Chapter 22
KENRON
The old hotel creaks like it remembers too much.
They call it the Crofton, though no one’s sure if that was its real name or just the last thing etched on the lobby's cracked glass. It’s been turned into a resistance safehouse—walls reinforced with salvaged armor plating, blackout shutters sealing the windows like eyelids shut tight in a dream no one wants to finish.
Pulse-signal dampeners hum from every outlet, warping comms and scans into static.
And in the hallway, I wait.
Room 317.
I stand outside the door, heart thudding like it’s trying to crack through my ribs. My palms are sweaty. My throat’s tight. And I know she’s on the other side of that door.
I knock once.
No words.
The lock clicks. The door eases open.
And then she’s there.
Kristi.
Hair loose. Eyes dark. Wrapped in the same coat I left behind, worn over her shoulders like a promise she didn’t say out loud.
We don’t speak.
We don’t need to.
I step inside. The door clicks shut behind me.
And we crash.
Lips collide. Hands scramble. My back hits the wall and her mouth is already on mine, fierce and frantic, tasting like fire and memory. Her fingers hook into my collar, dragging it open with a sound that makes my breath stutter.
She pulls back just long enough to whisper, “Don’t stop.”
Never.
I grip her hips, lift her, press her to the wall like she’s the only thing keeping me upright. Her legs wrap around me, and we’re all grasping limbs and ragged breathing. She bites my bottom lip—hard—and I groan into her mouth, fingers sliding beneath her shirt to feel the heat of her skin.
“You’ve been gone too long,” she pants.
“You ran.”
“I had to.”
“I know.”
Another kiss. Deeper. Hungrier. Desperate in a way that tastes like goodbye, even though it isn’t.
Not this time.
I carry her to the bed—if you can call it that. It's just a frame bolted to the floor, mattress thin, sheets scratchy. But it doesn’t matter. We fall into it like gravity itself snapped its leash.
Her shirt hits the floor. Then mine. Then everything else.
And suddenly she’s on top of me, straddling my hips, her thighs tight against mine as her palms flatten over my chest.
“You sure?” she asks, voice lower now, hoarse with want.
“I’ve always been sure,” I rasp.
She grins, wicked and wild. “Then shut up.”
And she rides me like she means it.
Fierce. Unapologetic. Her hips grind in tight, slow circles, building heat between us like friction might burn the past away. Her nails drag red lines down my chest and I hiss, not in pain but in worship. Every mark she leaves feels like proof—I’m here. She’s here. And this? This is real.
I cup her breasts, mouth finding one, then the other, lavishing her with tongue and teeth until she moans, back arching.
“Kenron—fuck—don’t stop—”
I won’t.
My hands trace her curves, map the terrain I already know by heart but want to relearn it. I kiss the underside of her jaw, the hollow of her throat, the slope of her belly. Every inch, every scar, every breath.
She moves faster now, rhythm frantic, breaking apart atop me as her body tightens and trembles. Her fingers knot in my hair, her cries raw and real and mine.
And when I feel her clench around me, I let go too—pulled under by the same storm.
We collapse.
Breathless.
Sweat-slicked.
Her head rests on my chest. My arm wraps around her back.
Silence stretches long and sweet.
I press a kiss to her temple. She shifts just enough to meet my eyes.
“You okay?” I ask.
She nods. “Yeah. You?”
I chuckle softly. “Ask me again when I can feel my legs.”
She laughs, and it’s the best sound I’ve heard in weeks.
We don’t move for a long time.
We just exist.
Together.
After a while, my senses calm down. I notice the small things. The sheets are thin. Smell like dust and old detergent. They cling to us in the sweaty aftermath, tangled around Kristi’s leg and my thigh, heat still pulsing between us like we’re orbiting the same burn.
She rests her head on my chest, fingers drawing lazy circles just above the scar I got in the Kothri riots. We don't speak at first—just listen to the city buzz faintly beyond the blackout shutters, like it’s trying to remember what quiet feels like.
I want to stay here. In this moment. In her.
But the truth’s been clawing at my throat all night. I’ve held it back long enough. And after everything we've done... everything we've become again... I can't keep it from her.
Not now.
Not when it’s bigger than both of us.
“Kristi,” I murmur.
She tilts her chin up, her hair sweeping across my skin like silk spun from memory. “Mm?”
“There’s something. About the virus.”
Her eyes narrow. “What?”
I take a breath. Taste metal and guilt on my tongue.
“The strain they’re deploying… it doesn’t just kill.”
She props herself on her elbow. I feel her heartbeat speed up against my side.
“What do you mean?”
I stare at the ceiling. Watch the flickering blue light from the old status console dance across cracked plaster.
“It mutates. Once released, it bonds with ambient atmospheric particles. Spreads like spores. Even if someone survives the initial exposure... it starts rewriting their bio-code.”
Her fingers go still against my chest.
“How?”
“It attacks replication patterns in reproductive DNA. Not just respiratory systems or immune structures. It targets lineage. In some species, it sterilizes. In others... it just breaks the genetic chain entirely.”
She sits up fully now, sheet sliding off her back. Her skin’s marked with the shadows of our hunger, but her expression is pure fire.
“You’re telling me… it’s not just genocide.”
I nod. Slow. Hollow.
“It’s extinction.”
Kristi doesn't speak for a beat. Then two. Her jaw tightens so hard I see a muscle twitch near her temple.
“Those bastards,” she breathes.
I reach for her hand, but she’s already moving—climbing off the bed, pacing in tight circles. The old hotel floor creaks beneath her bare feet.
“I knew it was bad. I knew. But this? This is erasure. Biological warfare with a signature they’ll pretend is ‘unintended consequence’ after the damage is done.”
She stops, turns on me. “How long have you known?”
“Couple weeks. Got the intel off a smuggler tech in the Rellian quarter. He didn’t even know what he had. Thought it was a failed prototype.”
“And you didn’t tell me?”
“I couldn’t.” My voice roughens. “Not until I was sure. And not until I knew it wouldn’t break you.”
She stares. Something flickers in her eyes—hurt, yes. But beneath it... understanding.
Because we both know what it’s like to carry truth like a blade you can’t unsheathe until you’re ready to kill with it.
“I’m not broken,” she says.
“I know that now.”
Silence again.
Then she steps back to the bed. Slides beneath the sheets, her skin cold against mine now, but her grip on my hand iron-tight.
“Then we stop it,” she whispers.
I nod.
She curls into me again, fierce and trembling. Her breath feathers against my neck.
“We make sure they remember who fought back.”