Chapter 82

Chapter 82
Kiernan let his gaze sweep over the destruction, his head tilting slightly as if listening for ghosts. A flicker of something unreadable crossed his face—doubt, maybe. Or just that predatory instinct that had kept him alive this long.
"Burn the rest," he said finally, turning away. "Then we go. This mess is over."
Mika didn't breathe again until the flames roared back to life, until the Syndicate men started retreating, satisfied that there was nothing left but ashes.
She turned her head slightly, just enough to see Seamus watching them disappear into the night. His expression was unreadable, his hands relaxed in the dirt beside him, but Mika knew better.
Kiernan had almost suspected something.
Almost.
She leaned in, just enough that her lips brushed against Seamus’ ear. "We did it."
His fingers curled slightly, grazing hers, grounding them both in the quiet aftermath.
"Yeah," he murmured, eyes still locked on the flames. "We did."
They stayed until the last vehicle disappeared, until there was nothing left but embers and the weight of a life they had just buried.
Then, without a word, they turned and disappeared into the trees, vanishing like ghosts into the dark.
The night stretched endlessly before them, the cold bite of the wind pressing against their sweat-slicked skin. Smoke and ash still clung to the air, but it grew fainter with every step. The further they walked, the more the past burned away behind them, fading into embers, swallowed by the darkness.
They walked for miles.
Mika’s legs ached, her body protesting each step, but she kept moving, matching Seamus’ pace, keeping her breathing even. Every inhale tasted of dirt and exhaustion, but beneath it, she could still feel the weight of everything they had done—everything they had lost.
And then, finally, the truck came into view.
It was parked just off the dirt road, exactly where it was supposed to be. A beat-up old thing, rusted along the edges, but reliable. A lifeline. Their last step toward disappearing completely.
Seamus barely hesitated. He veered toward it, his strides purposeful, his focus set. This was the plan. Get to the truck, get out, start over.
Mika slowed.
Then she stopped.
She didn’t know why at first, only that something inside her seized, her feet rooted to the ground as she watched him move forward without her. It was only a few steps, but it felt like miles.
Was this real?
Everything between them had been built on survival, on chaos, on war. The fire, the danger, the blood—that was where they existed, where they thrived. But now that the fight was over, now that there was nothing left hunting them, she wondered—
Would he still want her without all of it?
Did he love her, or had she just been another thing to hold onto, another battle to win?
Her breath caught in her throat. She could leave. Right now. She could turn around, disappear, become something new, someone new. There was nothing left tying her to him except the ghost of his touch, the echo of his name in her mouth, the way her body still burned for him despite the cold air curling around her.
Seamus kept walking.
Then—he stopped.
Mika swallowed hard as he turned, his brows drawing together, confusion flickering across his face before something else settled there. Understanding.
He didn’t speak. Didn’t ask what was wrong.
Instead, he held out his hand.
A silent offering. A promise. A choice.
I won’t go without you.
Mika’s fingers twitched at her sides, doubt still whispering in the back of her mind, but her body already knew the answer.
She took his hand.
His fingers curled around hers, warm and solid, grounding her in a way nothing else ever had. He didn’t pull, didn’t rush her—just held on, waiting, patient, steady.
And then they walked, together, toward whatever came next.
The city was alive in a way Mika hadn’t felt in years.
Neon signs buzzed overhead, their glow reflecting off the wet pavement. The air smelled of car exhaust, fried food, and the faint, lingering scent of rain. People moved around them in an endless current—couples walking hand in hand, late-night workers heading home, drunks stumbling between bars. It was chaos, but not the kind she was used to. No gunfire in the distance, no eyes watching her from darkened alleys, no Syndicate presence lurking beneath the surface.
She and Seamus had disappeared. Officially.
New names. New IDs. New lives.