“Obsolete,” I snarl, “stillkills.”
Then I rip upward, through his torso, through the flickering light, through the part of him that pretended to be alive.
The core erupts in a bloom of energy, briefly illuminating the room like the birth of a star. Then—darkness.
The sound of Lor’s body hitting the floor echoes for a long time.
I’m breathing hard. Steam rises from my skin. My arms are slick with coolant and oil that smells like death. My hands shake—but not from exhaustion. From restraint. Because every part of me still wants to destroy.
Then I hear her.
A soft, trembling inhale.
I turn.
Isolde stands a few feet away, still pressed against the wall. Her hair clings to her cheeks. The firelight from the ruined console paints her in gold and red.
She’s alive.
Unharmed.
And looking right at me.
“Garokk…” she says again, softer now. “You came for me.”
I take a step forward. My claws flex once. “Always.”
Her eyes shine—not from fear. From something else. Something I don’t know the name for.
She crosses the distance before I can. Her hands reach up, small and trembling, and she cups my face between them. Her palms are warm against my scales. It’s the first gentle touch I’ve felt in fifty years.
Her thumbs trace the scar on my cheek. “You’re bleeding,” she says.
I shake my head. “Not my blood.”
For a long moment, we just stand there—me, drenched in oil and fury; her, radiant in the ruin of everything.
Then she whispers, “Don’t scare me like that again.”
“I can’t promise.”
Her lips quirk, halfway to a smile, and she huffs out a shaky laugh. “Of course you can’t.”
The tension between us is electric—so strong it hums. She doesn’t move away. I can feel her heartbeat through her fingertips.
Slowly, carefully, I reach up and cover her hands with mine. My claws graze her wrists, light as breath. I could break her. I won’t.
“Isolde,” I say. Her name comes out rough, like I’ve been holding it in my throat too long. “You are?—”
“Don’t say it,” she interrupts, voice soft but firm. “Not now. Not like this.”
Her eyes flick down—to my chest, still streaked with blood and broken wire—and back up again.
“Not when I still don’t know you.”
I nod once. Barely.
But I don’t let go.
