Novel-novel oleh Augusta moon

I don’t make it to the city. That realization comes too late, right when instinct screams and my body freezes half a second slower than it should. The road curves along the cliffs, narrow and empty, moonlight glinting off the water below like shattered glass. I’ve been walking for nearly an hour, replaying Cole’s voice in my head, when headlights flare behind me. Too close. Too sudden. I step off the road instinctively, heart racing, but the engine cuts and a door slams before I can move again. “Miss Blake,” a man says calmly. “You shouldn’t walk alone at night.” My stomach drops. I turn, already backing away. “I’m fine. I don’t need help.” He smiles, slow and polite, the kind that never reaches the eyes. “Your father disagrees.” I pivot, adrenaline flooding my veins, but another figure steps out from the shadows ahead of me. Then another. Three men. Coordinated. Calm. This isn’t random. I spin back toward the cliffside, calculating distance, chances—too far,

I don’t plan it. That’s what I tell myself while I lie awake beside him, counting his breaths like they’re seconds I’m stealing. Cole sleeps on his back tonight, one arm bent above his head, the other resting dangerously close to me, like even unconscious he knows where I am. The island base hums quietly around us. Generators. Wind. The sea, always the sea. I turn my head and look at him. He looks younger when he sleeps. Less carved out of steel and scars. His lashes cast shadows on his cheeks, his mouth relaxed in a way I’ve never seen when he’s awake. This is the man I’m leaving behind, not the soldier, not the weapon—this quiet version that feels like a secret meant only for me. My chest tightens. “Don’t,” I whisper to myself. He stirs, brow furrowing slightly, and my heart jumps into my throat. I freeze, barely breathing, watching until his face smooths again. I should wake him. I should tell him I need time. Space. Answers I’m still too afraid to hear. But i

The tattoo doesn’t leave my mind. Even when Cole is standing right in front of me, solid and real and breathing, all I can see is that symbol burned into his skin like a brand I was never supposed to recognize. We’re in the safehouse kitchen. Morning light slips through the cracked window, cutting across the counter between us like a line neither of us knows how to cross. “You’re staring again,” he says quietly. “This time I have a reason.” He nods once, slow. “Then ask.” I cross my arms, trying to steady myself. “How long.” “How long what?” “How long you worked for my father.” He doesn’t look away. That matters. “Five years,” he answers. The honesty knocks the air out of me more than a lie would have. “Five years,” I repeat. “While I was going to charity galas and smiling for cameras.” “Yes.” “And you never once thought to tell me?” “No,” he says firmly. “Because you weren’t part of that world.” “You made sure of that.” “I protected you from it,” he counters. “There

I notice it by accident.That’s the worst part.Cole is standing near the sink, shirt off, towel slung low around his hips, water still dripping from his hair onto his shoulders. The island base doesn’t have luxury—cold tiles, flickering lights, rusted mirrors—but somehow he makes it feel smaller, warmer, like the space bends around him.“You’re staring,” he says without turning, voice calm, confident. Strong.“Can you blame me?” I reply lightly, leaning against the doorway. “You nearly died twice for me. I’m allowed to appreciate the view.”A faint smile curves his mouth in the mirror.He reaches for his shirt, and that’s when I see it.Just below his left shoulder blade. Partially hidden. Dark ink against scarred skin.My breath catches.“Cole,” I say slowly. “Don’t move.”He freezes.That alone tells me everything.I step closer, heart starting to pound. “What’s that on your back?”He exhales through his nose. “Nothing.”“That’s not nothing.”He turns slightly, trying to angle away

The bunker feels smaller at night, like the concrete walls are closing in just a little. I’m curled up on the cot, listening to the distant crash of waves outside, but my eyes are on Cole. He’s finally asleep beside me, one arm thrown over my waist like he’s afraid I’ll disappear. It’s been a long day—gearing up, waiting for Luke’s next update, trading stories to pass the time. But now, in the quiet, I can see the tension he carries even in sleep. His brow furrows, and every so often, his fingers twitch against my skin. I trace a light circle on his forearm, hoping it’ll ease whatever’s brewing in his head. “Sleep tight,” I whisper, though I know he can’t hear me. It starts small. A murmur, too low to make out. Then his body jerks, just once, like he’s dodging something invisible. I sit up slowly, not wanting to startle him. “Cole?” My voice is soft, barely above the hum of the old generator. He doesn’t wake. Instead, he mutters again—“Incoming”—and his grip on me tightens, almos

The morning sun filters through the narrow slits in the bunker walls, turning the cold concrete into something almost warm. I stretch out on the cot, my body still aching in the best way from last night, but my mind is already racing ahead. Cole’s side of the bed is empty again, but this time I don’t panic. I can hear him moving around in the main room—soft footsteps, the clink of metal. Probably checking supplies or whatever else he does to keep his hands busy when his head is too full. I swing my legs over the edge and pad barefoot across the floor. The air smells like salt and stale coffee; he must have boiled some water on that ancient stove. When I round the corner, there he is, leaning against the table with a mug in hand, staring at one of those faded maps like it holds the secrets to the universe. “Morning,” I say, keeping my voice light. He looks up, and for a second, his eyes soften in that way that makes my stomach flip. “Hey. Coffee’s hot if you want some.” I pour mys