Page 42 of Crusher's Illusion

The safehouse is a one-level cabin surrounded by dense woods and more shadows than safety. He parks without a word. I wait for him to cut the engine before I speak.

“I didn’t mean for any of this,” I say, climbing off Crusher’s bike. On the ride here, I decided he needs to know everything.

He gets off the bike, stiff. “Yeah, well. Meaning and impact aren’t the same.”

“I saw her, Erik.” I pause, throat tight. “My sister. She was the girl Jordan died trying to save.”

That stops him in his tracks. “What?”

I open my phone, pull up the frozen video frame, and show him. His eyes narrow. Then widen.

“I didn’t know,” I whisper. “Not until today.”

He looks at me like I’ve changed shape. “You really didn’t know?”

“She didn’t tell me who it was that rescued her that night. She was sixteen. She disappeared for three months. Came home broken. Wouldn’t talk. Wouldn’t eat. I didn’t know the whole story… not until I saw that footage.”

He swears under his breath. “Why didn’t you say anything before?”

“Because I didn’t know,” I choke. “And because the second I did, I knew what it meant. Jordan died for her. And if the Syndicate finds out she’s connected to me…”

“You think they’ll use her to get to you,” he finishes.

“To get toyou, too,” I whisper.

He runs a hand down his face, grief and understanding flashing in equal measure. “Jesus.”

“I can help you decode the rest. The files. I know what to look for now. Names. Networks. Patterns.”

“You’re still in danger,” he says. But his voice is softer now.

His face is unreadable. But his hand twitches. Like he wants to reach for me, but doesn’t know if he’s allowed.

“I’m sorry,” I say, and I mean it. I don’t apologize very often, but when I do, it’s because I fucked up. “For the article. For the fallout. For not knowing how to stop any of it.”

Crusher doesn’t move for a second. Just stares like he’s trying to convince himself I’m a lie he can’t afford to believe. Then he gives in like gravity’s stronger than pride. His fingers graze my cheek, and his lips brush mine like a question.

I answer.

He kisses me like he’s making up for every time he doubted me. Like he wants to stop the world from spinning just by holding on tight enough. It’s slow and rough and aching with too many things unsaid.

When he pulls away, he presses his forehead to mine. “I want to believe you, Nevaeh.”

“I want to survive this.”

“We both might fail.”

“But we’ll do it together?”

For a second, he almost smiles. “You keep saying that like it’s a promise.”

I close my eyes. “Maybe it is.”

We stand there as the darkness rolls in. No more words. Just the quiet hum of survival and the heavy thrum of something deeper neither of us dares to name yet. But it’s there.

We let the silence hold the rest. And somehow,almostis enough to hold onto.

For now.