Chapter 87 Elara
Elara
By mid-morning, the safehouse smelled like coffee, antiseptic, and victory.
The others were awake, moving slower than usual—like men who’d finally remembered what it felt like to breathe.
Cyclone sat cross-legged on the floor, his laptop open, a half-empty mug beside him.
Oliver was cleaning his rifle, calm and methodical, humming under his breath.
River leaned against the counter, teasing Gage about the singed edge of his jacket.
For once, Gage didn’t argue—he just grinned, eyes bright under the bruises.
When Beckett and I stepped out of the back room, the noise quieted. River caught my gaze first and smiled. “Morning, sunshine.”
“Morning,” I said, voice still rough.
“Coffee?” Cyclone offered, not looking up. “It’s strong enough to kill whatever’s still in your bloodstream.”
Beckett accepted two cups and handed me one. The warmth of it settled through my fingers like a heartbeat.
For a moment, none of us spoke. The silence wasn’t awkward—it was sacred. The kind that follows the kind of night that changes everything.
Oliver finally broke it. “Viktor’s gone. The city’s quiet. Hydra’s network is scattered. But Grand—he’s still out there.”
Beckett nodded slowly. “Then we rebuild and wait. He’ll come looking for what he lost.”
Cyclone tapped a few keys. “Already tracking encrypted chatter. There’s movement in Eastern Europe—Hydra loyalists trying to regroup. Nothing solid yet.”
River smirked. “Guess we’ll get our vacation when we’re dead.”
Beckett looked at him, one brow raised. “When you’re dead, I’m taking your gear.”
Laughter rippled through the room—tired, genuine, real.
Elara sipped her coffee and leaned against the doorframe, watching the men she’d nearly died beside. Brothers, every one of them. The Golden Team.
When the laughter faded, Beckett turned to me. “You all right?”
I met his eyes over the rim of my cup. “Better than I’ve been in years.”
He reached out, fingers brushing mine. “You sure about staying with us?”
I nodded. “If you think I’m letting you run head-first into another war without me, you don’t know me at all.”
His smile was small, quiet, full of everything he didn’t need to say. “Didn’t think so.”
Cyclone closed his laptop. “We’ll rest today, re-arm tomorrow. After that—whatever comes next.”
Gage raised his mug in salute. “To whatever comes next.”
We all lifted ours. The sound of porcelain touching was soft but solid, like a promise.
Beckett’s voice was low beside me. “We made it, Elara.”
I turned toward him, letting the noise of the room fade until there was only us again. “Yeah,” I said. “But this time, we’re not just surviving. We’re living.”
He smiled, the kind that reached his eyes and made the rest of the world blur. “Then let’s start now.”
And as the sun cut through the cracked windows and the city outside began to stir again, it finally felt like the war was behind us.
For the first time, the Golden Team wasn’t fighting to escape the darkness.
We were walking toward the light.