There was no more fire.
Only silence.
The kind that comes after too much noise — the kind that leaves you shaking, even when the world has stopped moving.
They had made it to the underground vault. Reinforced steel, no windows. A room built for surviving something unspeakable.
Emilia sat on the floor with her knees drawn to her chest, her pulse still thrumming from the explosion upstairs.
Damien was pacing.
His white shirt was torn open at the collar, dark with soot and sweat, the gun still in his hand like he didn't remember holding it.
He hadn't said a word since he kicked the reinforced door shut behind them.
But she could feel him watching her in the dark.
Not with anger.
With something else.
Something dangerous.
---
"You shouldn't have followed me," he finally said, voice low and rough.
Emilia looked up. Her throat was dry, but she forced herself to speak.
"I wasn't about to wait for him to kill you."
Damien stopped pacing.
His eyes met hers, and for the first time in hours, she saw it — not the soldier, not the strategist, not the emotionless shield.
She saw the man.
The one who had carried her through smoke, who had wrapped her in his arms when the ceiling cracked.
The one who had looked at her like she wasn't just someone to protect…
…but someone he couldn't lose.
---
"Do you even understand what he wants?" Damien asked, stepping closer. "He's not just playing games anymore. He's watching you. Every second."
Emilia's voice broke slightly. "Then let him watch. I won't live on my knees."
A pause.
Then something raw flickered in his face.
He dropped to a crouch in front of her. Rested one hand flat on the ground beside her knee. Not touching — not quite.
"You're stronger than you know," he murmured.
She held his gaze. "That why you keep trying to leave me behind?"
He smiled. A small, broken thing. "No. That's why I keep coming back."
---
She didn't know who moved first.
Maybe it was her. Maybe it was him.
But suddenly they were close. His hand was at the side of her neck. Her breath hitched. His lips hovered inches from hers.
The world stopped spinning.
There was no war. No villain. No reason.
Just his voice, low and trembling.
> "If I kiss you now… I won't be able to stop."
Her hand slid up his chest.
"I don't want you to."
---
But he didn't.
Not yet.
Damien pulled back, like it physically hurt him to do it.
"We don't do this here," he said, voice tight. "Not when he's still out there."
Emilia's chest rose with a shaky breath. "And if we don't get another chance?"
He looked at her like that thought was his worst nightmare.
Then leaned in.
And whispered against her skin—
> "Then I'll die wanting you."
---
Somewhere above them, the house creaked.
Calla's voice crackled in over the emergency radio.
"He's moving again. West wing. He left something behind."
Emilia reached for the headset.
But Damien stopped her.
He took her hand instead.
Held it for real.
And didn't let go.
---