The camp was already dead.
Fire chewed through canvas and wood alike, flas crawling up tent poles, devouring supplies, spitting sparks into the Chicago night. Smoke rolled low and thick, burning the throat, stinging the eyes. Sowhere in the distance, sothing collapsed with a hollow, final crash.
Carl dragged himself across the ground.
Glass bit into his palms with every inch he crawled, shards embedding themselves deep, warm blood saring across the concrete. His face was swollen, one eye nearly shut, blood drying in dark streaks along his cheek and jaw. His breath rattled.
He didn’t look back.
He didn’t have to.
Footsteps crunched behind him— slow and unhurried.
A silhouette erged through the smoke, frad by firelight. Tall. Still. Piercings caught the glow first, glinting like embers embedded in skin.
Carl’s arm gave out. He collapsed, chest hitting the ground, breath knocked from him in a broken wheeze.
The footsteps stopped.
She stood over him.
"Still crawling," she said lightly, almost amused. "After all this."
Carl turned his head just enough to see her.
Her hair made his stomach drop.
Not the wild Liberty spikes he rembered—sharp, defiant, impossible to miss. Now it was braided tight into cornrows, pulled back from her face, practical and severe. The piercings were still there, studding her lips and brow.
And the scar.
A thin, pale line cutting down the side of her face. Old. Healed.
Lila’s work.
Her eyes burned red in the firelight, reflecting the flas.
Carl tried to push himself up again. Failed. His fingers slipped on blood and glass.
She watched him struggle, head tilting slightly.
"You know," she said, stepping closer, boots crunching beside his head, "people like to think they can outrun what’s coming. Change cities. Change nas. Build camps. Families." A soft laugh slipped out of her. "As if a world like this gives a shit."
She crouched, slow and deliberate, until they were eye level. Smoke curled around her like a crown.
"Fate’s funny, don’t you think?"
Her gaze dropped to his shredded hands.
"You can dread it," she murmured. "Bleed for it. Beg if it helps you sleep at night."
She reached out and grabbed his chin, forcing his face up toward hers. Her grip was firm, practiced.
"Doesn’t matter."
Carl’s eyes burned. His vision blurred.
She leaned in close, her voice dropping to sothing intimate. Dangerous.
"Fate doesn’t chase," she whispered. "It walks. And it always catches up."
She rose to her feet.
The gun ca up smoothly, barrel settling against Carl’s forehead. Cold. Steady.
"Bla your commander for all this."
His breath hitched.
Firelight danced along the tal. Her finger rested on the trigger without hesitation, without tremor.
Carl closed his eyes.
Above him, she smiled.
Sowhere outside of Chicago...
My inhale was shaky.
I steadied it.
Both hands wrapped around the Glock, knuckles pale, tal cold against my palms. The glass bottles sat on the log ahead of , three of them, catching the afternoon sun like they were daring to miss.
"Clear your mind," Hale murmured behind . Close. Low. "Let go of hesitation."
I shut my eyes.
Just for a second.
When I opened them again, sothing had settled.
The noise of the camp felt far away. My shoulders dropped. My stance lowered without thinking about it. Feet planted. Knees loose. Finger straight along the fra, not touching the trigger.
I didn’t rember learning any of it.
It just felt... right.
I raised the gun.
The world narrowed.
BANG.
The bottle on the left detonated, glass bursting outward in a sharp, violent bloom. Shards rained down into the dirt.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Hale’s hand move—slow, thoughtful—fingers dragging through his beard.
I didn’t look at him.
I adjusted my aim.
BANG.
The bottle on the right exploded next, the round punching straight through it like it had never been there at all.
My pulse kicked harder.
The middle bottle waited.
I closed one eye.
Exhaled.
BANG.
It shattered cleanly.
Glass fell in glittering fragnts, clinking softly against the log and the leaves below.
Adrenaline surged through , hot and electric. My chest filled too fast, breath coming sharp and bright. I turned toward Hale, a grin breaking free before I could stop it.
"Did you see that?" I blurted. "Holy shit—did you see that? I’m a fucking—.."
Nothing.
Hale didn’t smile.
Didn’t nod.
Didn’t react at all.
The excitent drained out of just as fast as it ca. My grin faltered.
"When did you learn to shoot like that?" he asked.
His voice was calm. Too calm.
I opened my mouth—
"What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!"
The shout hit like a slap.
I spun around.
Lila was marching toward us, face tight, eyes blazing. My stomach twisted.
She didn’t even look at at first.
