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JACKSON

S era doesn’t flinch.

Not even when Maribel’s words hit the air like a blade unsheathed: “Then you’re a liability. One we can’t afford. I suggest you think on it.”

But Sera? She doesn’t need time to think. That woman’s mind is a wildfire—once it sparks, you’re already burned.

Her chin lifts, eyes flashing with the kind of ancient heat that makes even the braver council members sink in their chairs.

“I’ve already made my choice.”

Maribel stiffens. “You don’t have to decide now?—”

“No,” Sera cuts in, sharp and clean. “You had your chance. You all had your chance to stand beside me. But you asked me to betray the one person who’s bled with me in the trenches, who’s fought beside me when no one else would. You don’t get to ask me to tear that apart just so your precious optics look a little shinier.”

She doesn’t need to look at me.

I’m already standing behind her, and she knows it.

She finishes, voice calm and brutal. “If choosing him makes me a liability, then I’ll wear the fucking title.”

The chamber goes still.

No one breathes.

Then Sera turns and walks straight past them, her shadows trailing behind her like a goddamn crown.

I follow without hesitation.

We don’t speak until we’re back outside.

The sun’s low. The air smells like wet earth and rebirth.

She stops suddenly, jaw clenched, arms crossed. Her whole frame is coiled like she’s holding too much of herself inside.

“They’d have killed you,” she mutters. “If I agreed. If I took that seat.”

I shrug. “Let ‘em try.”

“That’s not—” She rounds on me, eyes hot. “This isn’t a game, Jackson.”

“I know.” I step in, let my hand brush her wrist. “I know exactly what it is. And I’m still here. Still choosing you. Just like you chose me.”

She stares at me for a second too long.

Then that iron edge in her melts—just a bit—and her fingers thread through mine.

“You’re fucking impossible,” she says.

“You love it.”

She exhales, half a laugh, half a confession. “Yeah. I do.”

The city doesn’t fall apart after we walk away.

Surprisingly, it starts stitching itself back together.

Turns out, when you take down a few cults, kill an ancient dark elf, and burn a death god’s resurrection plot to the ground, people start listening. Even the ones who once feared you.

Our defiance ripples through the supernatural community faster than a hex-spark. Not everyone agrees, but enough of them see what we are—not just a human and a witch—but a chance. A symbol that this thing we’ve built doesn’t have to follow the old rules, the old bloodlines, the old hate.

Dez, now one-legged but no less deadly, just grins at us both and tells me to stop being so dramatic or she’ll hex my boxers to sing lullabies in my sleep.

It was a challenge, but we chose, and respect has been earned for that choice and I can only hope it’s given others the courage to do the same.

We build a home and walk away from politics. From the constant scrutiny and just…live.

Not in the city, not near the council, but deep in the woods where the ley lines breathe steady and the earth remembers her name.

It’s not just a cabin—it’s a haven. Built with wards I can’t read and wood I hand-cut. Seraphine lays runes along the foundation while I haul stone and swear a lot. I think she likes hearing me curse more than she lets on.

We work side by side, day after day. Sweat and blood and shadow magic. Coffee at dawn, whiskey at dusk.

Sometimes we fight.

God, do we fight.

She’s fire and fury. I’m grit and sarcasm.

But we always end up back in each other’s arms, backs pressed together beneath a sky full of stars, hands tangled, hearts steady.

Love doesn’t erase the scars.

But it anchors them.

Nights here are quiet, mostly.

Except when we train.

Or when the ghosts of our past decide to howl.

Sometimes I catch her staring out at the tree line, fingers twitching like she’s expecting another battle to come crashing through the dark.

Sometimes I do the same.

Because we both know it’s not over.

Thranos is still dormant. Still waiting.

Too many of his zealots got away. Too many loose ends wriggling in the shadows.

But maybe the aftermath of what we did will be enough to hold the next wave at bay.

Maybe we bought the world some time.

And if not?

Then we’ll burn the next cult to ash too.

Together.

One night, as we lie on the porch, tangled in blankets and each other, she murmurs, “We’re not normal.”

“Nope,” I say.

“Never will be.”

“Definitely not.”

She tilts her head against my shoulder, voice quieter. “But we’re free.”

I kiss her temple. “Yeah, baby. We are.”

She hums. “Until they come again.”

I shrug. “Let ‘em. We’ll be ready.”

She turns, eyes meeting mine in the dark. “Promise me.”

I wrap my arms around her like armor. “I already did.”