No Heros Here

Riven's grip was steel wrapped in fire. No matter how Mae kicked, twisted, or clawed at him, he didn’t so much as stumble. His plasma wings curved protectively over her, deflecting the storm of bullets and debris raining down.

“Put me down!” she yelled, shoving her fists against his chest.

“No.” His voice was steady, calm, like the word itself was an unbreakable law of the universe.

But even his perfect calm faltered for a split second—right as something sharp, fast, and deadly sliced through the air.

A dagger.

Not just thrown—hurled with perfect precision. A glint of steel, aimed straight for Mae.

Time seemed to fracture. Her breath caught, her heart stopped.

—Too fast.

I can’t move.

It’s going to hit—

Then — CLANG.

Ashar’s clawed hand caught the blade midair. No wasted movement. No effort. Just a sharp pivot of his wrist, catching the dagger between two fingers like it was nothing.

The impact sparked against his claws—metal shrieking, fracturing.

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t even blink.

Silence.

His other hand was already moving before the broken blade hit the floor—ripping forward, plunging into the throat of the assassin who’d thrown it. A spray of red hit the wall like paint. The body dropped, twitching, convulsing, then went still.

Ashar turned his head—slowly—scanning the next wave of attackers.

Not rushed. Not panicked. Calm in a way that Mae couldn't take her eyes off him.

Predatory. Focused. Controlled violence incarnate.

Mae gaze lingered. She could not look away.

Her pulse thundered in her ears. Not from fear—no, not exactly. Something... worse. Or better. She could not tell.

How does someone move like that... so precise... so lethal... like death was an extension of his hands. He moves so calmly. The heat rising in her chest had nothing to do with the fire around them. Her breath hitched as her eyes dragged over the curve of his shoulders, the ripple of muscle beneath leather and armor, the sharpness of his jaw, the crackling gold of his molten-glass eyes. She could not name this feeling.

And the worst part?

When Ashar caught her watching—he knew. His eyes cut to hers for the briefest second.

A flicker. A knowing.

The kind that said: I see you. I feel you. And you’re mine—even if you don’t know it yet.

Mae’s stomach twisted. Her fingers clenched into Riven’s jacket, her entire body torn between fight, flight... and something far more dangerous.

“Move.” Ashar’s voice snapped like a whip. “Breach point—north hangar. Now.”

Riven adjusted his hold on Mae without even asking. “Secured.”

“Good. Kaine—front. Lucien—rear. Sethis—cut their eyes. Go.”

Kaine led, smashing through reinforced barriers like a battering ram made of rage and alloy.

Lucien’s chains writhed in the shadows behind, dragging bodies into the dark where their screams cut short.

Sethis sprinted sideways along a shattered beam, fingers flickering with data streams. “Surveillance down. Targeting down. Firewalls crumbling. They're blind... for ten seconds.”

“Then we’re ghosts.” Ashar’s claws flexed. “Or we’re dead.”

As they sprinted, more gunfire tore through the collapsing auction hall. Mae buried her head against Riven’s shoulder as plasma rounds shredded the walls around them.

But her eyes kept drifting.

Back.

To him.

To the way Ashar moved like liquid violence—his strikes surgical, his body fluid but coiled with devastating strength. Every turn, every kill, was a dance of precision. A predator that didn’t waste anything.

And whether it was fear, adrenaline, or something darker—she couldn’t look away.

“Why him...” The whisper was hers alone. Her chest ached. Her skin felt too tight. “Why does it feel like... like I know him. Like...”

She bit it back.

Not the time. Not the place. Not ever.

The hangar doors exploded outward. Fire and smoke swallowed the skyline as alarms blared across the city’s network.

A gunship hovered, waiting—their stolen ride.

Drones swarmed from both sides. Dropships flanked them. Heavy artillery zeroed in.

“They’re trying to box us in—” Lucien hissed, chains flicking defensively.

“Then let’s break the box.” Ashar surged forward—meeting the front line head-on.

Kaine ripped a mounted cannon free from its rig, spinning it in his hands as he laid down cover fire.

Riven’s wings flared, shielding Mae from a missile’s backdraft. “Hold on.”

Sethis overloaded the city’s grid—“Goodnight, sweet circuits.” Entire blocks blacked out.

Lucien’s psychic scream rattled the nearest ship, forcing its pilot to seize and crash into the docks.

Ashar didn’t stop moving. Didn’t stop killing. He fought like a storm wrapped in flesh. And still—every turn, every movement—his gaze flicked back. Checking. Watching. Always, always toward her.

Mine. The word wasn't spoken. But Mae felt it like a tremor under her skin.

As the dropship lifted, fire lighting the horizon behind them, the comm crackled:

“WORLDWIDE ALERT. FALLEN FIVE—PLUS ONE. DESIGNATED EXTINCTION-LEVEL THREAT. BOUNTY INCREASED. ONE MILLION CREDITS PER HEAD. TERMINATE ON SIGHT.”

Mae collapsed against Riven’s chest, gasping, shaking—but not just from terror.

What... what am I?

And what... are they?

Her eyes drifted back—one last time—as Ashar leapt onto the gunship’s ramp, blood splattered across his arms, golden eyes burning right into hers.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t have to.

She was his. Whether she knew it... or not.