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“I’m here.” The words spill from my lips, raw and real. “I’m alive because of you. I’m terrified and thrilled. Part of me says I should run, but I think I could learn to live without breathing before I could learn to live without you. That may sound hokey…”

"Not at all," he says with a shake of his head. "It sounds perfect."

He growls—a sound both possessive and shaken—as he positions himself at my entrance, rubbing the tip of his cock against my wetness before slowly easing it inside of me. He fills me completely, stretching my walls with a delicious tension that grounds us together.

Heat surges through our bodies, fierce and consuming, and the cave around us fades into oblivion.

All that remains is the rhythm he sets: deep thrusts followed by shallow ones, our bodies slick with sweat as they collide with increasing intensity.

My legs wrap tightly around his waist, urging him deeper and deeper inside of me—a punctuation to our primal dance.

Sparks fly across his skin—tiny motes of sacred flame that answer to the heartbeat and friction—casting our shadows against the quartz wall like two creatures forged of fire in this carnal dance.

His fingers find my clit between my legs, rubbing and pressing it in ever-tightening circles, driving me closer and closer to that precipice.

My orgasm crashes over me, a tidal wave of sensation ripping a loud moan from my throat as my body convulses with pleasure, gripping him tightly inside me.

His follows shortly after, his spine arching back, teeth bared in a silent roar as he releases his seed deep within me.

The forge flares—coals blooming white-hot—surging with heat before easing into a steady glow as he draws me into his arms. I feel every heartbeat, every tremble; his pendant trapped between our damp skin, a silent testament to the bond forged in the crucible of our shared desire.

Silence stretches, thick with steam and something fragile, a breath suspended too long in a burning room.

Survivor’s guilt slinks in through the cracks—phantom screams lingering, soot-smudged faces of my lost crew rising from memory, smoke that won’t dissipate.

My pulse skitters. Kade moves without a word, his palm settling over the pendant spot on my chest. The heat of his touch holds steady and real, the unwavering rhythm of the forge’s heart—pulling me back from the edge, anchoring me in the now.

My ribs hitch once, then settle beneath his warmth.

“Your team,” he murmurs, “you didn’t kill them. Ignis did. And they won’t claim another.”

“What did I ever do to them?”

“You survived. You weren’t supposed to. Then instead of benching you completely they sent you here. The last thing Ignis wants is for you to start putting the puzzle pieces together.”

I swallow hard, throat tight with the pressure of unshed emotion.

My head dips in a shallow nod, but it's his touch—warm and grounding over the center of my chest—that keeps me from fracturing. The rough pad of his thumb circles gently, slow and steady, easing the knot of grief and guilt coiled behind my ribs. My lips part, but no words come, only breath hitching through the weight of what we’ve just shared.

His skin against mine is the only thing keeping the darkness from reclaiming me.

Rotor blades thunder in the distance—low, approaching fast, chopping the air with a menace that vibrates through the cavern walls.

We both stiffen. He sets me gently on my feet, fingers gliding down my arms before they fall away, heat trailing in their wake, a ghost of touch I can still feel.

The hum of adrenaline replaces the forge’s afterglow, and for one suspended breath, we lock eyes—neither ready to let go, both knowing we must.

“That’s an Ignis chopper,” he says, grabbing his spare clothes.

“There’s a drill today.” I yank on my pants, fingers trembling as I fasten the straps and buckles with stiff, jerky motions.

The fabric feels too rough, too cold against skin still sensitive from everything we just shared.

“You need an extra set of eyes? I’m in.” My voice is steadier than I expect, but my chest is tight, breath caught somewhere between thrill and dread.

Outside, the chaos hasn’t hit yet—but it’s close.

I can feel it pressing in, heat curling at the edges of reality like paper too near the flame.

“You’re benched,” he reminds—though his grin is anything but discouraging.

“Watch me observe. You’ll need someone inside the chaos.”

He weighs the risk, then nods once. “Stay close. We finish this, then we finish talking—no more secrets.”

Footsteps hammer at the mouth of the cave—urgent, uneven, chased by clipped radio commands and rising panic.

I square my shoulders and step toward the entrance, pulse still thudding from the aftershocks of him, of us.

My thighs ache where the anvil's heat kissed my skin, and the scent of forge-smoke clings to my clothes. Every breath feels scorched, every heartbeat a warning bell. Whatever’s coming, it’s already here—and I’m not hiding from it.

Outside, the wind howls low and hot, carrying the acrid tang of rising smoke and the churning thunder of rotor blades slicing through low air. The sky has gone the color of forge-cooled steel—unnaturally still, almost metallic in its calm, like the world is holding its breath.

Then, a concussive boom tears across camp, shattering the silence.

A wave of molten light crashes over the horizon, brighter than dawn, as the first thermite charge detonates.

It splinters reality: igniting hose lines like brittle fuses, flipping water rigs with brutal force, and sending flame sheeting across trailers and fuel caches.

The ground bucks underfoot. Shouts erupt.

Fire devours everything before the drill whistle even has a chance to scream.

Hell doesn’t knock. It kicks the damn door in.