Chapter Sixty-Four: The Edge of Us

Lucien

She was asleep.

But not peacefully.

Even in unconsciousness, her brow furrowed like she was bracing for impact. Her breathing was shallow, her hands curled tightly beneath the blanket like fists too exhausted to swing again.

I sat in the chair beside the bed, watching the rise and fall of her chest, counting each breath like a prayer I wasn’t sure I still had the right to speak.

Ivy Sinclair—my wife, my enemy, my salvation—had nearly died winning a war I’d started.

And I didn’t know how to forgive myself for that.

The med techs had cleared the room hours ago, but I hadn’t moved. Not since I carried her out of that courtyard, her body trembling in my arms like a lit match about to burn out.

Clara had tried to pull me away. Had warned me that I needed rest too.

But how do you rest when the one person who holds your soul in her hands lies broken because of you?

Because of choices you made long before she walked into your office with that steel spine and those wild, furious eyes.

I stood and walked to the window.

The estate grounds still smoked from the last pulse bombs we’d set off in the lower trenches. The security network had stabilized, but our enemies hadn’t vanished—they’d merely recoiled, waiting to strike again.

Victor was still out there.

And if Iris had survived—no. I saw her collapse. Saw the light leave her eyes.

Still, doubt coiled in the back of my mind like a shadow that refused to die.

I turned back to Ivy just as her lashes fluttered.

She groaned, voice hoarse. “Water.”

I poured a glass and helped her sit up. Her hands were shaking.

“Easy,” I said.

Her eyes met mine. Cloudy at first. Then sharp. “You stayed.”

“I wasn’t going to leave.”

Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. “You could’ve.”

“Not anymore.”

She sipped the water slowly, her gaze never leaving mine. “Did we win?”

I gave a humorless laugh. “We survived. That’s the only kind of victory I know.”

She let out a sigh and leaned back. Her hair was tangled, her lips cracked. She looked ruined.

She looked divine.

“I’m tired, Lucien,” she whispered. “Tired of running. Of fighting ghosts in human skin.”

I sat beside her on the bed.

“You don’t have to run anymore.”

She looked at me like I’d lied.

And maybe I had.

Her fingers brushed mine.

Lightly. Hesitantly.

“Tell me this is real,” she said. “Tell me this—us—isn’t just another battlefield.”

I reached for her face. Cradled it in my hand like it might disappear if I wasn’t careful.

“I don’t know how to be a man who loves gently,” I said. “But I love you. In my way. In every way.”

She inhaled sharply.

And then she kissed me.

It wasn’t like the other kisses.

Not angry or desperate. Not the aftermath of war.

This was raw. Real. Slow and searching.

Her fingers slid into my hair, tugging just enough to make me growl against her mouth. I pressed her back against the pillows, careful not to hurt her, but unable to stop the need building in my chest like thunder.

Her skin was warm. Soft. Familiar.

When her hands found my shirt, I let her pull it over my head.

“Lucien,” she whispered.

“I’m here,” I murmured into her neck.

“Don’t let go.”

“Never.”

We made love like survivors.

No games. No masks.

Just heat and silence and hands that remembered too much.

Her nails left trails on my back.

My mouth found every scar she thought was invisible.

We moved together like we were made from the same storm.

And when it was over—when we lay tangled in the sheets, hearts pounding—I knew something had shifted.

Not just between us.

In me.

“I never believed I could be loved,” I said quietly, staring at the ceiling.

“I never believed I could choose who I became,” she replied.

“You chose to stay.”

“I did.”

Silence.

Then I turned to her.

“Ivy, if they come for us again—”

“We face them,” she said, eyes fierce. “Together.”

God help anyone who tried to tear us apart again.

Hours later, a transmission came through Clara’s private channel.

Encrypted. Untraceable.

She burst into the room with her tablet in hand, breathless. “You need to see this.”

I took the tablet, Ivy sitting up beside me.

The screen flickered.

And then it came to life.

A face.

Not Iris.

But her voice.

Distorted. Glitching.

“You burned my body, Lucien. But not my code. You thought the flame had gone out... But monsters don’t die. They reboot.”

Ivy’s breath caught.

Then the screen went black.

I stood.

A chill rippled through the room.

“She’s still out there,” I said.

“No,” Ivy whispered.

“She’s becoming something else.”

And I realized the truth:

We hadn’t won.

We’d only delayed the end.