(Romancing the Beat – "Fun & Games with Emotional Landmines")
Let's get one thing straight: I never planned on running for my life while holding hands with a sarcastic rebel girl and being chased by a guy she used to make out with… who now owns a flamethrower.
But here we are.
---
Six hours earlier.
"You didn't tell me your ex-boyfriend was literally a war criminal," I hissed.
Renna didn't even blink. "He wasn't at the time. He was just a guy with decent hair and an unhealthy obsession with setting things on fire."
"Right. Totally normal."
We were holed up in an abandoned vending machine factory. Which—fun fact—smelled exactly like old chips and despair.
And maybe I was feeling some type of way, because Renna had just casually mentioned that Jace (a.k.a. The Human Blowtorch) was not only alive, but also working for the enemy. And also, maybe, possibly, stalking her.
Awesome.
"Let me guess," I said, pacing. "You broke up with him because he wouldn't stop burning things?"
"Actually," she said, deadpan, "he cheated on me with a government spy, used my rebel plans to blow up a refugee convoy, then posted about it like it was a gym selfie."
I stopped. "…That's worse."
"Yeah."
Pause.
Then I said, "So, to recap, we're about to infiltrate a regime storage vault, download sensitive data, and hopefully not get turned into human barbeque by your arsonist ex?"
"Basically," she said, loading her stun gun like she was just getting ready for brunch. "And also, we don't make eye contact with him, or he'll think we're flirting."
"Renna, you literally kissed this man?"
She shrugged. "We all make mistakes in college."
---
Cut to: The Regime Storage Vault.
We're disguised as maintenance workers. I'm in a jumpsuit two sizes too big. Renna's wearing glasses that do nothing to hide the fact that she looks like she could kill someone with a clipboard.
We sneak in. Bypass security. Classic us.
It's all going fine until—BOOM.
The fire alarm blares. The room fills with smoke.
And emerging from the haze like a Bond villain on bath salts is…
"Renna," Jace purrs. "You still look like trouble."
I whisper, "This is why people block their exes."
She ignores me. "Put the flamethrower down, Jace."
He laughs. "You always knew how to ruin my fun."
Then he sees me.
His eyes narrow. "Who's the new toy?"
"I'm not a toy," I say. "I'm the one she likes now."
Why did I say that.
Jace raises the flamethrower. "Wanna bet?"
And that's when I grab Renna's hand and run.
---
Cue: Chase scene from hell.
We're sprinting through metal corridors while fire shoots behind us. Alarms are blaring. My lungs are crying. Renna looks mildly annoyed.
"Are you seriously jealous of my psychopath ex right now?" she shouts over the chaos.
"No! I'm just—very invested in not being flambéed!"
She rolls her eyes. "Left!"
We dodge into a tunnel. Jace's scream echoes behind us.
"You can't run forever, Renna!"
"Wanna bet?" she mutters.
---
Back at the van.
We made it out. Barely.
I'm sweating through my shirt. Renna's hair is singed at the ends.
And we're not talking. Like, at all.
So, of course, I open my mouth. "You still have feelings for him?"
Renna stares at me. "Are you serious?"
I shrug. "You didn't shoot him."
"I was too busy saving your butt."
"Right," I say, sarcasm creeping in like an unwanted houseguest. "Because I'm the emotional burden here."
"Don't make this about you," she snaps.
"Well, it kinda is about me when I'm getting roasted alive by your past mistakes!"
We glare at each other. Tension crackling like static.
Then she sighs. "Look… I pushed Jace away because I thought I didn't need anyone. Because caring makes you vulnerable."
I swallow. "And now?"
She looks down. "And now… I don't know what the hell I'm doing."
Beat.
I reach into my jacket. Pull out the storage chip we managed to grab mid-chase. "Well, at least we still have the data."
She nods. But her eyes are on me.
Not the chip.
Me.
"Thanks," she says softly. "For running with me."
I grin. "Anytime. Though next time, can we not include the flamethrower guy?"
She chuckles. "Deal."
And just like that, the air shifts.
She reaches for my hand.
Our fingers brush.
And this time—this time—nobody pulls away.