I wake to an empty bed and the faint creak of floorboards under quiet footsteps.

  The sheets beside me are still warm, rumpled from where Xeni slept, but the air feels cooler without him beside me. I blink against the dim morning light seeping through the curtains.

  It’s the kind of gray dawn that reminds me how cramped this base is, making it feel more like a cage without the sunlight to bring some artificial cheer.

  Rubbing sleep from my eyes, I prop myself up on one elbow as the mattress dips under my weight. Xeni is already up, standing by the window with his back to me.

  I frown as I realize he’s dressed in his full uniform. The crisp black leathers gleam faintly in the low light, buckled tight and precise.

  Everything about it feels off.

  Xeni isn't a morning person. Most days when the alarm blares, he groans and pulls me back down for ‘five more minutes’ that turn into twenty, then lounges lazily wearing nothing at all as he stumbles around, searching for coffee.

  Seeing him fully geared sends a trickle of unease down my spine.

  “Xen?” My voice is thick with sleep, cracking a little as I sit up fully. The sheet slides down my bare chest, and I shiver in the chill. “You’re up early. Is everything okay?”

  He turns then, and flashes me a smile. It’s the small one that crinkles the corner of his eyes… the one that makes my heart flip even after all this time.

  But today it lands too quick, too practiced, like he’s slipping it on as part of the uniform.

  “Yeah,” he says lightly, voice steady but not quite meeting my gaze for more than a second. “Couldn’t sleep. Figured I’d get a head start on the day.”

  I frown, the fog in my head clearing slower than I’d like. The room smells like him—warm amber and faint soap from last night’s shower. It usually comforts me, but right now as I watch his mechanical movements, it just heightens the wrongness. The past few days rush through my mind, and I search for something I’ve done that might’ve upset him, but I come up blank.

  “Why are you in uniform?” I ask carefully, knowing how much he hates wearing it. “What’s going on? Shift doesn’t start for hours.”

  “Just… routine stuff. Aeliphis asked me to take care of a few things.”

  He shrugs one shoulder in that casual way he does when he’s deflecting, and my heart hammers faster.

  Xeni walks over, the leather creaking softly with each step, and leans down to kiss me. It’s soft at first, his lips warm and familiar, but then it deepens. His hand cups the back of my neck, fingers threading through my hair like he’s holding on for dear life.

  I melt into it, my arms wrapping around his shoulders to pull him closer. His taste floods my senses. Mint from his toothpaste, and the underlying bite of coffee from the empty mug on the table.

  For a moment, I forget the unease.

  When he pulls back, his forehead rests against mine, breaths mingling in the small space between us. His fingers linger in my hair, thumb brushing my temple in slow circles.

  “I love you,” he whispers, and the words are rough around the edges, like they’re being dragged out of him.

  “I love you too,” I murmur, cupping his face.

  His skin is warm under my palms, but there’s a faint tremor in his touch that I can’t ignore.

  “Xeni, you’re scaring me, princess. What’s wrong? Talk to me.”

  He closes his eyes, just for a second, and my heart sinks further. When they open, the smile is back, but it doesn’t reach them like it should.

  “I’m fine,” he says, voice unnaturally smooth now. “Get dressed, okay? We’ve got a long day ahead of us.”

  I search his face, looking for the crack—the tell that something’s breaking him. But he’s good at hiding behind that calm mask when he needs to. I’ve seen it before, on bad days when the things we’re forced to do here weigh too heavily, but never like this.

  Never directed at me.

  “Okay,” I say finally, though my gut twists.

  I swing my legs over the side of the bed, reaching for the clothes I left on the chair last night. My hands feel clumsy, fingers fumbling with the buttons as I pull on my shirt. The fabric is cool against my skin, a stark contrast to his warmth that lingers where we touched.

  Xeni watches from the dresser, arms crossed. His posture is too straight, too controlled, and he tracks every movement I make. Zipping my pants, tying my shoes, grabbing my lab coat and shrugging it over my shoulders.

  He never looks away.

