The kids are there.
Waiting.
Joren’s eyes are wide and unblinking.
Aria’s hand shakes when she reaches for me.
I drop to my knees.
Gather them both into my arms.
Hold them so tight my arms ache.
"I’m sorry you saw that," I whisper into their hair.
"But I’m never sorry I fought for you."
Never.
Not for a second.
We cut through a collapsed fence, bursting into a narrow back lot filled with burned-out hover bikes and shattered glass.
And there, staggering across the rubble, blood streaked down one arm, face pale but fierce, is Kelli.
Alive.
Fighting.
Gods, my chest cracks wide open at the sight of her.
She sees me.
Sees the kids.
And she runs.
Doesn’t hesitate.
Doesn’t look back.
Just runs.
I meet her halfway, dropping to my knees in the wreckage.
She collapses into me, arms thrown around my neck, sobbing, shaking.
I bury my face in her hair, breathing her in like a dying man starves for air.
"I thought—" she chokes out.
"I know," I rasp, my voice breaking. "I know, baby."
Aria squirms between us, reaching for her mama with tiny hands.
Joren presses close, burying his face against her side.
Kelli pulls them both into the circle of her arms, cradling them like they’re the last precious things in a dying world.
