I can face whatever comes next. Whatever Margot decides. Whatever Richard does. Whatever the police find at the facility. Whatever the world looks like on the other side of this night. I can face all of it because I’m not alone.
I'm not alone.
Zero's forehead is still pressed against mine. His hands are still on my face. He hasn't let go.
"I love you," I say. To all of them. Not in a letter. Not in ink. Out loud. "I love you. All of you. I should have been saying it for months and I'm not scared anymore. I love you."
Nobody speaks.
“God,I love every single one of you.”
Zero kisses me. Soft—softer than I knew he could be. His mouth barely brushing mine because my lip is split and he knows, he can feel exactly where it hurts through the bond, and he's careful.
Zero is being careful. That alone almost makes me cry.
"We need to go," Atlas says. He stands. The machine clicks back on—not cold this time, just steady. The Atlas who has the next move. "Max isn't staying here. Not another night. Not another fucking hour."
He looks at Zero.
"Go inside. Grab the bag you packed. Then go to Max's room and get everything you can find. Clothes, his notebook, whatever's on his desk. Anything that's his. Meet us at the Ellsworth."
The Ellsworth. The hotel from the night they pulled me out of the facility. The hotel where Atlas and I spent our date night alone.
Zero nods once. Stands. Crosses the gravel toward the front door without looking back—unlaced boots slapping the stone, Atlas's jacket tight across his shoulders.
"Come on," Bane says.
He stands and lifts me off the ground. I don't fight it. I don't have anything left to fight with. He picks me up the way he picked me up on the dock—arms under my back and knees, my head against his chest—and carries me to the car.
Atlas opens the back door. Bane slides in with me still in his arms, pulling me onto his lap, my legs across the seat, my face tucked into his neck. He doesn't rearrange. Doesn't shift me to a more practical position. He keeps me exactly where I am—pressed against his chest, no space between us, not a single inch—and his arms tighten like he's daring the universe to try and take me again.
Atlas gets behind the wheel. I feel his bond pulse once—steady, deliberate. The Atlas version ofI'm here.
He drives.
I feel the estate leaving more than I see it. The turns I've memorized—the bend past the gardens, the dip near the tree line, the long straight stretch toward the main road. Each one pulling me further from the place that was never really mine but held everything I love.
"Bane," I whisper low enough that I know only he can hear me.
"Mm."
"I love you." Into the crook of his neck. My mouth against his pulse. "I love you. I'm sorry about the library. I'm sorry I ran. I should have said it then."
His hand tightens in my hair. His chest hitches once—one sharp inhale that he swallows before it becomes anything else.
"Say it again," he says. Rough. Barely there.
"I love you."
"Again."
"Ilove you, Bane."
His mouth presses against the top of my head. He holds it there. I can feel him shaking—the fine tremor running through his whole body, the tremor he's been hiding all night because Bane doesn't shake, Bane is the steady one, Bane is the floor. But the floor is shaking right now and I'm lying on it and I don't mind. Let it shake. I'm not going anywhere.
The drive is short. Fifteen minutes. Atlas parks in the underground lot and Bane carries me to the elevator and the elevator takes us up and the doors open and it's the Ellsworth. Same hallway. Same carpet. Same specific hotel smell of clean linen and recirculated air that I don't remember but my body does—I feel something twitch in my chest, a muscle memory from one of the worst nights of my life landing in the softest place I'd ever been.
Atlas opens the suite door. Bane sets me on the couch. Wraps a blanket around my shoulders. Goes to the kitchen and comes back with ice wrapped in a hand towel. Presses it gently to my cheekbone.
