Page 7

Jude

W e moved quickly through the broken tunnels, our footsteps muffled by the damp ground. The adrenaline still hummed in my veins but faded slowly, leaving a hollow ache behind.

“You shouldn’t have followed me,” I said finally, not looking at him as soon as I leave this country. I’m going home to my ranch in Arizona.

“You shouldn’t have left without me,” Cyclone replied, voice even but edged with something sharp. “We would have taken you home.”

“I can’t go home until I clear my name. You don’t understand. I was deep in it. I know who they are and what they have done. That is why they are after me. The more people around, the more danger they are in.

I clenched my fists. “I had to leave alone. You should never have followed me.”

“You think running alone will fix everything? If you have me with you, at least there will be two of us.”

I stopped, spinning to face him. “You don’t understand. You can’t fix what’s wrong with me, Cyclone. No one can. I have to have a meeting with the top brass.”

He stared at her, his jaw working like he was holding back a thousand words.

“I’m not trying to fix you,” he said after a long moment. “I’m trying to stand with you.”

The honesty in his voice was almost worse than anger. I swallowed hard, forcing the burn in my throat down.

“I don’t know if I can let anyone stand with me,” I whispered. “It’s so dangerous. I’ve always done this alone.”

Cyclone stepped closer, not touching me, but close enough that I could feel his heat.

“Then we’ll figure it out,” he said. “One step at a time.”

For a moment, I thought about pushing him away again.

But I was tired. And, deep down, I was tired of being alone.

“One step,” I agreed quietly.

Cyclone nodded once. Then he turned and scanned the tunnel ahead.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said.

And for the first time in a long while, I followed someone else’s lead—not because I had to, but because I chose to.

Cyclone

The tunnel groaned above us, dust raining from the cracks in the stone. Jude stiffened.

“Move!” I yelled, grabbing her arm and pulling her just as a section of the ceiling caved in behind us.

We ran, stumbling over broken tracks and debris, coughing as the air filled with grit. The light from Jude’s flashlight swung around, casting monstrous shadows along the walls.

Ahead, the tunnel forked—one path descending into deeper blackness, the other sloping upward toward the promise of open air.

“This way!” I shouted, steering us toward the upward path.

Another rumble shook the ground, louder this time. I saw Jude stop and glance back—the tunnel we’d come from was collapsing in on itself, sealing off our way back. “Run!” I shouted.

We pushed harder, lungs burning, feet sliding on loose gravel. The air grew fresher, cooler.

A sliver of daylight appeared ahead—tiny, but real.

“Almost there,” I gasped.

We burst out of the tunnel just as the final collapse roared behind us, a wave of dust and debris billowing into the open.

Jude staggered to a stop, bending over with her hands on her knees, gulping in deep breaths.

I stood beside her, scanning the landscape with sharp, wary eyes.

We emerged onto the edge of a valley—wild, windswept, and treacherous. In the distance, movement caught my eye: a line of riders, kicking up dust as they patrolled the far ridge.

“We’ve got company,” I said grimly.

Jude followed my gaze and swore under her breath. “Soldiers. Or worse,” she said.

“Come on,” I said, touching her shoulder lightly. “We need to keep moving.”

We headed for the cover of the rocky hills, sticking to the shadows, every step pulling us further from the ruins and deeper into whatever came next.

As we moved, Jude cast a quick glance at me.

I caught her looking, but said nothing—just offered the faintest smile.

And for the first time, since I met her, Jude let herself smile back.

Just a little.

We didn’t stop moving until the riders were distant shadows against the setting sun. Only then did I lead Jude into a narrow cleft between two cliffs, hidden from sight.

“We can rest here,” I said, setting my pack down. “Just for a little while.”

Jude dropped heavily onto a flat rock. I knew she had to be hurting, and her throat must be dry. I offered her a canteen without a word. She hesitated, then accepted it, taking a long drink.

We sat silently for a few minutes, the exhaustion and adrenaline weighing down every breath.

“Why did you come after me?” Jude asked finally, her voice low.

I leaned back against the stone, arms loosely crossed over my chest. “Because you didn’t deserve to be out here alone.”

Jude stared at the ground. “I made my choice.”

“That doesn’t mean it was the right one,” I said.

She looked up sharply, ready to argue, but my gaze was calm, steady.

“You don’t have to carry everything by yourself, Jude,” I said. “Not anymore.”

I knew my words hit something deep inside her, raw and aching. I saw it in her eyes. She didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

The sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the valley. In the growing twilight, I shifted closer, not quite touching her but close enough that she could feel my presence like a shield.

“We’ll move again when it’s dark,” I said quietly. “We’ll find a place to camp.”

Jude nodded, the simple plan anchoring her.

I could tell for now, she allowed herself a rare moment of peace.

And beside her, I kept silent, a promise that she could trust me. She wasn’t ready to trust—but maybe, just maybe, she wanted to try.

We walked for hours before finding shelter—an old, abandoned shack wedged into the side of a cliff, half-hidden by creeping vines and broken stone. It wasn’t much, but it was dry, and it was ours for now.

I pushed the door open with a creak and scanned the interior: a battered cot, big enough for two, a crumbling hearth, and dust thick enough to choke on.

“It’ll do,” I said gruffly.

Jude dropped her pack and sank down onto the cot, the last reserves of her strength bleeding away. I started a small fire in the hearth, just enough to cut the chill.

Jude

The silence between us thickened, heavy with everything unspoken. I watched him from under lowered lashes, my heart hammering. Cyclone caught me staring and didn’t look away.

Something cracked inside me—a dam that had been straining for far too long.

I rose slowly to my feet, crossing the tiny space between us. Cyclone didn’t move, just waited, tension radiating from him.

“This doesn’t mean anything,” I said, voice low, rough.

“I know,” Cyclone said, his voice just as strained. “I just... can’t stop. Once we start, there is no stopping.”

The distance vanished.

Our mouths crashed together, all the fear and adrenaline and need igniting between us. Cyclone’s hands tangled in my hair, pulling me closer. I pressed myself against him, desperate for the heat of him, the reality. I wanted him to take me, fast and hard. I didn’t want him to stop the entire night.

Clothes were stripped away in frantic, clumsy movements. There was nothing gentle about it—only hunger, raw and consuming.

We found each other in the dark, in the flickering firelight, one broken soul and her protector colliding because we couldn’t do anything else.

Later, tangled in the thin blankets, I lay on Cyclone’s chest, listening to his heartbeat.

“This doesn’t change anything,” I said again, softer now.

Cyclone’s hand traced lazy circles along my spine. “No,” he agreed. “It just is.”

For now, it was enough.