It was close to midnight.
The city outside the warehouse was asleep—or pretending to be. Neon lights blinked weakly through a veil of smoke, and the occasional siren wailed in the distance like a warning no one ever heeded.
Elira stood on the roof, her boots balanced on the ledge, hair whipping across her face in the wind. She stared down at the world like it was already dead.
Behind her, Azriel approached in silence.
"You planning on jumping or just brooding up here for dramatic effect?"
She didn't flinch. "Don't flatter yourself. Your presence isn't that haunting."
He stepped beside her, his gaze scanning the skyline. "So what is it tonight? Survivor's guilt? Or another one of your brilliantly reckless ideas?"
"Neither. I came up here to breathe. You should try it sometime, Moreaux. Might help you grow a soul."
Azriel snorted. "Souls are for people who get to live past eighteen."
She turned to him, eyes narrowed. "What is it with you and the martyr complex? You think just because you hated the system, it excuses what you were to it?"
His smile was razor-sharp. "I never asked to be excused. I'm just better at living with the blood on my hands."
Elira laughed, low and dangerous. "Of course you are. You probably name your ghosts."
"Only the ones that scream."
The wind howled. Neither of them moved.
"You know what your problem is?" she snapped. "You think you're the only one broken enough to matter. Like pain validates you. Like trauma is a crown."
"And you," he shot back, "think that being angry makes you immune to it. You're not. You're just another weapon trying not to admit you were made for war."
"Don't pretend you know me."
"I do know you. You want vengeance so badly, you'd burn everything, even the people trying to help."
"You are not trying to help."
"No? Then why haven't I handed you over? Why didn't I let them extract you like they planned?"
"Because you want something," she hissed.
He stepped closer. "Of course I do. You. Off their radar. For good. Because as much as you irritate the hell out of me, I can't watch you get erased like the rest."
"I don't need your fucking protection."
"Then stop getting shot, Vale."
She shoved him. Hard. He didn't stumble.
"Stop acting like you care."
"I don't," he growled.
"Liar."
He grabbed her arm, yanked her close. Their bodies clashed like flint and steel.
"Say it again."
"Liar," she spat.
"You think you're hard to kill? You're not. But you're a fucking masterpiece at surviving. And that terrifies them."
"I'm not afraid of them."
"No," he murmured. "You're just afraid of being seen. And I see you, Elira. Every broken, furious inch."
"Let go."
"Not until you admit it."
"Admit what?"
"That you want this. The war. The fire. Me."
She laughed again, breathless. "You're a curse, Azriel. Not a man."
"Good. Then let's be each other's damnation."
They stared at each other, hearts thudding like war drums.
Then Elira shoved him back. "Stay the hell out of my head."
Azriel didn't smile this time. His voice was quiet. Deadly.
"Start using it, then. Because they moved your extraction up. Two hours. This place isn't safe."
Elira's rage hardened into focus. "When?"
"Now. We move at dawn. I'm taking you to my penthouse. It's shielded, off-grid, and untraceable. They won't find you there."
She tensed, hesitated—but nodded. "Fine. But if you're trying to trap me—"
"You'd have gutted me already."
She moved past him, tension coiled in every step.
He followed.
By the time morning crept into the skyline, the team had reassembled in pieces.
Talon and Caelum were already at Caelum's penthouse—strategizing, planning, and relaying every scrap of intelligence they'd ripped from the surveillance feeds. They'd spent the entire night working. Thalia was with them too, cross-referencing coordinates and structuring a digital firewall around any possible trace. The place was a fortress of screens and encrypted data.
Talon's briefing was short and precise: "They're tightening the net. We've got maybe two days before they switch to public operations. We go underground now or we don't go at all."
Caelum, half-dressed and half-caffeinated, added, "I've scrubbed everything connecting Elira's last movement to the warehouse. But they'll adapt. Fast. Our window is small."
Azriel nodded once. "We'll relocate to my place. Set the fallback plan with the vault line."
Caelum raised an eyebrow. "You sure? That place is… personal."
"Exactly. That's why they'll never expect it."
Caelum's penthouse became the unofficial headquarters. A command center. Temporary, but lethal.
Meanwhile, Azriel and Elira would disappear into the shadows.
Azriel's SUV—a sleek, black machine that looked more like a threat than a vehicle—waited outside the warehouse. They climbed in without a word, and the car roared to life.
The ride was tense, quiet, each of them wrapped in their own storm of thoughts. The city blurred by as the SUV cut through back routes and encrypted gates.
Azriel's penthouse was untouched, hidden behind forged corporate layers and ghosted utility records. An obsidian tower overlooking the city, warded and shielded, protected by a private server and biometric locks. A place even the Moreaux empire couldn't sniff out without bleeding for it.
It was dangerous, Elira thought. How easily Azriel slipped into this dual life. How convincing
he was in silence. But she followed anyway.
Because war was coming.
And she was done fighting it alone.
______
To be continued...