The railway yard still stank of gunpowder and blood.
Bodies lay scattered between the rusted tracks, the fog carrying the last echoes of gunfire. Graze men moved through the wreckage, rounding up survivors, dousing fires. It was over.
But it didn't feel like victory.
Hazel stood over Roman's corpse, chest heaving, blood slick on her hands. The adrenaline had faded, leaving behind something sharp and cold.
Michael came to her, his face grim, a gash along his brow.
"It's done," he said quietly.
Hazel didn't look away from the body. "It'll never be done."
Michael reached for her hand. "It is for us."
Slowly, Hazel allowed herself to lean into him, her head resting against his shoulder.
"I never wanted to be this person," she murmured.
Michael's arm tightened around her. "Neither did I."
For a long moment, they stayed like that — the king and queen of a blood-soaked empire neither of them asked for.
Back at Graze Tower
The penthouse was eerily quiet. Connor sat nursing a busted knuckle and a bottle of bourbon on the leather couch. The war room table was still cluttered with maps and ammo.
Hazel stepped inside, tugging off her blood-streaked jacket. Her reflection in the mirror caught her off guard. Dark eyes. Bruised cheek. Smudges of dirt and war paint.
Not the girl who arrived here months ago.
Michael came up behind her. "You saved this city."
Hazel scoffed. "I didn't save it. I survived it."
He smirked faintly. "Same thing around here."
She met his gaze in the mirror, studying the man she once thought of as a heartless bastard. The man who became her shield, her anchor, her maddening, infuriating love.
"I meant what I said before," Hazel whispered.
Michael arched a brow. "Which part?"
"That I love you, Graze."
A slow, crooked grin spread across his face. "Good. Because you're stuck with me now."
Hazel turned in his arms. "We could… leave."
His brow furrowed. "What?"
"Run. Start over somewhere no one knows our names. Burn it all down and watch this city choke on its own ashes."
Michael hesitated. "Hazel, I built this city. Every deal, every fight, every scar… it's mine."
"And I'll burn it all if it means you live," Hazel shot back, eyes blazing.
For a moment, something unreadable flickered in his gaze.
Then he leaned in, kissing her like a promise.
"I don't deserve you," he whispered against her lips.
"Damn right you don't," she grinned, pulling him closer.
A Week Later — The Funeral
They buried Connor two days after the final war. A stray bullet. Fast. Brutal.
Michael delivered the eulogy.
"Connor Briggs was a bastard," he began. "But he was my brother. He died fighting for this city… and for a future I'm still trying to believe in."
Hazel stood at his side, her fingers brushing his.
When they lowered the casket, the city felt a little colder.
Later That Night
The rooftop of Graze Tower overlooked a city still scarred. Sirens wailed. Neon signs flickered. Life crawled back in, stubborn and relentless.
Hazel sat on the ledge, swinging her legs over the edge. Michael joined her, two glasses in hand.
"I'm selling the Crowe territories," he said quietly.
Hazel's brow lifted. "Thought you never let go of turf."
"I'm not that man anymore."
She smiled. "Good."
They clinked glasses, watching the city bleed into dawn.
"So what now?" Hazel asked.
Michael smirked. "We live."
Hazel tilted her head. "And when the next war comes?"
"We'll be ready."
A beat.
"Together?" she pressed.
He looked at her, all ice and fire and unspoken vows. "Always."
And as the first rays of sunlight cut across the skyline, Hazel knew something she hadn't since this began.
They'd won.
Not the city.
Not the crown.
Each other.
And sometimes… that was enough...