  The air in the room feels heavy, like the pressure before a storm. Nerves churn in my gut until bile rises in my throat, and when I can’t take it anymore, I turn to him.

  “Xeni, seriously, what—”

  The knock comes sharp and sudden.

  Three hard raps that echo like gunshots in the quiet.

  Xeni doesn’t flinch. He walks over and opens the door in fluid movements that feel almost rehearsed.

  Guards stand in the hall. Four of them, looming in the doorway like shadows come to life. It’s a tiny base, so we all know each other, but right now, they feel like strangers. They’re wearing full tactical gear, and the familiar faces are cold as ice.

  The lead one, Ranveer, steps forward.

  “Sebastian Hale,” he orders. “You need to come with us.”

  My blood freezes as I look between the faces all staring at me. “What?” I finally manage.

  Ranveer’s jaw clenches, but he doesn’t back down. “Don’t make us force you.”

  “What the fuck, Ranveer?” I ask as I take a step back, my gaze whipping to Xeni, but he’s staring at the ground. “Is this a joke? What the fuck is going on?”

  They don’t answer. They surge forward like a tide of black armor, two of them clamping onto my arms with grips that feel like steel cuffs. Pain flares hot, bruises blooming under their fingers, but it’s nothing compared to the ice flooding my veins.

  I twist, panic exploding in my chest like shattered glass.

  “Let go of me!” I shout, trying to rip free of their grip, but they steer me toward the door. “I didn’t do anything! Xen—what is… what… help me!”

  But he only stands there, arms limp at his sides.

  No surprise.

  No outrage.

  Just… watching.

  The same way he’d watch a storm through the window. Distant and detached, like it’s happening to someone else.

  The guards haul me back, my heels dragging across the floor. I thrash and fight, and my elbow jabs into one’s gut as my foot stomps down onto another’s instep. Their grip loosens for a split second, and I wrench free.

  My feet charge back towards the safety of Xeni’s barracks, lunging for the door.

  “Xeni! Why are you just standing there? Tell them they’ve made a mistake. Get Aeliphis or the commander… do something!”

  A guard tackles me from behind, slamming me face-first into the wall. Pain explodes in my nose as hot blood trickles down my lip. Stars burst in my vision as another pins my arms behind my back, and zipties bite into my wrists.

  “Stop!” I scream, my voice cracking as the guards haul me backward. “Please… Xen, help me!”

  The plea rips out of me, tearing my throat, but he doesn’t move. He stands frozen in the doorway, face too calm, like a statue carved from stone.

  But I see it now.

  The fractures beneath the mask.

  His hands tremble at his sides, fists clenched so hard the knuckles bleach white and veins standing out like cords. A tiny flinch ripples through him every time a guard tugs me too hard. The smallest twitch of his shoulders, as if each blow hits him too. His eyes glisten for one fleeting second before he blinks it away, forcing the tears back down where no one can see.

  But he doesn’t speak.

  Doesn’t reach out.

  Doesn’t even breathe.

  The way my heart breaks is sharper than any hit they’ve given me. Xeni watches them drag me away, watches me fight and scream and beg.

  Watches them kill me slowly with every foot of space they put between us.

  I thrash harder, kicking, twisting, trying to claw my way free. My teeth gnash, biting against any flesh I can find as outraged shouts bellow in my ears. My heart grips the bars of my ribcage that hold it prisoner, talons out and desperate to get back to him.

  Back to the man who said he loved me just minutes ago.

  He loves me.

  He’d fight for me.

  He loves me.

  This can’t be real.

  He loves me.

  This is a nightmare, and I’ll wake up.

  I have to wake up.

  He loves me.

  “Xen,” I whisper with a sob, and my voice splinters, breaking on his name.

  Tears blur my vision, streaming hot and relentless down my face as they drag me farther away, my heels scraping useless furrows in the tile.

  “Take me back,” I plead. “Take me back!” A scream rips from my throat, louder and wilder, raw, animal, and full of everything I can’t name.

