“Early intervention. Advanced tactics. We want you to lead it. Design it."
"On one condition."
Her brow arches.
"Kade drafts the safety doctrine. And integrates the tech."
The chief’s expression changes—briefly thoughtful. Then she nods. “You got it.”
Granite Peak holds the sunset in perfect stillness, lit with the quiet intensity of flame suspended in air.
Kade and I sit on a rock ledge overlooking the ridge, wind curling around us, dry and warm. The same ridge where we first worked a wildfire together, long before the sigils and the chaos. Back then, I didn’t know he was watching me with those fiery eyes, didn’t know he’d memorized the way I handled the crew, the terrain. That mission was the first time I realized someone could match me move for move—and challenge me in all the right ways.
He reaches over now, fingers grazing my ankle with the quiet weight of a promise. A jolt moves up my leg, not just from his touch but from the memory it sparks—the first time he ever laid a hand on me during a burn zone briefing, quiet but firm, grounding me when the radio screamed chaos. Even now, with the fire behind us, that contact still anchors me. My breath catches, heat unfurling in the center of my chest, spreading outward in slow, charged waves. I remember the first time he handed me the unfinished pendant—how the metal was cool, yet seemed to respond to my touch, aware of me even then. It’s different now, forged and fused, but the feeling hasn’t changed. My boots are kicked off, toes stretching toward the golden light.
We don’t talk at first. We don’t need to.
Still, I can’t help but glance sideways at him, just long enough to catch the ghost of a grin playing on his lips. It’s the kind that says he knows exactly what I’m thinking, and maybe that he’s thinking it, too. "You remember that first burn we worked?" I ask, voice low.
Kade lets out a soft huff. "You mean the one where you nearly took the windbreak out solo because Command couldn't make a decision?"
"The very one," I say. "You looked at me like I’d lost my mind."
"Nah," he murmurs. "I was impressed. And maybe a little turned on."
I chuckle, nudging his thigh. "Only a little?"
He leans in, the grin deepening. "I said ‘maybe.’"
The teasing lingers like spice in the air, warm and bright, until the silence folds around us again—this time richer, full of old stories and new promises. The kind of quiet you earn.
Then the charge between us tips from playful to electric.
His thigh brushes against mine, and I feel the heat radiating from his skin, a stark contrast to the cool breeze that whispers through the leaves. I lean closer, threading my fingers behind his neck, brushing the fine hairs at his nape. My lips find the soft, warm skin just below his ear, where his heartbeat drums steady and strong beneath the surface. He stills, drawing in a sharp breath, and that stillness speaks volumes, mirroring the unspoken words suspended in the space between us.
I alter my position to kneel between his legs, gently coaxing his back against the rugged surface of the rock as the wind curls around us, a sultry curtain imbued with the scent of heat and pine. "Liv," he murmurs, his voice rough and filled with a reverent timbre that vibrates through the evening air.
Taking my time, I unbuckle his belt, the metallic clink a quiet symphony, and ease his jeans down with deliberate slowness, never breaking our steady gaze. There’s no hurry, no doubt—only reverence and a possessive hunger rolling between us. I want him completely undone here, in this sacred place where our hidden desires first burst into flame.
His breath hitches as my fingers close around him, warmth silky under my touch, and then my mouth surrounds him. One hand slips into my hair, fingers threading the strands to anchor himself, yet he makes no move to direct me; we’ve long since mastered this. Our rhythm is a dance refined through countless encounters, an intuitive choreography etched in muscle memory.
I swirl my tongue, teasing the sensitive tip before taking him deeper. A rough curse rumbles from his chest, thick with need, hips flexing toward me in answer to the pull of our shared desire. I explore every ridge and vein with devoted hunger, a soft hum vibrating around him, stealing his breath.
When he stiffens and whispers my name, a fervent prayer fractured by heat, I don’t relent until control shatters. His body convulses, shuddering against the unyielding stone, released and radiant in the aftermath of our blazing communion.
As I crawl back up to face him, nestling into the sanctuary of his arms, neither of us feels the need to speak. No words could possibly capture the profound connection, the indescribable experience that we have just shared in this moment, transcending the tangible and entering the realm of the eternal.
We already chose each other.
He brushes a thumb along my cheek, and there’s nothing playful in his gaze now—just heat and truth. “Liv, I love you,” he says, voice low but certain. “I think I did before I even knew what that meant.”
My breath stutters. Maybe I always knew, but hearing it—spoken without restraint, without shields—lands deeper than any flame ever could.
“I love you too,” I whisper, letting the words fall between us, unburned and real. “Always have. Always will.”
I pull the chain from under my shirt. Star-iron, warm against my skin. His sigil and mine fused into one. The metal hums—soft, steady, a rhythm I feel more than hear.
He watches it sway, then pulls his own chain free to mirror mine. Our pendants catch the last of the light, glinting like they know they were forged in the same fire.
