The blast had thrown me backward.
When I came to, the world was smoke and ringing ears and the taste of iron. The air was thick with heat, each breath a scrape. I pushed myself up, coughing, and saw Adrian half-buried beneath twisted metal.
For a heartbeat, I thought he was dead.
"Adrian!" My voice cracked, the sound swallowed by the hiss of fire. I clawed through debris until my fingers found his sleeve. He groaned, low and rough, and the sound nearly undid me.
"Come on," I whispered, dragging him toward a hole in the wall where the explosion had torn the building open. Outside, the mountain wind was cold enough to bite. We stumbled together into the forest until the flames were nothing but a distant glow.
By the time the ground leveled, Adrian's weight had started to sag. He tried to speak; I hushed him. "Save your strength."
When the storm finally broke, we found a ranger cabin half hidden among the trees. The door hung crooked on its hinges, but it was shelter. I kicked it open, hauled him inside, and shut out the rain.
He leaned against the wall, breath sharp. "You shouldn't"
"Don't start," I snapped, dropping my bag. "You're bleeding."
He tried for a smirk and failed. "You're bossy when you're terrified."
I found the first aid kit under a dusty sink and came back to him. His shirt was torn, dark with blood. My hands shook as I cut away the fabric and saw the wound—deep but not deadly. He flinched when I pressed the gauze against it.
"Hold still."
"You always this gentle?"
"Do you always flirt when you're half-dead?"
His laugh was breathless, more exhale than sound. For a moment, the cabin was quiet except for the rain hammering the roof. I felt his heartbeat under my palm, strong and stubborn, and something in me twisted.
"You could've died back there," I said.
"Would've been easier," he murmured.
"Don't say that."
"Why not? It's the truth."
I met his eyes. "Then maybe the truth isn't always worth dying for."
His gaze softened, the edges of it no longer guarded. "No," he said quietly, "sometimes it's worth living for."
The words hung there, fragile, impossible. I should have moved away. Instead, I stayed—too close, too aware of the heat rolling off him. The distance between us was nothing. A breath. A thought.
He didn't reach for me first. We just leaned, pulled by something neither of us could stop. The kiss was sudden, rough, trembling with everything we hadn't said. Anger. Relief. Need.
When we finally broke apart, I was shaking.
"This changes nothing," I whispered.
He exhaled, forehead resting against mine. "It changes everything."
I didn't have an answer for that. I turned away, pretending to busy myself with the bandages, pretending the world hadn't shifted in a heartbeat.
He spoke again, quieter now. "Your brother saved my life once. I owe him everything."
"Then why lie to me?"
"Because the truth was supposed to die with him."
The weight of it filled the room. I sat beside him, exhaustion settling heavy. "I spent years hating you. It kept me alive."
"Then hate me if you have to," he said. "Just stay alive."
For the first time, I understood what he meant. Hate had kept me moving. But here, in this quiet ruin of a night, I didn't feel hate anymore. I felt something far more dangerous.
The rain softened. The fire we'd built flickered low. I found myself watching him,his eyes half closed, his face drawn but peaceful in the light. The scars at his temple caught the glow like faint silver lines.
"If Liam's alive," I murmured, "I'll find him. If he's dead, I'll make them pay."
His eyes opened, unfocused but steady. "Then I'll burn with you."
It wasn't a declaration. It was a promise. Simple. Absolute.
He drifted into uneasy sleep, his hand falling near mine. I should've moved away, but I didn't. I sat there listening to the rain, watching the fire die down, feeling the strange calm that came from surviving what should've killed us both.
When dawn began to bleed gray through the window, I stirred. Adrian was still asleep, breath shallow but even. His phone, cracked and half-dead, lay on the table beside him. A faint buzz startled me.
The screen flickered, ghostly light cutting through the dim cabin. One new message. No number. Just words.
He's alive. Ravel was a test. Trust no one.
For a second, I couldn't breathe. My hand shook as I reached for it. The message pulsed once and vanished, leaving only a black screen.
"Adrian," I whispered.
He was already awake, eyes open, watching me.
"What is it?"
I turned the phone toward him. His jaw tightened as he read.
"Then this isn't over," I said.
He looked at me for a long moment, the faintest trace of something fierce and certain in his eyes.
"No," he said quietly. "It's just beginning."
Outside, the storm eased into silence. Inside, everything I thought I knew about the dead came alive again.
And somewhere between the fading rain and the steady rhythm of his breathing, I realized I'd stopped being afraid of the fire. I was ready to walk into it.
Ready to burn.