“Obviously.”
“We don’t get sloppy.”
I raise an eyebrow.
“You’re still talking to me.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
She holds my gaze for another second, then nods once.
“Then we do this right,” she says.
I nod back.
“Together,” I add.
She doesn’t hesitate this time.
“Together,” she says.
The word sits between us, heavier than anything we’ve said so far.
Because this?—
This changes everything.
The fence hums steady, the line still there, still dividing us.
But it doesn’t feel like a barrier anymore.
It feels like a problem we’re about to break.
CHAPTER 11
JOLIE
The neutral zones don’t belong to anyone.
That’s what they tell us.
What that actually means is nobody claims them out loud, which leaves them open to anyone willing to move quietly enough not to get caught. The space between territories feels different the moment I step into it, like the ground itself has been abandoned by structure and replaced with something looser, something less predictable.
The air changes.
It loses that sharp, regulated dryness of the border and picks up a heavier, more stagnant weight, thick with dust that hasn’t been cleared and machinery that hasn’t been maintained. The scent settles low, a mix of rust, old coolant, and something faintly organic that lingers just beneath the surface, like decay that never fully took hold but never left either.
I move through the underground route with measured steps, my boots barely making a sound against the worn metal flooring. The corridor slopes unevenly in places, the panels warped just enough to remind me this space wasn’t built for long-term use. It was carved out, expanded, abandoned, and then quietly reused by people who didn’t want to be seen.
Exactly what I need.
I keep my breathing slow, controlled, my senses stretched wide as I move deeper. Every sound carries differently here, echoes bending around corners and returning in ways that make it harder to pinpoint direction. It forces attention, forces patience.
At the next junction, I pause.
Not because I’m unsure.