  Betrayal burns like swallowed fire, confusion claws at the inside of my skull, and the sudden, brutal realization hits me that the man I love is letting them take me.

  He’s letting them pull me away.

  My chest caves in, ribs collapsing around a heart that’s being torn out while it’s still beating. Every breath is a knife, every heartbeat agony. I fight harder, my arms straining against the zipties until they bite bone deep. Sobs jolt my body as I pour every ounce of my energy into breaking free, but it’s all in vain.

  This is a battle I won’t win.

  The van doors loom ahead, open and waiting like a grave, and I’m sure I’m dying as they shove me inside.

  My body slams against the metal floor, but I scramble up, lunging for the gap in one last, desperate attempt. The doors crash shut, and the lock snaps with a sound that feels like the end of everything.

  I throw myself against the metal until my arms and shoulders are bruised and bleeding, screaming his name until my throat is raw. Through the narrow window, I see Xeni standing in the doorway.

  Still just watching.

  His face is a mask, but his hands… they’re shaking. One fist presses to his mouth, like he’s holding back words, or a scream of his own.

  Then the van starts moving, and he turns away.

  Slow, deliberate, shoulders rigid.

  He walks back inside.

  The door closes behind him.

  And just like that, he’s gone.

  Xeni

  Phantom sensations shoot through my head. The blinding mid-morning sun is rising right where I’m trying to scout, and I’m convinced it’s trying to sear away my vision. My hand flies up to shield my face, but it takes a few seconds to clear the green bursts from my line of sight.

  It doesn’t hurt, exactly. Eyeballs don’t have pain receptors, though I wouldn’t recommend losing one for the sake of scientific discovery. The injury itself doesn’t actually feel anything; my brain simply hasn’t caught up with reality yet. Every time it wants me to focus, it signals something that no longer exists.

  The ensuing short circuit isn’t pleasant. Blurred vision and thumping headaches, along with dull pressure spread like Elas’s fingertips across my head.

  That part hurts.

  My fingers slip underneath the eyepatch and trace the sunken skin behind it, but I pull myself out of my head. I force the memories back into their box and squint at the wall again.

  Years have passed since I was last here. I don’t know what’s changed, or what’s been reported about me. For all I know, the military believes I was killed in the attack at Ljómur.

  It’s the best-case scenario.

  My body wasn’t there, but the wreckage was absolute. Plenty of remains were buried under the rubble, and there’s no question some were destroyed beyond recognition.

  It’s possible my family demanded answers, though I doubt they would’ve been bothered by the loss.

  I can picture it.

  Father would glance up from his papers long enough to absorb the news. He’d scoff at the inconvenience, then return to work and pretend I never existed in the first place. Mother would cry when the effects of her wine faded, but it would mostly be for show. She’d fill another glass and drown those tiny drops of compassion left in her blood, and life would continue as it always has.

  No, it’s safe to say no one is looking for me, and my world is better for it.

  Now I just need to figure out the best plan to get inside the city. My fake ID has worked plenty of times in the past. Hells, unless I was on official business, I used it more often than my real one, but I’ve had no communication in months.

  Things could’ve changed. IDs could’ve been updated or new databases implemented. With a military that hasn’t changed procedures in decades, those are low risks, but they’re still possibilities I have to consider.

  My power could get me inside, but only as a last resort. If the wrong person recognized what I was doing, it wouldn’t end well, and I need to be at full strength. Influencing the biker drained me dry, and replenishing takes time. Resting until tomorrow is another option, but I never did well with waiting.

  Deception will have to do.

  Less flashy, but safer.

  Atlanta has been heavily militarized since the beginning. It’s split into four quadrants, with a bustling city center and a dense military presence. Each quadrant has its own unique challenges for someone trying to blend in, but the northeastern district is my safest bet.

  It’s considered the rear of the city, mostly occupied by civilians, and has no roads running through the wall. Foot traffic travels through a gate tended by lower-ranking guards, and that gate has been my sole focus for the past hour. Most of the traffic has been soldiers on patrol, but there’s been no excitement.

