The sea stretched like glass beyond the cliffs.
Waves kissed the rocks far below, and the moon lit the ocean in silver. Aurora stood at the edge, wind blowing her hair like flames across the dark. She had come up here alone, but she wasn't surprised when she felt Xander behind her—his presence unmistakable, comforting, dangerous.
"You always disappear before a fight," he said softly.
"I like to think before I bleed," she answered, not turning.
He stepped beside her. "You scared?"
She looked at him finally.
"Yes."
Xander didn't flinch at the honesty.
"I'm terrified," she added. "Of failing. Of losing. Of seeing her... and knowing she doesn't recognize me."
"You won't lose."
"You don't know that."
He reached up, cupping her cheek. "I don't need to know. I believe."
Her breath hitched.
There was a kind of truth in his eyes that shattered all her defenses—an anchor in a storm she hadn't realized was tearing her apart.
"I need you tonight," she whispered, stepping closer.
"Always," he said, voice low.
She brought his hand to her lips, kissing his knuckles. "No games. No masks. Just us."
And in that quiet place above the ocean, she pulled him into her.
Their lips met like heat and hunger, a collision of all the fear and love and longing they'd been holding back.
Xander's hands slid around her waist, gripping her like he might lose her again. Aurora moaned softly into his mouth, pressing closer, her body already alight with need.
They fell into the soft moss near the cliff wall, hidden by shadow and moonlight.
He peeled her clothes away like unwrapping something sacred. Her body glowed under the stars, every scar a story, every curve a defiance against what had tried to break her.
"You're so damn beautiful," he murmured, trailing kisses down her neck, across her collarbone.
Her fingers tangled in his hair as he worshipped her skin, his mouth mapping her like it was home.
When he entered her, it wasn't frantic—it was deep, slow, reverent.
She gasped, wrapping around him, meeting every thrust with desperate grace.
They moved together like they belonged nowhere else.
It wasn't just sex.
It was survival.
It was reclaiming the pieces they'd lost.
And when they came, it was together—silent, shaking, wrapped in the dark like only the stars bore witness.
After, she lay against him, chest rising and falling as her fingers traced the tattoo on his side.
"A wolf," she whispered. "I never noticed it before."
"I got it after the war," he said. "It reminded me of someone I wanted to be."
She smiled. "You already are."
He kissed the top of her head. "So are you."
They held each other in silence, their hearts beating steady for the first time in years.
________
By dawn, they were ready.
Elijah had mapped the route of the transport convoy—three armored vehicles, two decoys, one carrying Isla and the other children from "Generation Alpha."
The plan was dangerous, precise, and relied on perfect timing.
They'd intercept the convoy at a narrow pass outside Calora Harbor—use a drone jamming device to stall communications, a timed EMP to shut down the escort drones, and brute force to breach the transport van.
Xander checked his weapon one last time, handing Aurora a compact pistol.
"I hate these," she said, frowning.
"Then try not to miss."
She smirked. "I never do."
Elijah joined them, face pale but determined.
"There's one more thing," he said. "Silas… he's coming himself."
Aurora froze. "He never travels."
"Exactly," Elijah said. "Which means either he suspects something… or he's planning something worse."
Xander frowned. "We stick to the plan. No improvising unless it's to survive."
Aurora nodded. "And if I see him... I end him."
_______
They arrived at the canyon pass an hour before the convoy.
Xander and Elijah set up explosives on the rocky ledge—enough to block any backup route.
Aurora waited in the trees, the pistol resting in her lap, the fox drawing from Isla tucked into her jacket.
The breeze smelled of salt and metal.
She closed her eyes and whispered, "Hold on, baby. I'm coming."
Then the rumble came.
Distant. Growing.
The convoy.
Three matte-black vehicles.
Just like Elijah said.
Aurora tensed.
Xander whispered in the comm, "Now."
The jamming device clicked on.
The EMP detonated—silent, invisible—and the escort drones crashed like swatted flies.
Confusion rippled through the convoy.
Then—Aurora struck.
She dropped from the trees, landing on the first vehicle, firing twice into the windshield. The car swerved, crashed into a rock.
Xander launched a flash grenade at the middle transport, the one carrying Isla.
The doors opened.
A guard stepped out—only to be dropped by Aurora's shot to the head.
Elijah rushed the other side, unlocking the child restraints inside the van.
"Isla!" Aurora called.
Then she saw her.
The little girl, eyes wide, red hair tangled, clutching her fox doll.
"Mama?" Isla whispered.
Aurora froze.
Heart. Soul. Everything stopped.
"Yes, baby. It's me."
"Mama!"
Isla leapt into her arms, sobbing.
Aurora held her like life itself.
And for a moment, everything else vanished.
Then—
A gunshot rang.
And Elijah screamed.