Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Sulla
I wake to pale morning light filtering through the bothy’s small window. The storm has passed. Reid is still asleep against me, her head on my chest, one arm thrown across my stomach. Her breathing is slow and even.
I don’t move. Don’t want to wake her. Don’t want this to end.
Last night was… I don’t have words in any language.
Mea lux. Mea vita. Mea carissima. Even those don’t capture how I feel about her.
The way she looked at me with trust and desire and love.
The way she let down her guard in my arms. The way she let me tend to her after, let me be soft and vulnerable without judgment.
I’ve never been that version of myself with anyone. Didn’t know I could be.
My hand finds her hair, fingers sliding through the short strands. She makes a small sound in her sleep, burrows closer. My chest tightens around the realization that I don’t want to be anyone else with her.
This. This is what I’ve been missing my whole life. Not just physical pleasure—though God, that was incredible. But this: holding someone who chose me. Someone who sees the damage and chooses me anyway. Someone who makes me want to be better, not because she demands it, but because she deserves it.
The radio crackles to life on the table, making us both jump.
“Team Echo, this is base. Do you copy?”
Reid lifts her head, blinking sleep from her eyes. Her hair is mussed, mouth soft with sleep. Beautiful.
I reach for the radio. “Copy, base. Team Echo here.”
“Weather’s cleared. Chopper’s en route for extraction. ETA thirty minutes.”
Thirty minutes. That’s all we have left.
“Copy that. We’ll be ready.”
Reid sits up, the blanket falling to her waist. She’s unselfconscious about her nakedness, and I can’t look away.
“Thirty minutes,” she says.
“Yeah.”
She turns to look at me, and something passes between us. Regret that it’s ending. Gratitude that it happened. Fear about what comes next.
“We should get dressed,” she says quietly.
“We should.”
Neither of us reaches for our clothes for a long moment. Then she leans in, kisses me—soft, slow, sweet. A goodbye to privacy.
“Thank you,” she whispers against my lips.
“For what?”
“For last night. For being… you.”
I cup her face, thumb brushing her cheekbone. “You make me want to be the best version of myself.”
“You are. With me, you are.”
One more kiss, then we pull apart. The spell breaks. We’re back to being contestants on a reality show, cameras incoming, secrets to keep.
We dress quickly, efficiently. Pack up the emergency supplies. Erase evidence of what happened here—though I’m not sure that’s possible. I’m different. Surely it shows on my face.
Reid catches me looking at her as she’s lacing her boots.
“What?” she asks.
“You’re beautiful.”
She ducks her head, almost shy. “You keep saying that.”
“Because it’s true.”
“Sulla—”
The helicopter flies over the ridge, loud and intrusive. Reality crashing back.
We grab our packs and head outside. The pilot sets down in the clearing. John and Briana aren’t with him. Just the pilot, professional and brisk.
“Everyone alright?” he shouts over the rotors.
“Fine,” Reid shouts back. “Storm passed, we stayed dry.”
We load in. The helicopter lifts off, banking toward base camp. Through the window, The bothy disappears behind the ridge.
Our secret stays there. The memories are ours alone.
The flight takes twenty minutes. Reid sits across from me, professional distance between us now. But when our eyes meet, I see everything we’re not saying. Last night happened. It was real. And we’re going back to pretending it didn’t.
Base camp appears below. We land, and Mac is there waiting with the medical team.
“Good to have you back,” he says, scanning us both.
His eyes linger a moment too long. “Storm knocked out all aerial coverage from hour three. You were dark from the moment John and Briana extracted.” Something in his tone is carefully neutral.
“Medical clearance, then you’re free until tomorrow morning. Finale starts then.”
Medical clearance is routine—checking for hypothermia, injuries, exhaustion. The medic asks standard questions. I answer on autopilot while thinking about Reid’s hands in my hair, her gasps against my mouth.
“You’re cleared,” the medic finally says.
I find Reid outside the medical tent. Other contestants are gathering—Trevor rushing over with obvious relief, Sienna asking if we’re okay, Aiden and Jacks comparing notes about the storm.
“Heard you two had to shelter in place,” Trevor says. “Must’ve been rough.”
“We managed,” Reid says. Her voice is calm, casual. No one would guess what we did last night.
Mac appears, gathering everyone. “Listen up. Finale starts tomorrow morning. Five teams left. The challenge will test everything you’ve learned. Get rest, prepare mentally. 0600 briefing.”
The group disperses. Reid and I walk toward our tent.
“This is it,” she says quietly when we’re alone. “Two-day finale.”
“Yeah.”
“After this, what happens?”
“What do you want to happen?”
She stops walking, turns to face me. We’re far enough from others to have privacy but the drones are always around.
“I want to know you,” she whispers. “Really know you. Not just the contestant version.”
My throat tightens. “You might not like what you find.”
“I’ll risk it.”
“Reid—”
“Whatever you think is so terrible? I’ve seen you. I know who you are.”
She doesn’t. Not fully. But she believes she does. Goddess, I want her to be right.
“Okay,” I say simply.
“Okay?”
“Let’s try. After the show. We’ll figure it out.”
Her smile is small but real. “Good.”
We reach our tent. The space feels smaller now. Last night we made love in a stone bothy. Tonight we’re back to separate sleeping cots with cameras recording our every move.
