Page 79 of Veil of Ashes

He smiles, crooked and real, brushing a strand of hair from my face. “And you’re mine, Sylvara. Always.”

I kiss him, soft and lingering, tasting the sweat on his lips, the love in his breath. My hands slide to his chest, resting light over his bandages, and he pulls me closer, careful of his injuries, our bodies still joined, warm and sated. The city hums below, lights smudging into the dusk, but up here, it’s just us—raw, alive, and whole.

We ease apart, slow and reluctant, and I help him lean back against the wall, gravel crunching under us. I settle beside him, legs tangled with his, my head on his good shoulder, his arm draped over me. The evening air cools my skin, but his warmth keeps me steady, a quiet promise in the way he holds me.

“This is enough,” I say, fingers tracing his knuckles, feeling the roughness of his skin, “you and me, like this.”

He turns his head, lips brushing my hair, voice scraped but sure. “More than enough. It’s everything.”

I smile, closing my eyes, letting his heartbeat anchor me, the rooftop solid beneath us, the world ours for this moment—love and peace carved out of the chaos, unshakeable and true.

Chapter 27 – Kieran

The desert looks dead, but I know better. Everything out here is just waiting. Dust clings to the cracked windshield in waves, whispering past as we slow down. The bunker rises like it always has—half-submerged in a slope of scorched dirt, framed by a fence that’s been giving up for years.

No guards. No drones. Just wind howling through barbed wire and the hum of something old running beneath the earth.

We park.

Sylvara steps out before I kill the engine. Her boots crunch the gravel like punctuation. She doesn’t speak. Doesn’t ask what happens next.

She already knows.

I follow her through the fencing gate and down the rusted ramp.

Two days since Dante died. Two days since his blood soaked through my shirt, warm and slow, and all I felt was gravity pulling me down—not victory.

The wound on my shoulder throbs with every step. But I walk steady. Not for me.

For her.

Enzo is already waiting.

He stands behind a steel desk, arms folded loosely, posture straight but relaxed. The bunker looks emptier than last time—maps gone from the walls, shelves stripped bare. The generator hums louder now. Like the place is starting to exhale.

There’s a small safe open beside him. Inside: two brown envelopes, a phone, a burner drive, and a compact pistol I doubt he plans to use.

He gestures to the table.

“Everything’s in here,” he says. “Passports, banking routes, digital identity kits, border timers. You can ghost through Lyon, or reroute through Tokyo in less than four hours. I even threw in back-channel licenses. In case you want a life with paperwork.”

I say nothing.

He nods toward the envelopes. “There’s no tag. No strings. You go, you’re gone. Nobody follows.”

Sylvara steps beside me. Close enough that her shoulder brushes mine.

She doesn’t reach for the documents. Neither do I.

Enzo lets out a faint sigh and leans back against the desk.

“I built this place in case she ever found me,” he says. “Figured she’d come one day. Maybe looking for answers. Maybe for blood. Either way, I thought she’d need a clean way out.”

He pauses, then: “I didn’t expect you.”

I stare at him. The light overhead buzzes between us.

“She doesn’t need a way out,” I say. “Not anymore.”

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