The rain came down like the sky was trying to erase the city.
Aara sat in the half-lit room, her boots muddy, the scent of rust and ash still clinging to her skin. Her coat was hanging by the door — soaked, streaked with someone else's blood. Her own bruises had started to ache now that the adrenaline was gone.
She didn't bother treating them. Let them hurt.
Across from her, Haru leaned against the old heater, his shirt pulled halfway off as he pressed a sterile pad to his arm. Blood had soaked through the gauze.
"You're doing it wrong," she said finally.
He didn't look up. "Then come fix it."
Aara hesitated. Then stood.
She crossed the space slowly, the wooden floorboards creaking under her weight. Haru handed her the gauze without a word. She knelt beside him, and for a moment — just a moment — the room felt like something suspended in amber. Untouched. Fragile.
She peeled the old dressing away and cleaned the wound. It was cleaner than she expected — precise, like the blade meant to hurt but not kill. She hated how familiar that felt.
"You should've let me take the hit," she muttered.
"You wouldn't be saying that if you saw your own face."
"I've taken worse."
"I know."
She pressed the new gauze against his skin. Her fingers brushed his ribs — not intentional, but not quite accidental either. He didn't flinch. She did.
"You're too calm," she said, not looking at him.
"I'm bleeding. Doesn't mean I need to scream."
"No," she said softly. "But sometimes it helps."
Later, when the silence stretched long enough to feel like punishment, Haru spoke again.
"Jin's gone."
Aara blinked.
"Gone where?"
"Left in the middle of the night. Left his comms. Burner's smashed."
She stood up quickly, jaw tight. "He wouldn't just disappear."
Haru watched her pace. "Phoenix isn't a brotherhood. It's a network. People get reassigned. Silenced."
"No," she said. "He's not like that."
Haru raised an eyebrow. "You sure?"
She didn't answer.
They sat in silence after that. The heater clicked. The rain slowed. Aara leaned her head back against the wall and closed her eyes.
"You know," she said, "the first time I saw you, I wanted to break your jaw."
"I'm aware," Haru said dryly.
"You looked like everything I hated. Clean. Polished. Unscarred. Like power never touched you the way it touched me — with its fists."
She opened her eyes and looked at him.
"But you bled for me. Tonight."
He met her gaze. "That wasn't for you."
A pause.
"That was for me. For every time I didn't fight. For every second I let you be alone."
Aara's throat tightened.
She hated how honest he was now. How real. How unguarded. Like he'd carved himself open and offered her the mess.
She'd been surrounded by men who wanted to possess her. Mold her. Save her.
Haru didn't want any of that.
He just wanted to stand with her.
She sat forward, elbows on her knees, her voice quieter than before.
"You're the only one who doesn't look at me like I'm either broken or holy."
"I don't believe in saints," Haru said. "And I've seen broken. You're neither."
Hours passed.
The room cooled.
When Haru dozed off briefly in the chair, Aara stood and looked down at him. His head was tilted slightly, lips parted, hands relaxed. Vulnerable. Human. She reached toward him — stopped — then finally sat beside him on the floor, leaning just enough that her shoulder brushed his.
He stirred but didn't open his eyes.
"I'm tired of being watched," she whispered.
"You're not being watched," he murmured back. "You're being waited for."
And then he reached for her hand — slowly, no pressure — and laced his fingers through hers.
This time, she didn't pull away.
Outside, the storm finally broke.
But inside, something far more dangerous had begun.
Aara had always believed love was weakness.
But maybe, just maybe — with him — it could be war.
And she was ready to fight.