She unpacks her gear, with military precision. She catches me staring.
“What?”
“Nothing. Just… glad you’re here.”
“Where else would I be?”
“Anywhere. You could be anywhere. But you’re here.”
She crosses to me, and damn the cameras—she kisses me. Quick, chaste, but deliberate. A promise.
“I’m exactly where I want to be,” she says.
That night we lie in our separate sleeping bags, aware of each other in the darkness. The space between us feels both infinite and nonexistent.
“This week may change everything,” I say quietly.
“Yeah.”
“Whatever happens out there—”
“We stay partners,” she finishes. “Promise?”
“Promise.”
But even as I say it, something uneasy shifts in my chest. I don’t know what’s coming. Don’t know what production has planned. Don’t know if our promise will hold.
I fall asleep listening to her breathe, memorizing the sound.
The dream comes just before dawn.
I’m in the ergastulum again—darkness, dripping water, rats. But this time when I’m dragged up into light, it’s not Domina waiting. It’s Reid, who’s looking at me with horror.
“You’re a monster,” she says.
“I know.”
“I loved you.”
“I know.”
“How could you not tell me?”
I wake gasping, tangled in my sleeping bag. The tent is dark. Reid is still asleep. Just a dream.
But it felt like prophecy.
I lie awake until dawn, watching light slowly fill the tent, and think, I should tell her. Before production does. They have my confessional. They know enough to make it ugly.
But I’m a coward.
I tell myself I’ll wait until after. Until we’re off camera, in private, where I can explain properly. Where she can’t feel ambushed.
I tell myself a lot of things. All of them excuses.
At 0600, Mac gathers us in the briefing tent.
“Final challenge,” he says. “Forty-eight hour escape and evasion. Hunter force will track you. You must reach extraction point thirty miles away without being captured. This tests everything: navigation, survival, strategy, endurance, and partnership.”
He outlines the parameters. Rules of engagement. Consequences of capture–teams that don't complete will be ranked by distance covered at time of capture. I listen while watching Reid take notes with tactical precision.
“Questions?” Mac asks.
Jacks raises his hand. “What happens if we get separated from our partner?”
“Don’t get separated. You need each other to win. However, if your partner needs a medical extraction you can still try to finish on your own.”
After the briefing, Reid and I walk the perimeter, planning strategy.
“We should move at night,” she says. “Harder to track us.”
“Agreed. Stay off trails, use terrain for concealment.”
“Cache supplies at waypoints.”
“Split the pack weight evenly.”
We’re good at this—the tactical planning, the partnership. Four weeks have made us efficient. Last night made us… more.
That evening, Trevor catches me alone near the equipment shed.
“Can I ask you something?” he says.
“Sure.”
“You and Reid. Are you two…?” He trails off.
“Are we what?”
“Together. Like, together together?”
I should deny it. Keep the secret. But I respect him enough to be honest.
“Why do you ask?”
“Because you look at her like she hung the moon. And she looks at you the same way. I’ve seen it for weeks, but after you two came back from the storm…” He shrugs. “It’s different now.”
“We’re partners,” I say carefully.
“Yeah. But you’re more than that too.”
I don’t confirm or deny. Just look at him steadily.
Trevor smiles. “It’s cool, man. I won’t say anything. You two deserve happiness.”
After he leaves, I sit in the empty shed thinking about his words. We deserve happiness. Do we? Does someone like me, with my history, deserve someone like Reid?
The answer is no. But I’m selfish enough to want her, anyway.
Tonight, our last before the finale, we sit outside our tent under stars. Can’t be physical—cameras everywhere now. But we sit close, shoulders touching.
“Tomorrow everything changes,” Reid says.
“Yeah.”
“Whatever happens out there—” She pauses, choosing words carefully. “We stay partners.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
I want to believe it. Want to believe our partnership is strong enough to survive whatever’s coming. But the dream lingers—her looking at me with horror.
“Reid,” I start, then stop. Tell her. Tell her now. Give her the choice before—
“What?”
I look at her. In starlight, she’s beautiful. Trusting. Looking at me like I’m someone good.
“Nothing. Just… I’m glad we’re doing this together.”
Coward.
She leans her head on my shoulder briefly—risky, but worth it. “Me too.”
We sit in comfortable silence until she yawns.
“Should sleep,” she says. “Big day tomorrow.”
“Yeah.”
We crawl into our respective sleeping bags. The tent is dark except for filtered moonlight. I can hear her breathing, even and calm.
“Sulla?” she says quietly.
“Yeah?”
“I meant what I said. In the bothy. I love you.”
My chest tightens. “I love you too.”
“Just wanted to make sure you knew. Before we go out there.”
“I know. And Reid?”
“Yeah?”
“Whatever happens tomorrow, whatever we face that’s real, remember that what we have; it’s real too.”
“I know.”
She falls asleep first. I lie awake, staring at the tent ceiling, thinking, Soon, I could lose her. Soon, she could find out what I was. Soon, everything could fall apart.
I should tell her.
But I don’t.
And that makes me exactly what I’ve always been: a coward who takes what he wants and hides from consequences.
Just before dawn, I finally sleep. And dream of her walking away.