The kiss haunted her.
It wasn't about fireworks or lust or adrenaline. It was about trust. The kind Lexa rarely gave and Kira didn't think she'd earned.
And now, she wasn't sure if she could keep it.
By morning, the summit was poised to resume. The storm had passed, but the tension hadn't. People smiled in the way soldiers did before war—tight-lipped, all teeth and no warmth.
The alliance was fragile, hanging by a thread woven out of shared grief and desperation.
And someone was already sharpening the scissors.
Kira sensed it before she had proof. A wrong glance from the delegate of Azgeda. A too-quick reply from Kane. A whisper that died when she stepped into a room.
She didn't need to know who yet.
She just needed to stop what was coming.
Titus found her outside the temple, sharpening her knife.
"You don't trust them," he said.
Kira didn't look up. "I don't trust anyone I wouldn't bleed for."
The old Flamekeeper knelt beside her. "The Commander trusts you. I do not."
She smiled without humor. "We're in agreement, then."
He narrowed his eyes. "There are whispers among the clans. That you are no one. That you are not of the blood, not of the line. That you stepped into this world."
Kira met his gaze. "Do you want the truth?"
"I want what's best for her."
Kira leaned in. "So do I. That's the only reason you haven't tried to kill me."
Titus didn't argue.
But he didn't deny it either.
The attack came not with a shout—but with silence.
Kira was walking the outer perimeter when she saw it: a flicker of movement near the water barrels. Too small for a soldier. Too fast for a mistake.
She followed.
And found a child.
No older than ten, clutching a small pouch.
She crouched. "Easy. What's your name?"
The child didn't speak. Just held out the pouch.
Kira opened it.
And froze.
Inside was a small device. Cylindrical. Smooth.
She'd seen it once—twenty years in the future.
A blast core.
An Ark tech remnant turned into a bomb.
She turned toward the temple, heart pounding.
"Shit."
She ran.
Past startled guards. Past confused allies. Into the heart of the summit.
Lexa was mid-speech. Clarke and Abby were seated on either side. Bellamy stood, leaning forward, already suspicious.
Kira didn't stop to explain. She tossed the pouch across the table. It landed with a clatter, rolling toward Kane.
He picked it up, frowning. "What is this?"
Clarke's eyes widened. "Where did you get that?"
"Outside," Kira said. "With a child."
Lexa stood. "What is it?"
"A bomb," Kira said. "Blast radius wide enough to take out half this temple."
Everyone exploded at once.
Bellamy reached for his weapon. Kane stood, barking orders. Trikru warriors poured into the room.
Lexa turned to her guards. "Lock it down. Nobody leaves."
"Who would do this?" Abby demanded.
Kira locked eyes with Lexa. "Someone who wants this alliance to fail."
Then she turned.
"The Azgeda delegate. Where is he?"
Gone.
They found him in the storage cellar.
Dead.
Throat cut. Quickly. Cleanly.
Too clean for panic. Too efficient for accident.
Kira stood over the body as Titus examined it.
"He was silenced," the Flamekeeper said.
"Which means he wasn't the one planting the bomb," Kira muttered. "Just the fall guy."
A message carved into his chest in Trigedasleng:
"The Commander is blind."
Lexa read it.
And her jaw clenched.
That night, Lexa paced her chambers.
The summit had been suspended. Trust, once again, shattered.
"Who knew about the blast core?" she asked.
Kira leaned against the wall. "Not many. Even in Arkadia, only a handful of engineers could arm one."
Lexa stopped. "Then Skaikru?"
"Or someone pretending to be Skaikru."
Lexa turned, storm in her eyes. "They think I am weak."
Kira stepped closer. "You are not weak. But you are human."
Lexa didn't blink. "They will take that for weakness."
"You can't let fear rule you," Kira said. "That's what they want."
Lexa looked at her. "Then tell me what to do."
Kira hesitated.
"I think it's time we fight shadows with shadows."
That same night, Kira found Clarke alone near the summit gardens.
"You saved them," Clarke said. "Even though they don't see it."
"I didn't do it for them."
"No," Clarke said quietly. "You did it for her."
Kira nodded. "I'd do worse for her."
"Then you'll understand why I can't leave."
Kira blinked. "What?"
"I'm staying. In Polis. If there's going to be another attack, I won't be far away this time."
Kira wasn't sure how she felt about that.
Clarke met her gaze. "You care about her. I do too. That doesn't have to make us enemies."
Kira exhaled. "We'll see."
The next morning, Kira summoned Linnea—the silent shadow she'd kept on standby since the tower siege. Linnea didn't speak unless needed. She was a whisper in the dark.
"You said if I needed you, to call," Kira said.
Linnea nodded.
"I need you to find the real traitor. I don't care how deep you have to go."
Linnea bowed once.
And vanished.
Kira turned toward the window.
Outside, the banners of the coalition fluttered in the wind.
The war had not yet begun.
But the pieces were moving.
And this time, she would not wait for the enemy to strike first.
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