It’s over.
I wait for the rush. I wait for the soaring sense of triumph, the feeling of a mountain finally being moved off my chest. I wait for Curtis to feel closer, for the world to feel right again.
Instead, I feel nothing.
A cold, hollow void opens up in the center of my being. The screen in front of me shows the confirmation: Access Revoked. Account Terminated.
That’s all a human life is worth in the end? A line of code? A flat confirmation over a radio?
"Amara?" Natalia’s voice is soft. She’s watching me, her expression guarded but kind.
"I need some air," I say, my voice sounding like it belongs to someone else.
I stand up, my legs feeling like they’re made of water. I walk out of the Vault, past the guards who are starting to relax, past the kitchen where the smell of coffee is starting to return. I climb the stairs to the roof of the compound.
The sun is fully up now, a pale, wintery disc hanging over the Chicago skyline. The city looks the same. People are driving to work. Someone is probably getting a ticket on the Kennedy. Someone is buying a bagel. The world didn't stop because Alvarado Vane died. The sun didn't shine any brighter because my brother’s killer is gone.
I lean against the brick parapet and finally, I let it in.
The grief doesn’t come as a wave. It comes as a flood. It’s the realization that I won. I did the impossible. I took down a titan of the underworld with nothing but a keyboard and a grudge. And it didn’t bring Curtis back.
He’s still dead. He’s still twenty-two years old in my head, laughing at a joke I can’t remember. He’s still in that alley in Atlanta.
I sink to my knees on the cold gravel of the roof. I don’t sob. I just leak. Tears track down my face, silent and hot, dripping onto my dark functional jacket. I feel like an empty vessel, the purpose that has sustained me for a decade suddenly evaporated, leaving behind nothing but the dry, cracked shell of a woman who forgot how to live while she was busy learning how to hunt.
I don’t know how long I’m up there. Time has lost its meaning.
The sound of the heavy roof door opening doesn't startle me. I know the rhythm of those footsteps.
Alessio doesn't say anything. He doesn't offer a platitude. He doesn't tell me it’s going to be okay. He just walks over and sits on the gravel next to me. He’s covered in soot and the copper tang of blood—none of it his, I hope—and he looks exhausted.
He pulls me into his lap. He doesn't care about the gravel or the cold or the fact that we’re sitting on a roof in the middle of a war. He just wraps his massive, scarred arms around me and pulls my head into the crook of his neck.
I clutch at his tactical vest, my fingers tangling in the straps. I bury my face in his skin, breathing in the scent of him.
"I thought I'd feel different," I whisper into his neck.
"I know," he says, his voice a low rumble in his chest. "Vengeance is a hungry ghost, Amara. It eats everything you give it and it never says thank you."
"He's still dead, Alessio. Curtis is still dead."
"I know." He shifts, pulling me tighter, his hand cupping the back of my head. "But the man who did it can never hurt anyone else. And you… you don’t have to run anymore."
"I don't know how to do anything else."
"You'll learn. We'll learn together." He kisses the top of my head, a slow, lingering pressure. "I spent eleven years looking for the person who killed my parents. When I finally found the thread, I thought I’d feel like a king. I just felt tired. I just wanted to go home."
"Is this home?" I ask, looking at the sprawling, fortress-like compound around us.
"Home is the place I come back to. Right now, that’s you," he says, and finally, the word doesn't feel like a trap. It feels like a promise.
We sit there for a long time, two broken people holding each other together in the wreckage of a victory that felt too much likea loss. For a few minutes, the world is quiet. The war feels far away.
Then, the radio on his belt chirps. It’s not the rhythmic, controlled chatter of the strike team. It’s the high-pitched, frantic tone of the compound’s internal security.
“Incoming! Multiple vehicles rammed the South Gate—inner lock compromised! All units, go to Black-Zero!”
Alessio is on his feet in a second, his body shifting from the tender man who held me to the feral protector who would burn the world down to keep me safe. He hauls me up with him, his hand gripping my arm.
