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Chiara drops to her knees beside me, pulling antiseptic wipes from her pocket. She presses a fresh strip of cloth to my shoulder wound, her fingers trembling only slightly.

The bandage slips. She rewraps it, tightening each layer. Her hands linger longer this time, pressing gentle circles on my skin. I meet her gaze.

Chiara says softly, “You don’t stop.”

I hold her stare, voice low. “Not when you’re at my side.”

She finishes securing the wound and brushes back a lock of my hair. Her hand rests on my chest for a heartbeat before sliding away.

Then she says, “This is the worst place to feel safe.”

I lean against the crate behind me, tracing its rusted edge. “Feels like the only place that’s real.”

We sink to the floor, backs against the cold metal. I empty my pistol’s clip and reload while she folds her legs beneath her, watching my hands. The crinkle of spent casings under my boot sounds louder than words.

Her finger finds mine. She weaves our hands together, knuckles pale. “I hated you,” she says after a long pause.

I glance at her, surprised. “That makes two of us.”

She meets my eyes. “Still do, sometimes.”

I run my thumb along her knuckles. “Good.”

Heat flares in my chest. She brushes her fingers across my cheek, smoothing dirt from a bruise. My breath catches.

“But I don’t want to die without knowing what this feels like when we’re not running.” She says.

I lean forward and press my lips to hers. Our kiss is gentle at first, then firm as her hands rest on my shoulders. I pull her close, careful of her injured leg.

We rise together and head toward the battered cot in the back corner. The tarp covering it is torn, but we ignore that. She pulls off her hoodie, tossing it aside. I shrug out of my shirt, wincing as the fabric slips across my wound.

She presses her forehead to mine. Then we lie down. Clothes come off one piece at a time. No rush, no hesitation—just the urgent need to prove we exist beyond this fight.

She settles on top of me first, hips bracing against mine. My hands find the small of her back, holding her steady as she moves. Her breath brushes my ear. Pleasure and relief pulse through us both.

Then I shift beneath her, rolling us until I’m above and she’s below. I cradle her face in one hand, the other guiding each movement. No walls left between us. Our bodies meet and meld until every bruise and scar fades beneath heat and motion.

Chiara whispers to me, “Don’t let me go.”

I press my forehead to hers. “Never.”

Afterward, we collapse onto the tarp. It’s coarse against our skin, but we don’t care. Her head rests on my chest, each breath rising and falling against my heart.

Outside, the night remains still. The echoes of gunfire have faded to distant memory. Only the city’s hum drifts through the broken window.

“They’ll be back.”

I wrap an arm around her, holding her close. “We will be too.”

She shifts into my embrace, chain clinking softly against my ribs.

She’s mine. Not to hold. To stand with.

“We finish this.”

I press a kiss to her temple. “Together.”

Chapter 21 – Chiara