"You’re playing with things you don’t understand," he whispers.
My fingers flex. "So are you."
I fist his shirt, pulling him down into a kiss that detonates between us—raw and ravenous. Our mouths crash together, all grit and fire, the taste of ash and want smearing between our lips. He groans against me, a sound that sinks straight into my bones, and then his hands are on me—rough palms bracketing my jaw, thumbs angled to tilt my face up as he deepens the kiss like he owns it.
There’s no caution, no prelude. Just hunger. Just heat. His teeth graze my lower lip, dragging it between us before he claims my mouth again, harder this time—like punishment and promise rolled into one. My pulse hammers, my body arches into him, and the world narrows to the blistering press of his chest against mine, the smoke coiling around us, and the desperate way we devour each other like the wildfire isn’t out there, but in us.
It’s not gentle. It’s not sweet. It’s a surrender with consequences. And I welcome every one of them.
We break apart slowly, foreheads still pressed together, breath mingling in humid bursts of heat and ash. My lips feel bruised, tingling with the imprint of his mouth, while the flush across my skin hums with residual hunger. Beneath the scorched fabric of my shirt, the pendant radiates warmth against my chest—steady, rhythmic, unmistakably alive. I swear I can feel it move through me like a current, more than heat—something ancient, a second heart waking up.
He murmurs, "That was a bad idea."
"Then stop doing it."
Neither of us moves.
The radio crackles. "Monroe, stand by." Ruiz. Her voice is hard. "Effective immediately, you’re pulled from the drill. Flagged for a mental-fitness review."
My stomach drops. "Excuse me?"
"Recommendation from medical. Your recent trauma profile shows instability. Until cleared, you’re benched."
The channel cuts, the silence afterward louder than the order itself. I stare at the radio like it just spat in my face, my fingers tightening around it until plastic creaks. "They’re grounding me," I say, the words bitter as smoke on my tongue, disbelief flaring into fury.
Kade straightens, something dangerous flickering in his eyes. "They want to keep you out of harm’s way."
"I am harm’s way." I shove the headset into my belt. "They think they can sideline me like I’m fragile? Like I didn’t claw my way back into the field?"
"You’re not fragile," he says, voice low. "But they’re scared. And they’re right to be. You’re not just part of the op. You’re the key."
"Then I have to be there."
"You will be." He cups the back of my neck again, thumb brushing that same spot. "But not how they expect."
I arch an eyebrow. "Are you saying I should defy direct orders?"
"I’m saying I’ll cover you. You show up as a safety observer. Ruiz won’t question it until it’s too late to pull you out."
A jolt of something primal streaks through me—more than defiance, deeper than instinct. It’s the rush of claiming back what they tried to take, the fire of being seen, chosen, needed. Not rebellion. Reclamation, with teeth.
"Won’t that get me terminated?"
He leans in again, voice almost a growl. "Only if they live to file the paperwork."
I laugh—a low, wicked ripple that tastes like freedom—and shove him back with both hands, my palms catching the edge of his chest, hot through the fabric.
"You’re trouble," I say, breath still ragged, heart still galloping. And he is. The kind of trouble that unravels restraint and dares me to leap into the fire.
"I’m your trouble."
I turn toward the trail, lungs still tasting him, nerves jangling like they'd been strung too tight and then set alight. Behind us, the fire fades into hissing coals and scorched silence, its hunger temporarily sated. But the air isn't still—not really. Smoke still snakes between the trees, and the horizon bleeds the barest hint of pre-dawn glow, brushing the ridge with ghost-light. Every step forward feels like crossing a fault line, like one wrong move might wake the fire again—or worse, the predators already stalking within it.
The pendant buzzes once—then again—each jolt sharper than the last, vibrating against my skin in a silent, urgent beat. I freeze, breath catching as tension lances up my spine. This isn’t a warning—it’s a summons. I press my hand to it, heart tripping over the rhythm, instincts flaring fast and hot.
Kade’s eyes narrow. “What is it?”
“Double ping.”