She pointed straight at Hale. "How could you make him do sothing like that?! Are you insane?" Her voice cracked with fury. "He could’ve fucking hurt himself!"
Hale didn’t answer.
Didn’t defend himself.
Just stood there, arms folding across his chest, watching.
Lila turned on then, yanking the Glock out of my hands before I could react. My fingers twitched uselessly as the weight vanished.
"Lila—wait, it’s just—"
"I said I’d protect you, Adrian." Her voice dropped, shaking now. "You don’t need this shit."
She lifted the gun, holding it away from like it was poison.
"You don’t have to rely on anything else," she said. "Not this. Not him. Just ." Her eyes searched my face, desperate. "Please. Promise you won’t use this again."
My chest felt tight.
I looked at Hale.
He hadn’t moved. Arms still crossed. Eyes on . Not judging. Not pushing.
Waiting.
I looked back at Lila.
I felt cornered. Pressed in from both sides.
Slowly, gently, I took the gun from her hands. I didn’t yank it. Didn’t rush. Just eased it back, fingers closing around the grip like it belonged there.
I guided her away from the clearing, one hand light on her arm.
"W—we’ll talk later, Hale," I said, not looking back.
Behind us, I felt Lila glance over her shoulder.
Her expression darkened when her eyes t Hale’s.
I led her deeper into the trees, past the edge of the clearing, past the place where Hale’s shadow could reach us. The air felt tighter the farther we went. Like the woods were closing ranks.
When we were far enough, she ripped her hand out of mine.
I stopped.
"Adrian."
Her voice was low and flat now, not pleading.
I turned.
She stood a few feet away, shoulders squared, eyes sharp in a way that made my stomach knot.
"You shouldn’t trust that man," she said. "He’s feeding you poison."
I didn’t answer.
She stepped closer and caught my hands before I could pull them back, lifting them between us like evidence.
"Look at you," she said quietly. "This isn’t you. That thing you did—" Her fingers tightened. "That’s not who you are."
I swallowed.
"Promise ," she said. "Promise you’ll never do that again."
Her eyes searched my face. Not gently.
Hungrily.
The silence stretched.
The gleam in her eyes shifted. Hardened. Sothing darker sliding underneath, sothing that didn’t need my agreent anymore.
Her gaze dropped.
"Where’s the gun?"
My pulse spiked.
I didn’t move.
The Glock was heavy in my back pocket. I could feel it like a brand against my spine.
Silence stretched between us, taut as wire.
She stared at . Really stared. Like she was peeling open, looking for where I’d hidden the truth.
Then she lunged.
Her arm wrapped around my waist as her hand dove for my pocket. I reacted on instinct, twisting away, shoving her shoulder back.
"Lila, stop—"
My voice stayed calm. Barely. I could hear the strain in it.
"It’s for your own good," she snapped, fingers still clawing for the gun.
"No," I said, sharper now. "It’s not."
She didn’t listen.
We stumbled, feet tangling, and then the ground rushed up. Leaves and dirt bit into my back as we hit hard. She was on top of before I could roll away, knees pinning my thighs, weight crushing my chest.
I fought.
Really fought.
My hands scrabbled at her wrists, muscles burning as I tried to shove her off. Her hair fell loose around her face, breath hot and fast, eyes bright with sothing close to excitent.
"Give it to ," she hissed.
"No—!"
Her hand closed around the grip.
Everything slowed.
BANG.
The sound split the woods open.
White heat flashed across my cheek as the bullet tore past, close enough to burn. It slamd into the grass beside my head with a dull thud.
I froze.
Couldn’t breathe.
Couldn’t think.
Lila stayed straddled over , chest heaving, gun still clutched in her hand. Her face hovered inches from mine, eyes wide, pupils blown.
For a second, neither of us moved.
Then she smiled.
Soft. Sweet.
"A lot of accidents like that happen, my love." she murmured, brushing her thumb along my jaw like she was soothing . "Next ti, you won’t be so lucky."
My heart hamred so hard it hurt.
She shifted off , rising smoothly, already in control again. She slipped the Glock into her own pocket like it had always belonged there.
"I’m taking this," she said lightly. "Alright?"
She leaned down and pressed a kiss to my lips.
I didn’t kiss her back.
I couldn’t.
I lay there staring up at the trees, ears ringing, cheek burning, lungs finally dragging air in shallow, broken pulls.
She’d pulled the trigger.
Not by accident.
Just to prove she could.
Just to show what she was willing to do to keep hers.
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