Can't even say the word.
She squeezes my hands. "I'm a good fighter."
"I know. But thirty to forty cartel soldiers withautomatic weapons? That's not a bar fight. That's war. And people die in wars."
"People you care about die," she says quietly, understanding. "Like your family."
"Yeah. Like my family." I pull her closer. "I lost everyone once. I can't—I won't go through that again."
She's quiet for a long moment, studying my face.
"You're asking me to stay behind. To be safe."
"Yes. Please. Just this once, let me protect you."
Another long moment. I can see her wrestling with it—the fighter in her wants to go, needs to prove herself. But something else is winning. Something softer.
"Okay," she says finally.
I blink. "Okay?"
"I'll stay. I won't go to the attack." She reaches up, cups my face. "But not because you're telling me to. Because I'm choosing to. For you. Because I understand what you're asking and why."
Relief crashes through me so hard my knees almost give out.
I pull her into my arms, hold her tight. "Thank you. Thank you."
"But Bravos?" Her voice is muffled against my chest. "You better come back. You hear me? You better survive this."
"I will. I promise."
"Don't make promises you can't keep."
"I'm keeping this one."
We stand there in the garage surrounded by toolsand motorcycle parts, holding each other like it's the only thing keeping us both upright.
Maybe it is.
The next two days pass too quickly.
Runes and his crew are preparing to ride out.
Damon's already left, heading back to Vegas to mobilize his people before meeting everyone in Texas.
The compound has that pre-war energy.
Tense. Electric. Everyone moving with purpose.
I spend my time helping coordinate logistics.
Making sure everyone knows the plan, the timeline, the rendezvous point.
And spending every night with Helle.
We don't talk about the attack.
Don't talk about the danger or the possibility that I might not come back.
