Axton moves through the warehouse like a shadow at war with its own outline, suit jacket slung over his arm, shirt clinging damply to his frame. His eyes are hungry—sharp with something colder than his usual venom. Footsteps echo. Lys meets his gaze from a distance, her white blouse rumpled, hair loose. There's a bruise along her jaw, contours of exhaustion beneath the cool indifference she wears like armor.

She doesn’t flinch as he approaches; she tilts her chin, watching him with practiced disdain, but in the flicker of fluorescent light her hands tremble at her sides. He stops too close, searching her face for cracks, voice low and unsteady. “Did you ever plan to let me breathe?” She exhales through her nose, eyes defiant. “Did you ever plan to deserve it?” The words snag—old wounds aching beneath the exchange. Axton laughs, hollow and brittle, then turns away, fingers knotting in his hair.

Beside the stairwell, Valein leans against the peeling metal rail, knees drawn to her chest, paint-smeared jeans ripped across one thigh. She watches Lys and Axton, yearning stamped plain across her face. Her sneakers tap restlessly. As Zuriel approaches, his sweat-darkened shirt clings to his torso, jaw set in grim determination. He hesitates, glancing from Valein to Lys, uncertainty for once softening his features.

He crouches beside Valein, voice softer now: “You’re not invisible. Not to me.” She blinks, caught between hope and disbelief, fingers twisting a strand of blue hair. “That’s not enough, Zuriel. Not anymore.” Her voice cracks, then steadies—a new edge. She pushes to her feet, shoulders squared, finally refusing to shrink. “I want out. I want to be more than someone’s regret.”

Valein’s shout carries, cutting the tension. Lys flinches, something raw flickering in her eyes. She looks at Zuriel, whose expression is naked now—need and regret tangled in the lines of his mouth. He closes the distance, rough hands taking her wrists, voice breaking. “Tell me you didn’t lie about us.” She tries. Fails. Tears streak mascara down her cheek as she whispers, “I wanted to believe it. I did.”

Zuriel cups her face gently, thumbs trembling as he brushes away the tears. He kisses her—slowly, reverently, their bodies pressed together in a dark corner where secrets usually go to rot. This time, there is no violence, only breathless honesty. Lys lets herself fall. Zuriel holds her like she’s salvation and ruin at once.

Across the warehouse, Axton stands alone, jaw clenched, watching them with a storm behind his eyes. The temptation to destroy them—destroy everything—flickers, then dies in the space between heartbeats. Valein finds him, her own voice unsteady. “We’re all broken souvenirs now, aren’t we?” He almost smiles.

There’s a gunshot. The echo ricochets through bone and steel. Tash Brek bursts through the battered loading bay door, face contorted by rage, pistol shaking in his fist. “No more lies. No more running.” In the stunned silence, every secret stands exposed, trembling on the edge of night.

To be continued...