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“One we build, perhaps.”

Her face softens. “What would I put in a shrine?”

“Whatever you believe deserves honoring.”

“That is a dangerous amount of freedom.”

“I know.”

She thinks about it, brows drawn with deep seriousness. “Teren’s name.”

“Yes.”

“Sira’s first access-language draft, assuming she lets me steal a copy.”

“She will give you one.”

“Brakk’s first tool that didn’t explode during the escape.”

“It may still explode later.”

“That’s part of its charm.”

I smile. “And the shard?”

Her expression changes. “No.”

“No?”

“The shard gets a vault, a review board, and several layers of security staffed by people who annoy each other too much to form a cult.”

“A wise distinction.”

“The shrine gets things that remind us why we’re doing the responsible thing, not the dangerous thing.”

I study her face. “And us?”

She swallows. “What about us?”

“Will there be room for us in this future?”

The question is not doubt. It is invitation.

She understands. Her hand settles against my chest again, sure and warm. “Yes. There has to be. Otherwise we become custodians of a future we don’t actually live in.”

“That would be foolish.”

“That would be very us if we’re not careful.”

“Then we will be careful.”

She smiles. “Together?”

“Together.”

Anita leans up and kisses me again, slow and sweet and full of the kind of trust that does not need an emergency to justify itself. I answer with all the tenderness I once feared would make me weak and now understand is a strength too precise for battle doctrine. She sighs against my mouth, and the sound travels through me like peace learning how to stay.

When she rests against me again, her eyes are heavy.