The safe house creaked as the ocean wind pressed against its wooden walls. Night had already set in, deep and hushed, broken only by the distant crash of waves and the faint clicks coming from the living room where Shadow and the soldiers worked.
Sous stood in the hallway watching the scene without stepping fully into it. The glow of the overhead lamp washed over them, highlighting every glint of steel, every spread of disassembled parts arranged in neat rows on the long table.
Shadow's hands moved slow but precise. He never rushed. Even now, with age carved into him, with war wearing down the edges of what used to be unbreakable, he remained steady.
She once thought he was immovable, eternal when she was a kid. Now she was watching time itself pick at him.
Faye lounged on the couch with a rifle across her lap, quietly inspecting the barrel as if she were listening to the men talk rather than participating. Kara was by the window, half hidden by the curtain, gazing at the stretch of dark beach illuminated by the moon.
Sous didn't join any of them. She was content where she was.
Shadow sat at the head of the table in that old comfortable way of his, leather tool roll spread open, oil cloth resting by his knee. Two younger soldiers were with him, both human, both focused, both watching his hands with the kind of reverence only experience could command.
He murmured instructions and they listened, of course they would listen.
Sous leaned against the doorframe, arms folded, letting the sound lull her. She had never been sentimental but something in her chest tightened. He was in his seventies now. She had accepted a long time ago that he wouldn't keep up with her pace forever, but that was different from acknowledging the finality hanging in the air now that this war pressed at their borders.
This was his last fight. He knew it. She knew it. Everyone with half a brain knew it. For fucks sake, he said it himself.
He wiped the slide of one pistol with calm, practiced movements before reassembling it in a single fluid sequence. The soldier beside him whispered a compliment under his breath, something about how he made it look easy. Shadow only laughed, a soft, low sound, and placed the finished gun aside.
He reached for the next piece. His fingers trembled. It wasn't dramatic. It wasn't even noticeable unless someone had spent decades studying every nuance of his body. But Sous caught it and felt something heavy and unwanted inside her.
She stepped forward. Shadow looked up at the exact moment she did, as if he sensed her eyes.
"Done observing?" he asked, voice warm.
"Not done yet," she answered, shrugging casually as she came in. The soldiers nodded a greeting before returning to their tasks. Faye didn't glance up. Kara walked over to her mate, holding her muscular arm.
Sous circled the table, stopping behind Shadow's chair. She rested her hand on his shoulder. His body tensed, then relaxed beneath her fingers.
"You're working slow tonight," she said.
"Careful," he corrected, not looking up. "Big difference."
"Not that big."
He smirked. "To you maybe."
She squeezed gently, feeling the subtle ache beneath his muscles, the fatigue he tried to hide. He wasn't weak. He was just older now, carrying a lifetime of battles in bones that could no longer pretend to be thirty.
"Go rest," she murmured.
"Not yet." He picked up another part and set it carefully on the cloth. "Let me finish these."
"You already have three done. That's enough."
"Not when we might need every working piece we can carry."
Kara's hand slid down the back of Sous' neck. Her breath deepened, not in hesitation but in the way she always responded to her touch, like Kara was warning Sous to let him be.
Faye finally glanced up from the couch, observing the exchange without speaking. Kara turned to look at the priestess, eyes narrowing but not hostile. Faye nodded.
Kara leaned forward so her lips nearly brushed Sous' ear. "Come with me."
Sous didn't move at first. Her gaze stayed fixed on Shadow, on the slight tremor, on the stubborn set of his jaw as he fought against time as if it were just another enemy he could outmaneuver.
She hated seeing him lose ground to something she couldn't kill or outrun for him.
Shadow felt her eyes again and lifted his chin. "Go on," he murmured. "I'm not made of glass."
She almost argued. Almost. But Kara's fingers drummed lightly at her hip, a silent push, and Faye's look across the room wasn't judgmental, just knowing. They all understood Sous in ways she wished they didn't.
With one last sweep of her thumb along Shadow's shoulder, she stepped back.
He gave her a small smile.
Kara guided her toward the hallway, hand never leaving her back until they reached the dim quiet of the narrow space between rooms. The sound of the ocean pressed through the shutters, steady and relentless.
"You can't stand watching it," Kara said quietly.
Sous swallowed. "I can stand anything."
"You don't have to pretend with me."
Sous leaned her head back against the wall. For a moment she didn't speak. She didn't trust her voice. Didn't trust the heat behind her ribs.
"He's slowing down," she muttered.
"He's earned that." Kara stepped closer, tilting Sous' chin so their eyes met. "And he's not done tonight. Let him have this."
Sous closed her eyes. Kara kissed her forehead softly, grounding her with warmth she didn't ask for but didn't reject.
"You'll have to let him fight his last fight his own way," Kara whispered.
Sous exhaled, long and aching. "I know."
"Good." Kara took her hand. "Now breathe. Come lie down. The world will still be ending in the morning."
Sous snorted faintly, letting Kara pull her away from the noise of cleaning rifles, away from the reminder of mortality sitting at that table.
She didn't rest, not really, but she let Kara hold her until the tightness in her chest loosened enough for her to breathe again.