything back into place.
Cole cuts through the space, trying to pull it back to him.
“You always did have a problem with listening,” he says, almost amused. “I was very clear. You were to come alone.”
I don’t answer.
There’s nothing he can say that matters more than the fact that she’s here.
He shifts again, positioning himself as a barrier, as if he still owns the ground between us, as if this is something he can manage with words and posture.
“You built a whole new life up here,” he continues, pacing a step, his attention flicking between me and the men at my back. “Clean bar. Clean rules. Thought you could just walk away from everything that made you who you are.”
He wants a reaction. Wants me to argue, to justify, to step into the version of this conversation he’s already written in his head.
I don’t give him that.
I stop a few feet in front of him and look at him the way I would any problem that needs solving. Clear, direct, stripped of anything unnecessary. “You took what wasn’t yours.”
Emotion flickers across his expression. Recognition, maybe. Or the realization that this isn’t going to go the way he planned.
Then he smiles, sharp and familiar. He thinks he still understands the rules of this. “You always did think everything belonged to you.”
Behind me, I feel Zane shift, quiet and precise, already mapping the angles, already moving into position. Finn’s weight rolls forward, the energy in him coiled tight, ready to break the second it needs to.
Cole sees it. Of course he does. His hand moves, quick and instinctive, reaching for the weapon at his side.
We move first.
Zane breaks left, fast and silent, cutting around the edge of the unit toward Aurora. Finn angles right, closing off space, turning the room smaller, tighter, leaving Cole with nowhere clean to move.
I go straight through him.
The first hit lands hard enough to snap his head back, bone meeting bone with a crack that echoes through the unit. It doesn’t slow me down. It just opens the door.
Cole recovers faster than most men would. He always did. His weight shifts, his stance correcting mid-impact, and he comes back at me hard, trained, and controlled. He’s not just swinging. He’s trying to win.
He drives into me with enough force to push me back a step, shoulder catching mine, the impact sending us both sidewaysinto a metal shelving unit that rattles violently against the wall. Something crashes to the floor behind us, the sound sharp and chaotic in the tight space.
There’s no room here. No distance to reset. Just pressure. Just movement.
I adjust faster.
Step in.
Close the space before he can.
