Page 69 of Autumn L.A.W

It felt inevitable.

They walked back the way they’d come, torchlight dimming behind them, the chamber retreating into itself. The seam parted easily this time, responsive, as though the place had accepted the shape of what they’d done.

Cool desert air rushed in.

Moonlight washed over them, bright and ordinary and startling after the enclosed dark. Sahara paused just outside the seam, blinking as if surprised the world was still intact.

Ezra squeezed her hand. “You did it.”

She smiled faintly. “We did.”

He didn’t argue. He turned their joined hands slightly, thumb brushing her knuckles in quiet agreement.

The truck sat where they’d left it, engine idling low. The driver hadn’t moved. He didn’t step out, didn’t ask for details, didn’t even glance at the sand or the place where the seam had been.

“All set?” he asked, already reaching for the wheel.

“Yes,” Sahara said.

Ezra nodded once.

That was it. No paperwork. No reports. No explanations. Sweet relief!

They climbed into the back as the truck lurched forward, tires biting into uneven ground. Sahara stumbled when it started moving, and Ezra’s arm came around her waist automatically, catching her before she could overcorrect.

She laughed under her breath. “Graceful.”

“Timing was ambitious,” he replied, smiling.

There was no seating to speak of. Just metal walls and the dull thrum of the engine. They settled against the side, bracing themselves as the truck bounced along the desert track.

Sahara ended up between Ezra’s legs, back against his chest so she could keep her balance. His arm stayed around her middle, loose but sure, the other hand still linked with hers.

It was practical.

It was also unmistakably intimate.

The truck rocked. The desert passed unseen.

For a while, neither of them spoke.

Sahara stared at their joined hands, thumb tracing the familiar line of his knuckle. “I can still feel it,” she said finally. “Not the entity. The weight. The responsibility.”

Ezra lowered his chin near her temple. “That doesn’t fade just because the danger’s gone.”

“No,” she agreed. “It means it mattered.”

He smiled against her hair. “That’s usually the part people run from.”

She leaned into him a little more, choosing the contact. “You’re not running.”

“I’ve had enough of that,” he said quietly.

The truck hit a bump, and she grabbed his arm, laughing softly as he tightened his hold to steady them both.

She leaned to one side and glanced up at him. “I told you once we made a great team.”

His expression softened. “You did.”