Daggermouth

“There’s always a choice, Shade.” His voice hardened. “Even when all the options are shit, there’s still a choice. You’re the one that told me that.”

She ran a hand through her hair, frustration building beneath her skin. “What would you have me do? Let your clinic be bombed, the camps? Let children and families die because I was selfish? Because I wanted to go home?”

“You’re falling for him, aren’t you?” The question was quiet, almost gentle, which somehow made it worse.

“No,” she said immediately, the denial sharp. “It’s more complicated than that. I’m trying to keep everyone safe.”

“It’s not just about safety,” Jameson pressed, taking a step closer. “I know you, Shade. I can see it.”

She forced herself to meet his gaze, to hold it steady. “What you see is exhaustion. Fear. Survival. What you see is someone with a new perspective, who doesn’t hate him in the same way I once did. I am playing my part. I have to—need to keep you alive.”

Jameson stared at her, assessing, trying to hold back the emotion that threatened to break through, as if searching for something he’d lost. His face was a battlefield of expressions—grief warring with anger, understanding with betrayal. In the harsh blue light of the anti-scan room, the shadows beneath his eyes looked like bruises, proof of sleepless nights and endless worry.

“You don’t need to protect me,” he said finally, his voice rougher than before. “That’s not your job.”

“Isn’t it?” she asked quietly. “Isn’t that what we’ve always done for each other?”

The weight of their situation settled into Shadera’s bones—this might be the last time they ever saw each other. The thought sent a spike of pain through her chest so sharp she almost gasped. After everything they’d been through together, after all the missions, the close calls, the nights of drinking and laughing and holding each other when the nightmares came, it couldn’t end with him dying because of her selfish need for revenge.

“You need to go,” she said again, her voice softer now. “Go back to the Boundary. Prepare them for what might come.”

He looked away, his profile sharp in the dim light. She could see the calculations ru

“I’m sorry,” she said suddenly, the words spilling out before she could stop them. “I’m sorry for not listening when you told me not to take the contract. I’m sorry for bringing this down on everyone. I’m sorry for—”

Jameson’s head snapped back toward her, his eyes suddenly fierce. He moved before she could finish, his hands coming up to cradle her face, fingers splaying across her cheeks with a gentleness that belied the intensity in his gaze.

“Shadera Kael,” he said, his voice low and intense, “don’t you ever apologize for your anger.”

Her breath caught at the unexpected absolution.

“You walked into the Heart knowing you might never come back, not just because of what his family did to yours, but because you believed it would make a difference. That’s who you are. That’s who you’ve always been.” His thumbs brushed her cheekbones, the touch reverent. “The woman who fights even when victory seems impossible. The woman who puts others before herself even when she doesn’t realize she’s doing it.”

The tears she’d been holding back threatened to spill over. She blinked rapidly, refusing to let them fall, refusing to make this goodbye harder than it already was.

Jameson released her face, one hand moving to his belt where he retrieved a small, flat object. “Here,” he said, pressing it into her palm. “Keep this on you if you can. It’s an encrypted tablet. We can coordinate what comes next.”

Shadera looked down at the device. It was no bigger than her hand, sleek and black. A lifeline to the world outside, to Jameson, to freedom. She slipped it into her pocket next to the picture, praying Greyson wouldn’t search her when they returned to his apartment.

“The signal is weak,” Jameson explained, his voice dropping lower, more urgent. “But it will co

She nodded, her throat too tight for words. The clock was ticking down—their minutes nearly up, Greyson’s return imminent. This goodbye had to last them, might need to sustain them through whatever came next.

The radio at his belt crackled again, Jaeger’s voice cutting through with unmistakable urgency. “Ghost, exit window closing. Move now.”

Shadera stepped forward, wrapping her arms around him, burying her face into his neck as his arms clutched her against his body.

“We’ll get through this,” he murmured into her hair, his lips brushing against her temple. “We always do.”

Jameson finally pulled away, his hands lingering on her shoulders as if reluctant to break contact completely.

“I love you,” he said, the words simple and unadorned. “I will always love you, no matter what happens next.”

The declaration hung between them, simple and honest. She’d always known, had seen it in his eyes a thousand times, in the way he watched her when he thought she wasn’t looking. But he’d never said it, not directly, not like this. The words were a gift and a burden, beautiful and terrible in their timing.

Jameson reached for his helmet, placing it back over his head. The reflective faceplate slid down, hiding his expression, transforming him back into a Veyra officer. Anonymous. Untouchable. He retrieved her mask from where he’d set it aside, handing it to her with a gentleness that made guilt flare in her chest.

A sad smile graced her lips as she looked from the mask to him. As he moved toward the door, she said his words back to him. The same ones she’d heard before she left the Boundary. “Don’t die on me, Ghost.”

Jameson let out a small chuckle as he looked back at her. “I’ll try, but no promises.”

Then he was gone, stepping out into the crowd beyond the threshold, the thumping music filtering through the door as it slid closed behind him.