Chapter 20
Leaving the Ridge
He crested the ridge slowly, boots sinking into the mud, breath catching somewhere between a prayer and a curse.
The rain’s thinner up here, softer—like even the storm knows to quiet down now. Steam rises off the pavement, mixing with smoke, and for a second, he couldn’t tell where the world ended, and the wreck began.
Then he saw her.
Ren.
Standing in the middle of the road, rain sliding down her face like she’s carved out of the night itself. Firelight still clung to her skin in traces, faint veins of gold that pulse and fade beneath the surface. Her eyes found him before anything else did—steady, unflinching.
Between them lies the man who started all this.
Shadow.
Crushed against the rail, chest still, blood washing thin into the rain.
Tater stopped breathing.
He should be relieved. Should feel the kind of satisfaction that comes when a monster’s gone. But all he can do is look at her, the knife slack in her hand, the chain glinting at her fingers.
“Jesus, Ren…” he murmured. The words came out rough. “What’d you do?”
She doesn’t flinch. “What I had to.”
He took a step closer, mud sucking at his boots. He wanted to touch her, but something about the air between them said don’t. Not yet. It’s still humming, still dangerous.
Her fire might be dimmed, but it hasn’t gone out.
He looked at Shadow again—what’s left of him—and back at her. “You, okay?”
A pause.
Then, quietly: “I don’t know.”
Something in his chest twisted hard. He’s seen her bleed before, but never like this. Never with that kind of stillness in her eyes—the calm after something that can’t be undone.
He finally closed the distance, slow, careful, like approaching a wild animal. Reaches out. His hand hovers just short of her cheek, not quite touching.
“You’re still here,” he says. Not a question. Just truth.
She let out a breath that might almost be a laugh. “Barely.”
“That’s enough for me.”
The wind shifted, carrying the smell of smoke downhill. Engines in the distance—his boys, maybe Eagle. But right then, none of it mattered.
He took the chain from her fingers, cold and wet, and wrapped it once around his own hand.
“You done with this?” he asked.
She nodded. “No more ghosts.”
He slipped it into his pocket. “Good. Then we start fresh.”
For a long time, neither of them spoke. Just rain, the hum of the dragon fading, and the storm breaking somewhere beyond the ridge.
When he finally did move, it was to tilt her chin up gently. “C’mon, darlin.’ Let’s go home.”
They didn’t say much after that.
Some things don’t need words.
Tater slid his arm around her waist, careful of the blood and the tremor still running through her. Ren leaned into him without hesitation—no pride left, just exhaustion and the fragile steadiness that followed survival.
Their bikes sit a few feet apart, slick with rain. Her front tire’s half-buried in mud, chrome dulled under the storm light. His still stood upright where he left it, water dripped from the seat.
He walked her to it slowly. “You ain’t riding in this condition and your bike is in no shape to be ridden.”
She opened her mouth to argue, but he shook his head. “Not tonight, Ren.”
After a heartbeat, she nodded. “Then you better not crash.”
“Wouldn’t dare with you on the back.”
He swung a leg over, started the engine. The sound is steady, grounded. She climbed behind him, her hand found his side, fingers curled weak but sure.
“Hold on,” he said.
She pressed her forehead against his back. “Always.”
The bike growled to life, rear tire spit water as they rolled off the ridge. The thunder followed them a few miles, then faded, swallowed by the open road.
By the time they hit the highway, the rain’s eased. The world smelled of wet earth and ash.
Tater didn’t look back.
He knew the others would come for her bike, for the body, for the pieces.
It’s just them—two ghosts riding out of the fire together.