“I’m ordering you to,” I correct.
Roman shakes his head. “She won’t forgive you if you die.”
“She won’t forgive me if I hesitate,” I reply. “And she won’t be safe while either of them still breathes.”
Mike studies me for a long moment, then nods once. “He’s already decided.”
Lev’s fists clench. “You come back.”
I don’t answer that.
Dimitri turns back to the screens. “We’ll lock down every exit. If anything moves wrong—”
“I’ll handle it,” I say.
Roman mutters, “Stubborn bastard.”
I almost smile.
I give them my final command, voice calm, absolute.
“I go in alone.”
And for Raelyn—this war ends tonight.
***
By evening, everything is in place.
Weapons secured. Routes memorized. Exit plans I don’t intend to use already burned into muscle memory. The house hums with controlled violence—guards moving, systems locking, brothers watching me like they already know this is the moment you don’t argue anymore.
Before I leave, I go to her.
Our room is quiet. Too quiet.
Raelyn sits by the window in one of my shirts, knees drawn to her chest, the fabric swallowing her frame. The city lights wash her in pale gold. She looks fragile like this—but whenshe turns and sees me, there’s steel in her eyes. Determination holding her upright.
She stands too fast, crosses the room, and grips my jacket like it’s the only solid thing left.
“Don’t go alone,” she says, voice breaking despite her effort to keep it steady. “Please. Don’t do this by yourself.”
I take her face in both hands, grounding us both. My thumbs brush beneath her eyes, memorizing her like I won’t get another chance.
“This is the only way,” I tell her quietly. “If I don’t cut the head off this thing, it never stops. They will keep circling you. Testing. Threatening. I won’t allow that.”
Her forehead presses into my chest. Her breath shudders.
“I can’t lose you too,” she whispers.
The words hit harder than any bullet ever has.
I pull her closer and kiss her—slow, devastating, nothing rushed. Not hunger. Not desperation. Something deeper. A promise. A farewell. A vow tangled so tight I don’t know where one ends and the other begins.
My hands move over her back, her waist, her hair—learning her again, committing every inch to memory like this is how I’ll survive whatever comes next. When I finally pull away, our breaths tremble together.
“I love you,” I say, rough and unguarded.
Her lips part. Her eyes shine.