  My military leathers creak with every shift, even though the uniform isn’t new. My career was spent mostly inside labs and clinics, where this thicker material would have been overkill. Now it clings hot and restrictive against my skin, a claustrophobic squeeze pressing across my chest.

  The smell hits harder. Polished hide and faint oil, mixed with memories of bourbon-coated breath from someone much larger than me.

  Panic rises in a slow, familiar wave. I’ve learned some feelings are too big to contain, so this time I don’t shove them back down. I let the flood come, give it life, and allow it to swell and surge through me unchecked.

  I take a moment to name each emotion as it crashes in, because things with names and faces aren’t as scary as the unknown.

  There’s the dread of being discovered, the haze of not knowing what’s ahead... but underneath it all, the sharpest edge is fear.

  Fear that I’m not enough for this.

  That I’ll fall short—or worse, that I’ll somehow pull it off.

  Fear that the fragile strands holding me intact will come undone and pull me apart with them.

  It steals my breath, holding it hostage for as long as I allow it, but when it’s time to tuck it away, I reach for that hidden place inside me.

  The one I’ve carved out over a lifetime.

  A tomb for all the pieces of me that have ever been deemed wrong.

  Too much, or not enough.

  Both at once.

  My shoulders square as I gather the fear and doubt, push them down deep, and close the lid. I turn the lock, seal it tight, and let the key slip away. The sharp edges dull, the ache loosens its grip, and the dread ebbs out of me, leaving only quiet in its wake.

  This costume is a cage, but it fits like a second skin.

  Smooth expression and smirking lips.

  Spine straight but not stiff.

  Hips loose and gait relaxed.

  Confidence, cockiness, and arrogance in bounds.

  It’s all part of the uniform.

  Two unfamiliar guards stand watch at the gate, and both appear bored. I saunter forward with swagger, fingers tracing the edges of my fake ID in my pocket.

  “Mornin’,” I say, channeling Cameron’s twang and throwing a thick accent into my greeting.

  The Dreven guard’s head lifts before his spine straightens. His tail is draped over his shoulder in the laid-back way most of his kind prefer, though it flicks with interest.

  “Soldier,” he says in return. “ID?”

  “One step ahead of you, darlin’,” I tease as I hand it over. His muted red cheeks darken to crimson as my fingers brush his in an openly flirtatious touch. He barely glances at my ID card aside from noting the name printed across the top.

  “Mikhail… don’t think I’ve seen you around these parts.”

  “You saying you would’ve remembered me?” I tease with a wink.

  He flushes deeper as he hands my ID back, completely thrown off his game. “That’s… I just… thought you…”

  I chuckle as I tuck the card into my pocket. “I haven’t visited in several years.”

  “Are you, uh, staying for long?”

  “I could be convinced.” I wink, gesturing at the metal gate. “Does a sweet thing like you come here often?”

  He chokes on a laugh as the other guard huffs in a sound that’s openly irritated. “Most days, yeah.”

  “Well,” I drawl as I straighten his collar, “if I find myself with some free time, maybe I’ll swing by again.”

  “Yeah, that'd be good,” he says as he swallows hard.

  His fingers curl tight around his tail like he’s trying to hide how the tip flicks. A quick, nervous scratch at his jaw follows before he forces a nod.

  “I’ll see you around…” I trail off expectantly, and I should probably feel guilty at how flustered he is.

  “Ankir.”

  Our shoulders brush as I move to walk past him, and I speak low in his ear. “Maybe we’ll run into each other again, Ankir.”

  Flirting is first-class camouflage, and I won’t be convinced otherwise. People assume you’re too flashy to be hiding anything, and half the time they’re too busy picturing you with your pants around your ankles to pay attention.

  I glance behind me, and Ankir’s eyes go wide at being caught staring.

  Case in point.

  I flutter my fingers at him before disappearing into the crowd. It’s busier than the last time I was here, and my senses prickle from all the bodies so close. Everyone is brushing arms, bumping shoulders, and breathing the same air, crammed tighter than I’m used to anymore.