Page 27

But my body leans, just slightly, before I can stop it. My breath hitches, traitorous. The need hums in my veins, sharp and sudden—because some part of me wants the kiss. Wants the anchor. Wants him. And the worst part? I know he felt it too.

He looks at me like he might.

Then the shelter hisses. A final click. A fuse line sparks behind the cot—only to fizzle halfway, coughing smoke instead of fire. Greer’s face splits into a maniacal grin anyway.

“Dead man’s switch,” he says. “Guess I forgot to mention that part.”

Of course he did.

Kade doesn’t wait. He grabs me by the waist and launches us toward the seam in the wall—the same one blasted open when he came through the roof in a cascade of fire and smoke. We hit the dirt and roll once, twice, before he tucks me under him just as— BOOM.

The explosion rocks the shelter, but it’s partial—more pressure wave than full detonation.

Fire rips through the upper structure in a bloom of gold and black, but the blast radius doesn't reach the perimeter.

Heat lashes across my cheek. Smoke rolls over us in waves.

Inside, Greer screams—injured, not dead. Alive, and now ours to take.

Fifteen minutes later, the ridge is crawling with Prescott fire engines and firefighters in full gear stomping out the last of the flames.

My ears are still ringing, a dull pressure building behind my eardrums—a warning that hasn’t finished delivering its message.

The smoke clings to my skin, thick and oily, the kind that burrows deep into pores and memories.

My throat burns with the grit of smoke and the sharp tang of fear I refuse to name.

Heat from the blast still radiates off the rocks, bleeding into my boots, making every step feel like walking across scorched judgment.

Someone calls for water, someone else for triage, but it all sounds underwater.

Muted. Like I’ve stepped through a veil and left something behind in the fire.

I stand over Danny Greer as he writhes in restraints beside the charred shell of his fire shelter.

His skin is streaked with soot and sweat, wrists raw where the zip ties bite into them.

The reek of singed plastic and ash hangs heavy in the air.

My gear’s scorched, the reflective tape on my sleeves peeling in melted curls.

Every breath burns. My pulse hasn’t steadied, still chasing the aftermath like it’s waiting for another blow to land.

But my hand doesn’t shake when I click the radio. My voice is steel.

“Command, this is Monroe. Primary saboteur secured. Fire contained.”

Kade stands a few feet back, arms crossed, silent and watchful as always.

“Copy, Monroe. HRT inbound for transfer. Sit tight.”

I squat beside Greer. His eyes are bloodshot. Fury and fear war behind them.

“You did all this,” I say quietly, “to make me pay.”

And looking at him now—gaunt, snarling, hollowed out by his own bitterness—I realize how little I feel. No anger. No satisfaction. Just the cold, unshakable clarity that he was never strong enough to stand in the heat. And I was.

He grins, lips cracked. “Did I?”

“No. You failed.”

He spits blood at my boot. I don’t even blink.

A ranger arrives and changes out the zip ties for regulation cuffs before hauling him upright.

As they take him toward the lead engine, I feel Kade step up behind me—heat radiating off him in that way that always feels like gravity.

“You burned clean,” he murmurs.

I exhale. “I didn’t flinch this time.”

“No. You led.” He watches me for a long second. “And Bitterroot wasn’t your fault. You carried more than your share—and you stood back up. That’s what matters.”

The silence between us crackles. The others are too far off to hear. Too busy with hose packs and foam sweeps. The fire’s out, the villain’s down, but the war?

Not even close.

I turn to face him. “Homeland’s coming.”

“I know.”

“I’ll tell them what’s real,” I say, though every part of me knows it’ll cost. Maybe not today, maybe not in front of the brass—but when truth and power mix, there’s always fallout. “But only the human version. If they start digging deeper than that…” I shrug. “I’m not walking away.”

His eyes gleam with quiet pride. “Then I won’t either.”

He doesn’t smile.

He claims me with a look so fierce it steals the breath from my lungs and melts the last of my walls.

For a heartbeat, I’m twenty-two again, still believing in forever, still thinking love was something you earned instead of something that chooses you.

But this? This is different. This isn’t fragile.

It’s elemental—old as the earth beneath our boots and wild as the fire in our veins.

No promises, no pretty lies. Just heat, honesty, and the gravity between us that refuses to break.

And somehow, after everything—after loss, after shame, after crawling out of ash and wreckage—I find I’m still capable of belonging. To someone. To him.

“They’ll come, Liv. With questions. With orders.”

“Let them,” I say.

He leans in, lips brushing my temple, low voice all gravel and steel. “Then you and I burn together—fierce, loyal, and unbreakable. Not in flame, not in death, but in everything that’s left when the smoke clears."

And I swear the sky holds its breath, just a little. Nothing changes—because nothing can, not yet. Not until the next choice, the next spark. And I know in my bones: it's coming. Like the mountain heard him. Like fate did, too.