CHAPTER 47 - Elara
The storm outside the limehouse vault eventually passed, leaving behind a heavy, dripping silence that echoed through the dark brick tunnels.
I lay there for a long time, my cheek pressed against the rough charcoal wool of Sylas's sweater, listening to the slow, steady deceleration of his heart.
The canvas sails beneath us were cold, but his arms were wrapped around me like a vise, his body heat trapping us in a small, private equator that the dampness of the vault couldn't touch.
My right hand was still hooked loosely over his shoulder, my fingers resting against the nape of his neck.
For the first time in months, the inside of my head was completely quiet. There was no code scrolling behind my eyelids, no calculations, no fear of what Vivienne or the Board would do next. There was just the solid, heavy reality of the man holding me.
Sylas shifted slightly, his breath blowing warm against my temple. His hand, which had been resting flat against my lower back, began to make a slow, incredibly gentle movement, his thumb tracing the line of my spine.
“Cold?” he whispered into the dark. His voice was lower than usual, still rough around the edges, stripped of all that corporate armor.
“A little,” I murmured, my voice a raspy thread. “But don't move.”
He let out a low, breathless sound that was almost a laugh, his arms tightening around me just a fraction more. “I'm not going anywhere, Elara.”
With a slow, careful deliberateness, keeping his body positioned so he wouldn't press against my injured shoulder, he reached out with his left hand.
He grabbed one of the thick, dry wool blankets from the crate beside us and pulled it over both of our shoulders, burying us beneath the heavy fabric.
I took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of him—river rain, wet wool, and that clean, sharp scent that was uniquely his. “We have to leave London, don't we?”
The thumb on my spine stopped for a split second, then resumed its slow, steady rhythm.
“Yes,” Sylas said quietly. “Vivienne will have the transport hubs covered by morning. The Wapping ping confirmed we’re still inside the city grid, which means Vance will deploy every contractor he has left to sweep the under-canals. This vault is a blind spot, but it won't stay blind for long.”
I blinked in the dim amber light of the pocket flashlight, my gaze drifting to the corner of the alcove where my damp jeans lay. The scuffed plastic corner of the kindle was peeking out from the pocket.
“We have the registry,” I whispered, a faint, exhausted spark of victory cutting through my fatigue.
“Olympus is running on empty. If we can reach a secure, out-of-jurisdiction terminal, we can compile the master keys and dissolve the Board's assets before they even realize the mainframe is a ghost.”
“We will,” Sylas murmured. He leaned down, his lips pressing a soft, lingering kiss against the top of my head, his fingers tangling into my curls. “But not tonight. Tonight, the system is down.”
I smiled into the dark, my eyelids turning to lead as the sheer physical exhaustion of the last six days finally caught up with me.
Wrapped in his heat, protected by the heavy brick walls of the vault, I let myself slide into a deep, dreamless sleep, the frantic rhythm of the city above us completely forgotten.