Chapter 40 Viper
VIPER
I built my life around managing risk. Around knowing exactly how much pressure something can take before it fails.
“You’re going to regret this,” I tell her.
She sits back on the bench, sliding over toward the corner, making space for me. “Maybe. But being here with you was worth it.”
I’m about to leave, but instead, I sink down onto the other end of the bench. My first instinct is to reframe what just happened and file it away somewhere.
It doesn’t fit anywhere.
“I don’t do halfway,” I say. “And I’m not wired for shared ground.”
Things go quiet with only the hum of the generator’s white noise in the space. It’s the kind of silence that usually lets me reset, but it doesn’t work this time.
“I stayed away to protect everyone,” I say. “You. Them. The team.”
“And now?” she asks.
“Seems like that was all for nothing.”
She flinches, and I feel like an asshole. She hasn’t done anything wrong, and I’m working through what to say to her when she reaches up and brushes her thumb along my jaw.
The gentle touch nearly undoes me.
“I won’t chase you,” she says. “And I won’t pretend this fixes everything. But I’m not going to act like it didn’t matter, either.”
I close my eyes and drop my head back against the wall, hating how fucking messy it all is. There’s no plan, no rules, and no exit strategy for when things go sideways.
“You didn’t break anything,” she adds, her voice even more tender. “Even if it feels like it.”
I let out a breath. “It does.”
She shifts closer and leans her head against my shoulder. She rests her hand on my arm. It’s warm and soft.
We sit like that for a minute, nothing moving except our lungs drawing in air. I try to let my mind go blank. When she pulls back, she pauses, and I could stop her, but I don’t.
“I’ll give you space,” she says.
I nod. It’s the only movement I trust myself with.
She stops at the door and looks back at me. “Please don’t tell yourself this was a mistake just because it scares you.” Then she’s gone.
The room is immediately colder. My hands are still shaking, but it’s less from adrenaline and more from the realizations settling in, whether I want them or not.
Keeping my distance hadn’t protected the team.
Instead, it nearly cost me something I didn’t know how to want until it was already in my hands.
The main power comes back on in the early morning, and the generator settles into standby.
I lie in bed longer than usual, observing absences. There’s no thunder echoing in my skull, no vigilance dragging me awake before dawn. Most surprising: there’s no immediate flood of regret.
I roll onto my side and stare at the wall until the urge to run dulls into something manageable.
Then I get up, get dressed, square the bed with unnecessary precision, and leave the room as if nothing is different.
But everything is different.
Down in ops, Atlas is at the command desk, mug in hand as he scans the monitor. Grizz leans against the counter dismantling a piece of equipment I left there for him yesterday.
They both look up when I come in. Neither one says anything.
They know.
I take my usual seat and bring up the security feeds.
“Storm didn’t compromise the perimeter,” I say. “No power fluctuation past the initial transfer. Generator performance was within margin.”
Atlas nods his head. “Good.”
Grizz watches me longer than he should. “You good?” he asks. Not casual, but not probing.
I could deflect. I could shut it down with a grunt or a clipped acknowledgment.
Instead, I surprise all of us.
“Yeah,” I say. Then, after a pause, “I am.”
Grizz’s mouth twitches like he doesn’t quite trust the answer. But he accepts it, and the three of us get back to work.
I find Kira in the kitchen an hour later.
She’s standing at the counter in socked feet, hair loose down her back, slicing vegetables with careful attention.
She doesn’t turn when I enter, but she doesn’t freeze or brace.
“Morning,” she says, as if the word doesn’t carry history.
“Morning.”
The silence isn’t uncomfortable, but it’s not peaceful, either.
“I didn’t know if you’d want—” she starts, then stops herself, letting out a breath. “I wasn’t sure what today would look like.”
“I’m figuring that out.”
She accepts that answer without pushing.
“I don’t want you to disappear,” she says.
I meet her eyes then. Really meet them. “I don’t plan to.”
She smiles, looking relieved.
“I’m going to check the south cameras,” I say, because I need movement before emotion settles in.
“Okay.”
As I pass her, she reaches out and touches me lightly on the arm.
I keep walking, but I don’t shake the feeling loose.
During my rounds later, I detour to the workshop. Atlas is there, recalibrating a piece of comms equipment, and Grizz is cleaning a weapon.
“I’m not stepping away,” I say.
Both of them look up.
“Even though this is going to get complicated.”
Grizz lets out a low snort as he wipes his hands with a rag. “No shit.”
“If it falls apart, it won’t be because I refused to show up,” I tell them.
Atlas studies me, then nods. “That’s all any of us can promise,” he says.
Later, back at the house, I pass Kira at the base of the stairs that lead to the main floor.
There’s a question in her eyes, but I don’t answer it with words.
I stop and stand there with her.
I don’t retreat. I don’t disappear.
When her eyes soften, I brush my hand along her jaw, touching the smooth skin there, before I cup the back of her neck and bring her in.
Today, kissing her is about exploration instead of desperation. I take in her taste, the fullness of her lips. I listen to the way she responds.
She puts a hand on my side with a light touch, and I bring her closer for a moment, breathing her in.
When I pull back, I look her in the eye, and then we continue on our way.