Page 26

KELLI

W e don’t waste time after the reunion.

Can’t.

Traz grabs my hand so tight it damn near cuts off circulation, dragging me through the crumbling alleys toward the hangar where Silpha said the freighter would dock.

Aria clings to his chest.

Joren runs, panting, at my side.

The city howls behind us.

Sirens.

Gunfire.

A world burning.

I don’t dare look back.

The hangar’s a rusted skeleton at the edge of Glimner’s industrial sprawl.

Broken lights flicker overhead, throwing everything into jagged shadows.

The transport ship’s there.

Big.

Ugly.

Beautiful.

Hope in metal form.

Traz slows as we approach, scanning the lot with sharp eyes.

"Too quiet," he mutters.

My stomach twists.

I feel it too.

Wrong.

Heavy.

Like the world’s holding its breath before it punches you in the gut.

I clutch Joren tighter.

Traz shifts Aria higher against him, his free hand never straying far from his blaster.

Silpha moves to the door first, punching in the access code.

The ship’s ramp hisses open slow.

And that’s when all hell breaks loose.

Shouts.

The crunch of boots.

The gleam of rifles in the flickering light.

Petru steps out from the shadows like a nightmare made flesh.

Scarred.

Grinning.

A dozen of his men fanning out behind him like a pack of hungry wolves.

"Thought you could just slip away, ghost?" Petru calls, voice smooth as broken glass. "You disappoint me."

Traz pushes me and the kids back, shielding us with his body.

"You’re the one who’s finished," he growls.

Petru laughs, a low ugly sound.

"We’ll see about that."

He lifts his hand.

Snaps his fingers.

Gunfire explodes all around us.

Traz shoves Aria into my arms.

"Run when I tell you," he snarls.

I nod, heart hammering my ribs into dust.

He draws his blaster.

Silpha’s already firing from the flank, picking off the first two thugs who rush the ramp.

I grab Joren’s hand and duck low behind a crate, cradling both kids against me.

Traz moves like a force of nature.

No hesitation.

No mercy.

He shoots one bastard clean through the throat, then spins and drops another with a shot to the knee and a brutal elbow to the skull.

He’s a whirlwind of blood and fury.

And every shot fired feels like it tears another hole in my chest.

Because if I lose him now, if we survive only for me to watch him die.

I’ll never recover.

Not again.

Not ever.

Petru’s men circle tighter.

More shouts.

More gunfire.

Concrete chips spray around us.

One thug tries to flank Traz.

He sees it a second too late.

The bastard swings a pipe at his head.

Traz ducks, snarling, and rams his blaster butt into the man's gut, then kicks him hard enough that he slams into a rusted loader and crumples.

I suck in a sharp breath.

Joren whimpers against my leg.

Aria sobs silent tears against my neck.

I clutch them both tighter.

"Hold on," I whisper. "Just hold on, babies."

Traz fires again—center mass—dropping another attacker.

But there’s too many.

Way too many.

For every one he drops, two more step over the bodies to get closer.

Silpha shouts something I can’t hear over the roar.

Petru moves forward, casual, calm, like he’s got all the time in the world.

He lifts his blaster.

Aims straight for Traz’s back.

My heart freezes.

"Traz!" I scream.

He turns, too late.

A shot rings out.

Sharp and ugly.

But it’s Silpha’s blaster.

She drops Petru’s second-in-command mid-sprint.

Traz throws himself sideways, rolling behind a crate.

Returns fire.

Blood blooms in the chest of another thug.

But it’s chaos.

Pure chaos.

The hangar shakes with the thunder of weapons.

Smoke curls thick and greasy through the air.

My babies cry harder.

I cover their heads with my body, shaking, praying, pleading to whatever gods are left.

Just let us make it.

Just let us survive.

I don’t care what it costs.

I don’t care what I have to give.

Just bring him back to me.

Bring us all home.

Traz fights like he’s already dead.

Like nothing matters except carving a path for us out of this slaughter.

He moves brutal and fast, using every piece of cover, every broken crate, every inch of shadow.

He grits his teeth, fires two shots into the nearest thug, then rams his shoulder into another, sending him flying into a wall.

He’s bleeding.

I see it.

A line of red slicing down his side where a blaster grazed him.

But he doesn’t slow.

Doesn’t even flinch.

He’s not fighting for himself.

He’s fighting for us.

For me.

For our babies.

And gods, it makes me want to sob and scream and laugh all at once.

Because no one’s ever fought for me like this.

No one’s ever stayed .

Not until him.

Not until now.

Another thug charges, wild and sloppy.

Traz sidesteps him, grabs his arm, snaps it clean at the elbow with a sick crack, and throws him face-first into the ground.

The others hesitate.

Just for a second.

Long enough to buy us a breath.

A heartbeat.

Traz glances back at me across the battlefield.

Our eyes lock.

The world disappears.

Just him.

Just me.

Just survival.

"Stay down!" he roars.

I nod, mouth too dry to speak.

He turns back to the fight.

And the last thing I see before the smoke swallows him again is him standing tall.

Unbreakable.

Unstoppable.

Ours.

But then Traz’s blaster clicks dry.

Silpha’s pinned behind a loading crate, bleeding bad from a shot to her leg.

Petru’s men keep coming.

More shadows.

More shouting.

More gunfire.

We’re outgunned.

Outnumbered.

Trapped.

And the exit—the freighter—the only way off this godsdamn rock.

It’s still half a battlefield away.

I clutch the kids tighter, tears burning my eyes.

Traz meets my gaze again, and in his eyes, I see it.

The moment he realizes we aren’t making it out together.

Not all of us.

Not alive.

Silpha moves.

Fast.

Savage.

She rips a thermal charge from her belt, sets it fast with bloody fingers.

"Silpha—NO!" Traz roars.

She flashes him a crooked grin.

Tired.

Fierce.

Free.

"Get them home," she shouts.

And then she’s running—straight into the heart of Petru’s men—blasting rounds and curses and rage.

For one frozen breath, time stops.

Traz surges forward, desperate.

I scream his name, grabbing him back.

Because we both know.

We both know .

A flash of light.

A deafening boom.

The hangar shakes.

Fire erupts, a screaming wall of heat and fury that throws bodies and debris into the air.

Petru’s men scatter.

Screaming.

Burning.

Silpha’s gone.

Traz stumbles back, face twisted with something worse than pain.

Something worse than loss.

I crawl out from behind the crate, dragging the kids, heart hammering so loud it drowns out the world.

Traz scoops us up without a word, cradling us tight against his body.

We run.

Through fire.

Through smoke.

Through the wreckage of Silpha’s sacrifice.

We run.

Because she gave us this chance.

She bought us this breath.

She bought us this life.

And we won’t waste it.