(2510.01.15 // Cadian City, Underground Tunnel)

  The stone was damp against Jack’s back, rough enough to scrape his uniform. Water dripped somewhere down the tunnel, steady as a clock, and in the gaps of silence he could hear his own pulse.

  Nya pressed into him before he could think. Her mouth caught his, sudden, desperate—not the kind of kiss you gave someone you loved, but the kind you gave when you had nothing left. Her breath carried the sour tang of hunger, the ash of burned cloth, the bitter edge of sleepless nights.

  Jack’s lips slid to her shoulder, then lower, tracing the scar that ran like a crooked river across her back. He kissed it clumsily, as if his mouth alone could erase the memory. His hand fumbled at her spine, thick fingers trembling, not sure if he was comforting her or himself.

  Her voice broke in fragments.

  “The transport… destroyed. After that—” She stopped, sucked in a ragged breath, as though the words themselves were poison. “Every day, they took someone. You never knew who. Or why. You just… counted bodies.”

  Jack kissed harder, as if pressing shut the wound that wasn’t on her skin.

  Then Meadow was there too, pale as milk in the dim light. She folded herself around them both, her hair damp and sticking to her cheeks. When she spoke, her lips brushed Jack’s ear.

  “The piles. We slept beside them. I—” She shook her head, words breaking apart. “I was so sure I’d be one of them next.”

  Jack cupped her face in his hand, his thumb rubbing circles across her cheekbone, slow, steady. She trembled into the touch, like a wire stretched too tight.

  The three of them tangled on the rough blanket, not gracefully, not beautifully—just bodies colliding because the alternative was being alone. Their breaths fogged the cold air. Nya’s skin burned with fever heat, her scars a map of everything she wouldn’t say aloud. Meadow clung like someone clutching driftwood in a storm.

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  Their voices leaked out in broken seams.

  “I was scared every second,” Nya whispered, her mouth pressed against Jack’s chest. “Scared I’d end up—like them. So I made myself a promise.”

  Jack tilted his head down, his voice muffled against her hair.

  “What promise?”

  She stiffened, silent too long. When she finally spoke, it came in a rush, shame clinging to every syllable.

  “If you ever came for me again… I’d give myself to you. All of me. Because that’s the only bargain I had left.”

  The words hung there, raw, unpolished. Meadow’s breath caught. Then, very softly, she added:

  “Me too.”

  Jack froze. His stomach turned, a mix of hunger and guilt. He had cheated death thirteen times, and now it felt like he’d stumbled into a tragedy dressed up as a harem farce.

  “You don’t belong to me,” he said, his voice uneven. “You don’t belong to anyone. I was scared too. Still am. I’m no hero. I just—didn’t run that time.”

  Nya lifted her head. Tears clung to her lashes, but she smiled anyway, small and fierce.

  “That’s why it had to be you.” She squeezed the soft flesh at his waist, grounding herself in the absurdity of it. “When I was trapped, I thought about this. Your skin. The way you feel. It was the only real thing left. I told myself—if I could touch you again, even once a day, it’d be worth dying tomorrow.”

  Jack blinked, stunned, half-laughing despite himself.

  “That’s the worst coping mechanism I’ve ever heard.”

  “Maybe,” she whispered, pressing her forehead to his. “But it worked. You saved me. So now you carry me.”

  Before he could answer, footsteps echoed down the tunnel.

  “Lieutenant Harlan,” a voice called, tight with embarrassment. A Stinger pilot lingered in the archway, doing his best not to stare at the scene inside. “Message from the Captain, sir.”

  The spell shattered. Jack pulled away, fumbling for the datapad. His eyes scanned the report. Rashid’s squad had broken contact and, by accident more than plan, destroyed an Imperial supply hub.

  Then came the headline:

  The war had shifted.

  The Federation fleet had broken the blockade. A jump point seized. Carriers and strike wings carving through the enemy lines. Tanks, Marines, the whole flood of history surging forward. For the first time in years, it looked like victory.

  Hope tasted sharp, metallic.

  But the next file twisted it cold. Reports of Federation special units wiped out. Hunted, one by one. Not random. Not luck. A name surfaced, one that carried centuries of slaughter.

  The Tartarus Legion.

  Jack mouthed it, barely a whisper, but the words seemed to reverberate in the stone. His chest tightened. Somewhere deep in his gut, he knew—this wasn’t a battle won. It was the prologue to something worse.