Chapter 83 Ethan
Ethan
For a while, the world disappears.
No Helios.
No war room.
No ghosts from underground rooms that should’ve never existed.
Just her.
Ava.
Warm beneath me. Alive under my hands. Breathing my name like it belongs there.
And for the first time since I found her again—
I let myself have it.
Not just the fight.
Not just the need to protect.
Her.
All of her.
The way she moves with me instead of bracing.
The way her hands hold on like she’s not afraid of what comes next.
The way she chooses every second of this.
That’s what gets me.
Not the heat.
Not the want.
The choice.
When it finally slows, it doesn’t break.
It softens.
Her breathing is uneven, her body still trembling slightly where she’s curled against me, half on her side, her head tucked against my shoulder like she ended up there without deciding it.
I don’t move.
Don’t rush it.
My hand stays at her back, slow, steady strokes just to keep her anchored.
She exhales against my chest.
Not tension.
Release.
“Ethan,” she murmurs.
“Yeah.”
“That was…” She lets out a small, breathless laugh. “Not what I expected.”
I brush my lips against her hair. “Good or bad?”
Her fingers tighten slightly in my shirt. “Good. Just… different.”
“Different how?”
She shifts just enough to look up at me.
Her eyes are softer now.
Not fragile.
Not guarded.
Just… open.
“I didn’t feel like I was losing control,” she says quietly. “I felt like I was choosing it.”
That hits deeper than anything else tonight.
I rest my forehead lightly against hers. “That’s exactly what it was.”
She studies me like she’s trying to decide if she believes that.
Then her hand lifts, brushing the line of my jaw.
“You didn’t rush me.”
“Wasn’t going to.”
“You could’ve.”
I shake my head. “Not like that.”
Her brows pull together slightly. “What does that mean?”
“It means I’ve wanted you long enough to know I’d rather have you like this than any other way.”
Her breath catches.
And there it is again—
that look.
Like she doesn’t quite know what to do with someone who means it.
Her gaze drops briefly, then comes back. “You’re dangerous.”
I huff a quiet laugh. “That’s not new.”
“No.” She shifts closer, resting more fully against me. “This kind is worse.”
I slide my hand up her back, fingers threading lightly into her hair. “You’re still here.”
“Yeah.”
“Still steady?”
She nods against my chest. “Yeah.”
I don’t miss the slight delay.
But she’s not spiraling.
Not pulling away.
She’s working through it.
That matters more.
The silence stretches, but it’s not empty.
It’s full.
Of breath.
Of warmth.
Of something building between us that didn’t exist this clearly before.
After a minute, her voice comes softer.
“I didn’t think I’d get this back.”
I don’t ask what she means.
I already know.
“This,” she continues quietly. “Feeling something good and not waiting for it to be taken away.”
My hand stills for a second.
Then resumes, slower.
“It’s not going anywhere,” I say.
“You don’t know that.”
“I know I’m not.”
That makes her go quiet.
Really quiet.
Then, barely audible, “That’s new for me.”
I shift slightly, just enough to look at her again.
“You don’t have to believe all of it right now,” I tell her. “Just don’t push it away when it shows up.”
Her eyes search mine.
“Okay,” she says.
It’s not full trust.
But it’s not fear either.
It’s a start.
A knock hits the door.
Sharp.
Real.
Perfect timing.
Ava groans softly and presses her face into my shoulder. “Tell me that’s not real.”
“I wish I could.”
“Maybe if we ignore it, it’ll go away.”
Another knock.
Aaron’s voice this time: “I’m about to come in and ruin your lives with information.”
Ava mutters, “He’s very committed to being the worst.”
I grin slightly. “Consistent.”
She sighs, then slowly pushes herself up, wincing just a little.
I’m already moving, hand at her side. “Easy.”
“I’m fine.”
“You keep saying that.”
“And you keep not believing me.”
“Correct.”
She gives me a look.
Then softens.
Just a little.
I grab a shirt and pull it on quickly, then hand her the blanket again.
She wraps it around herself without argument this time.
That’s new too.
I cross to the door and open it just enough to glare at Aaron.
“What.”
He raises both hands. “Before you kill me—Jonah found confirmation.”
The word lands like a switch flipping.
Behind me, Ava goes still.
“Come in,” I say.
Aaron steps inside, shutting the door behind him.
He glances once at Ava—takes in the blanket, the position, the quiet shift in her—and for once, he doesn’t make a joke.
Just nods.
Respect.
Good.
“What did Jonah find?” I ask.
Aaron’s expression tightens. “Portugal isn’t just a transfer point.”
Ava’s voice cuts in, steady now. “What is it?”
“A sorting facility.”
The air in the room changes instantly.
“How do you know?” I ask.
“He cracked a secondary manifest. Partial, but enough.” Aaron runs a hand through his hair. “They’re categorizing people before redistribution. Skill sets. Physical conditioning. Cognitive response profiles.”
Ava’s face goes pale.
“Like inventory,” she whispers.
“Yeah,” Aaron says quietly. “Exactly like that.”
My jaw tightens.
Ava straightens slowly, the blanket slipping slightly from her shoulders.
I move closer automatically.
Her hand finds mine again.
“Forty-eight hours?” she asks.
Aaron nods. “Less now.”
“Then we don’t wait,” she says.
I look at her.
Really look at her.
She’s different than she was an hour ago.
Still shaken.
Still carrying everything.
But there’s something else now too.
Steel.
Not forced.
Chosen.
Ronan’s voice echoes faintly down the hall. “Briefing in five.”
Aaron points toward the door. “That’s our cue.”
He pauses.
Looks between us.
Then, because he’s still Aaron, adds, “Try not to burn the place down while I’m gone.”
“Leave,” I say.
He grins and slips out.
The door shuts.
Silence again.
Ava exhales slowly.
Then looks at me.
“This doesn’t stop, does it?”
“No.”
She nods once.
Accepting it.
Not liking it.
Not running from it either.
“I’m going with you,” she says.
I step closer. “We already talked about this.”
“I’m not arguing.”
That stops me.
“I’m telling you I’m going,” she continues. “But I’m not going to push past what I can handle. I’m not going to break the plan. I’m not going to get someone killed because I need to prove something.”
I study her.
Every word.
Every line of tension in her face.
“You’re serious.”
“Yes.”
I let out a slow breath.
Then nod once.
“Okay.”
Her eyes widen slightly. “Okay?”
“Okay means I trust you.”
That hits her.
Hard.
I can see it.
Feel it.
Her grip on my hand tightens.
“Don’t make me regret that,” I add quietly.
“I won’t.”
I believe her.
That might be the most dangerous thing of all.
I lift my free hand and brush my thumb lightly along her cheek.
“Then let’s go stop them.”
Her gaze locks with mine.
All the fear.
All the strength.
All the fire.
Still there.
But now, it’s not alone.
“Yeah,” she says.
And this time, it doesn’t feel like we’re walking back into hell.
It feels like we’re bringing it with us.