The sigils are more than matching. They’re reminders. Of survival. Of unity. Of the kind of love that doesn't just survive fire—it’s born from it. Star-iron, warm against my skin. The metal of the sigil hums—soft, steady, a rhythm I feel more than hear.
He pulls his matching chain, letting it swing.
"They’re synced," I murmur.
"They always were."
The last of the sun slips low, dragging shadows across the ridge. I lean into him, my shoulder to his, and we sit there breathing the same air, the same heat, the same unspoken vow.
Dax’s ringtone breaks the moment. Sharp. Final. My stomach knots, reflexive and tight, like my body already knows we’re stepping into something bigger. I hesitate for half a breath—torn between the stillness I finally found and the war I know hasn’t ended. My body is still humming with the heat of him, of us, and part of me wants to stay buried in it. Just a little longer. But quiet like this doesn’t last—not for people like us.
I answer. "Yeah."
"Operation Ash Vault," he says. "Denver briefing. Wheels-up at 0400."
I hang up. I already feel the weight of what we’re walking into—like the next fire’s already crackling on the horizon. Part of me aches to pretend we could stay here just a little longer, in this space between war zones and deployments, with the heat of Kade’s skin still lingering on my lips and the comfort of our bond steady beneath my collarbone, a quiet force I can still feel.
But that isn’t who I am. Not anymore. I chose the fire—chose him—knowing damn well what it would cost.
And I’d do it again. pressing down, heavy and certain. But I also feel the press of metal at my chest—warm, steady. The sigil still glows with steady heat, its rhythm a constant reminder of what we’re fighting for.
I look at Kade.
He doesn’t ask if I’ll go. He just says, "We go together."
I nod.
And that’s all the promise I need.
CHAPTER 20
KADE
The Denver airfield still breathes night.
Floodlights cast long shadows across the tarmac, silver-gold halos glinting off steel and glass. The Gulfstream Blackstrike chartered hums at the edge of the runway, engines purring like it knows the mission already. Beyond it, the horizon bleeds from indigo to fire, dawn creeping in—part promise, part warning.
We arrived early, too keyed up to sleep, too used to the rhythm of adrenaline to fake calm. Liv walks beside me in silence, the early chill wrapping around her like steam off fresh burn lines. She tightens the cuffs on her jacket, then turns and adjusts the strap across my chest without saying a word.
"Still think I’m the one who’s gonna die first out there?" I murmur.
She arches an eyebrow. "No. But you will get your ass handed to you if you ignore the drone recon again."
I grin. "I like it when you talk dirty."
Her mouth curves, soft but deadly. "You like when I keep you alive."
I swallow the instinct to joke, because underneath her expression, there’s steel—and care. The way she says it sendsa ripple of heat curling low in my chest. Protective, fierce, unshakable. She’d burn the world to keep me breathing. And that terrifies me more than anything on the other side of this runway.
The quiet between us says everything else. We’ve had heat. Now we have history. And she’s choosing this—us—me—again, knowing exactly what’s waiting.
She leans closer, brushing her knuckles along my chest. Her voice lowers. "You’re scared I’ll break. Or worse, burn."
"I’m scared I won’t stop it in time," I admit. "That I’ll lose you before we’ve really begun."
Liv cups the back of my neck. "Then don’t blink, Kade. Don’t flinch. I’m fireborn now, just like you. I’m not afraid to burn."
Her words sear through me—more than bravery, it’s belief. In herself. In us. And it tears through the last of my fear. If she can face the flames with her head high, I sure as hell won’t cower behind doubt. Not anymore. I nod, throat tight. She's not just surviving. She’s already halfway through the flames.
