Chapter 32
Jase
Location: Safehouse — Undisclosed
The quiet feels unreal after everything that just happened—the gunfire, the blood, the moment I thought I might lose her. Now it’s just stillness.
I sit on the edge of the bed, tightening the fresh bandage around my side. It’s better than before, but not by much. The pain is deep and constant, a reminder I shouldn’t even be on my feet right now.
“You’re doing that wrong.”
Her voice is soft, but it hits me harder than anything else has today.
I don’t look up right away. “Am I?”
“Yeah.” Mila steps into the room, already crossing toward me. She takes the bandage from my hands like it belongs to her. “Sit still.”
I almost smile. “Yes, ma’am.”
Her fingers brush my side as she adjusts the wrap—careful, steady, but not distant. Nothing about this feels distant anymore.
“You shouldn’t have come,” she says quietly.
There it is.
I let out a slow breath. “Yeah. Not my best decision.”
Her hands pause for just a second. “That’s not what I meant.”
I look up then, really look at her. There’s a bruise along her arm, tension still in the way she holds herself—but she’s here. Alive. Still fighting.
“I know,” I say.
Silence stretches between us, heavy but not uncomfortable.
“You could’ve died,” she says.
“So could you.”
Her eyes snap to mine. “That’s different.”
“It’s not.”
The truth lands between us, sharp and unavoidable. She knows it.
Her hands fall away from the bandage, but she doesn’t step back. “You don’t get to risk everything for me.”
I stand slowly, ignoring the pull in my side. “And you don’t get to decide that for me.”
We’re close now. Too close.
“This isn’t how this works,” she says.
“Then tell me how it does.”
She opens her mouth, then stops. Because she doesn’t have an answer—or she doesn’t want to say it.
My voice softens. “You left.”
Her eyes flicker. “I had to.”
“No. You chose to.”
That hits. I see it.
“I wasn’t risking you,” she says.
“And I wasn’t letting you do it alone.”
The silence shifts, heavier now, charged with everything we’re not saying.
“This isn’t just about you and me,” she says.
I step closer, close enough to feel her warmth. “No, it’s not. But don’t pretend like that’s not part of it.”
Her gaze searches mine like she’s looking for an escape. There isn’t one.
“There is no ‘you and me,’” she says quietly.
I shake my head. “Yeah… there is.”
Before she can argue, I close the distance. My hand comes up to her jaw, giving her time to pull away.
She doesn’t.
So I kiss her.
It’s not soft at first. It’s everything we’ve been holding back—fear, anger, relief—all crashing together. Her hands grip my shirt, pulling me closer like she’s done fighting it.
The kiss changes, slows, deepens. Less fight. More truth.
I rest my forehead against hers, breathing uneven. “Still think there’s no ‘you and me’?”
Her lips brush mine again, softer this time. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Make this harder than it already is.”
“It already is.”
Her hand presses against my chest, right over my heartbeat. “Jase…”
“I’m not walking away from this,” I tell her.
She searches my face. “You might have to.”
“No.”
Simple. Final.
She hesitates, then leans in again, and this time there’s no resistance. Just us. No running. No walls.
For the first time since all of this started, we stop fighting what’s between us.
Later
Mila
The room is quiet again, but it feels different now. Not empty. Grounded.
I sit at the table, turning the flash drive over in my hand. It feels heavier than it should. Not because of what it is—but because of what it means.
Jase steps into the room, dressed now, focused again. But when his eyes meet mine, that same intensity is still there.
“Thinking about running again?” he asks.
I shake my head. “No.”
That gets his attention.
“Good.”
I hold up the drive. “This is bigger than me.”
His expression sharpens. “I know.”
“No,” I say. “You don’t.”
I stand and step closer. “This isn’t just a list. It’s funding routes, safe houses, people embedded in places they shouldn’t be. Systems that are already compromised.”
His jaw tightens. “We figured.”
“It’s worse than that.”
A beat passes, heavy with everything we both understand now.
Then I place the drive in his hand.
“I’m done running with it,” I say.
He looks down at it, then back at me. “You’re trusting us with this?”
I hold his gaze. “I’m trusting you.”
Silence settles between us, real and solid.
He closes his hand around the drive. “Then we finish it.”
I nod once. “Yeah.”
My voice lowers. “We burn it all down.”