Ash stood at the edge of the abandoned overpass, wind dragging through her short-cropped hair, cold biting at her exposed skin. The sky above her was steel grey, shot through with low thunder, but it wasn't the storm she was watching.
It was the horizon.
And the city beyond it.
Phoenix was somewhere in that city. DaeCorp too. Both carving out power. Both trying to define her role in a story she never asked to be part of.
She was done waiting for either of them to hand her a name.
"You're sure about this?" Haru's voice came from behind her, low and close, but cautious. He wasn't trying to stop her. He never did.
Ash didn't look back. "There's no going back after this."
"There never was."
She nodded. Quiet. Solid.
He stepped beside her, slipping a data chip into her palm. "Everything's preloaded. Surveillance dump. Agent rosters. Payment trails. Communications between Arlen and DaeCorp sub-factions. If we broadcast this, you'll expose Phoenix as well as DaeCorp."
"I know."
He hesitated. "They'll both want you dead."
Ash finally turned to look at him, fire rising behind her eyes like dawn about to break. "Then they should've finished the job the first time."
The old comm tower still had juice.
Hidden under rubble and twisted metal was a transceiver console Phoenix had used before they went digital. Haru rigged it to reroute through pirate frequencies, and Ash loaded the payload.
She didn't use a codename.
She didn't hide her face.
The broadcast lasted sixty-eight seconds.
Long enough to expose Arlen's collusion with DaeCorp.
Long enough to show footage of Hollow inside Phoenix command — a silent visitor, a secret kept.
Long enough to remind the world she wasn't just the survivor.
She was the one lighting the match.
"You built me in blood," she said into the camera. "You caged me in silence. You named me like I was yours.
Call me Ash.
And call me again — but only when you're ready to burn."
The feed cut.
By nightfall, Phoenix had gone silent.
DaeCorp's outer facilities went into lockdown.
Chaos bloomed like fire across the network.
Ash watched it happen from the top of a half-flooded parking structure, arms wrapped around herself as the wind howled louder. Her heartbeat didn't spike. Her hands didn't tremble.
But something inside her shifted.
Not peace.
Not triumph.
Something darker.
"Do you regret it?" Haru asked, walking up beside her.
"Not yet," she said.
"Will you?"
"I don't think I was made to regret," she answered. "Only to survive."
He didn't try to argue.
Instead, he reached into his coat and pulled something out — the welded collar Hollow had left in that black box weeks ago.
Ash froze.
"I thought we burned that."
"I kept it," Haru said. "In case you wanted to destroy it your way."
She stared at it. The old steel glinting under the faint moonlight. Her past — unblinking. Cold.
Then she took it from him.
And threw it over the edge.
They watched it fall together.
No ceremony. No speeches.
Just the sound of metal meeting concrete, swallowed by the dark.
Later, in the safehouse, Ash sat on the floor beside the unlit heater, a towel around her shoulders, still damp from the rain. Her hands were scratched and her knuckles raw. She didn't even remember when she'd started bleeding.
Haru sat in front of her, a medkit open between them.
He reached out to clean her hand.
She didn't stop him.
But she didn't look at him either.
"I used to think love was weakness," she said.
"It isn't?"
"I don't know," she admitted. "But whatever this is between us… it's the only thing that hasn't tried to claim me."
He wrapped her hand carefully, thumbs gentle even when his jaw was tight. "I don't want to own you."
She looked up at him. "Then what do you want?"
"To stand beside you," he said. "Even if it kills me."
She studied him for a long moment.
Then leaned forward.
And kissed him.
Not soft. Not delicate. But slow and real.
Like claiming fire.
And being claimed in return.
In the morning, they left the safehouse behind.
No bags.
No comms.
Just each other, and the storm at their backs.
Because war was coming.
And Ash wasn't waiting to be called.
She was already answering.