Page 23

KELLI

T he night presses heavy against the cracked windows, thick and choking.

Silpha’s curled up in the corner, snoring soft and rough.

The kids sleep tangled together, little fists clutching at each other like they know even in dreams they can’t be alone right now.

Traz stands by the door, watching the street below.

Like he’s daring the whole damn world to try and take what’s his.

I watch him a long moment.

The way the muscles in his back bunch under his battered jacket.

The way his hand hovers near his knife, even in the quiet.

Always ready.

Always braced.

For a fight, for a fall, for another loss.

And I realize something cold and sharp.

He isn’t just guarding the door.

He’s guarding us.

Guarding me .

Not out of duty.

Not out of guilt.

But because he wants to.

My throat burns.

I cross the room slow, my boots scuffing soft against the cracked tile.

He hears me coming, of course.

Doesn’t turn.

Doesn’t flinch.

Just tilts his head slightly, like he’s been waiting for me.

I stop beside him, close enough that my shoulder brushes his.

Outside, the city seethes like a wounded beast.

Lights flicker.

Distant shouts tear through the dark.

But inside it’s just us.

Him and me.

And all the ghosts we gotta leave behind if we’re gonna survive tomorrow.

"You ever think," I say, voice low, "about what life would've been like... if none of this happened?"

He huffs a breath, not quite a laugh.

"Sometimes," he says. "Used to think about it a lot."

I lean against the wall, arms crossed.

"What'd you see?"

He’s quiet for a long beat.

Then he shrugs, slow and heavy.

"You," he says simply.

"You," he repeats, voice rough, like it costs him something to say it out loud. "And a little place. Quiet. Safe. Kids running wild. You laughing."

I bite my lip hard.

Fighting the sting behind my eyes.

Fighting the memory of everything we lost.

"That’s a nice dream," I whisper.

He finally turns to look at me.

Full-on.

His face all harsh planes and old scars.

But his eyes, Gods, his eyes are soft.

"Still can be," he says, dead serious. "If we make it outta here."

I study him.

Every broken, battered, stubborn inch of him.

And I know in my bones that I’m not just surviving for the kids anymore.

I’m surviving for him , too.

For us.

I push off the wall, stepping right into his space.

Close enough to smell the dust and gun oil and raw, beating life on him.

Close enough to see the flicker of fear he tries to bury when I reach up and cup his jaw.

"You hear me, Traz?" I whisper. "I love you."

The words are small.

Ragged.

But real.

They hit harder than any bullet.

He stiffens like I shot him.

Then he grabs me.

Pulls me in so hard my breath whooshes out in a gasp.

His arms crush me to his chest, rough and shaking.

"I’m never leaving you again," he growls against my hair.

"I swear it, Kelli. I swear on every godsdamn thing I am."

I fist his jacket tight in my hands, blinking hard.

"You better not," I mutter, voice thick. "I’ll kill you myself if you do."

He laughs, a low broken sound, and presses his forehead to mine.

"I believe you," he mutters.

We stand there a long time.

Just breathing each other in.

Letting the past burn away around us.

The girl who was sold and broken.

The man who ran to escape his own damn heart.

Gone.

All that’s left now is the woman who clawed her way back to life.

And the man stubborn enough to follow her into hell and drag her back out again.

Together.

Always.

I shift, wrapping my arms around his waist.

Feeling his heart pounding against mine like a drumbeat.

Strong.

Steady.

Real.

"We deserve better," I whisper.

"Yeah," he says, his voice a low rumble against my temple. "We do."

"And we're gonna get it," I say fierce.

He pulls back just enough to look me dead in the eye.

"Damn right we are."

He kisses me then.

Not rough.

Not hungry.

But slow.

Sure.

A claiming that needs no fight, no fear.

Only faith.

Faith in us.

When we finally break apart, the night feels a little less heavy.

The shadows a little less sharp.

Tomorrow’s still coming fast and brutal.

But tonight, we’ve made our peace.

Said goodbye to the ghosts.

Made room for something new.

Something worth fighting for.

I lean my head against his chest, listening to the steady beat of him.

I let myself hope.

Really hope.

Because we aren't just surviving anymore.

We're living.

Together.

And nothing—not Petru, not fear, not the whole broken galaxy—is gonna tear that away from us again.

Later, when the city's noise dies down to a low, distant hum, we creep outside onto the crumbling balcony.

The night air is cool against my skin, crisp and clean in a way that feels rare down here.

The stars stretch wide above us.

Bright.

Endless.

A reminder that there’s still more out there than just fear and blood and running.

I cradle Aria against my chest.

Traz’s arm curls around Joren, the boy snuggled deep against his side, breathing slow and even.

We sit together on the battered bench, the kids dozing heavy and warm against us.

I glance at Traz.

He’s staring at the stars like he’s memorizing them.

Like he’s making a map in his heart for all the places we still have to go.

Without a word, he reaches over and threads his fingers through mine.

Big.

Rough.

Solid.

I squeeze back hard.

Silent.

Steady.

Ready.

Whatever comes—fire or fury, bullets or betrayal—we’ll face it together.

We’ve already survived the worst.

Now it’s time to live for something better.

For them.

For us.

For the family we fought like hell to make.

I rest my head against his shoulder, breathing deep, letting the stars blur and spin.

Tomorrow’ll come hard.

But tonight?

Tonight, we’re unbreakable.