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Hayze and I walked back to my cabin in silence, our thoughts loud in the quiet forest. Inside, we sat across from each other at my small kitchen table—two souls bound by more than just a mission.
“We did it,” I whispered, almost disbelieving.
“We did,” Hayze agreed, his golden eyes softening in the dim light.
A quiet fell between us—a comfortable hush that allowed space for reflection. Today had been monumental—a pivot point in our fight against environmental injustice. But it had also laid bare the depth of what we were up against.
Hayze reached across the table and took my hand in his—an anchor in a sea that threatened to swallow us whole. “Arlet,” he whispered, “I’ve never... cared for someone as much as I care for you.”
My throat tightened at his words. To be cared for—truly cared for—was something new; something precious. “And I for you,” I admitted, squeezing his hand.
We shared our fears then—the possibility of retribution from West Corp or from shadows linked to my past life as Charlotte Bruno. But with each confession, our resolve deepened like roots into soil.
“And what about dreams?” Hayze asked after a pause. “What do you dream for the future?”
I considered his question—a future free from fear; one where our environment thrived; where maybe... just maybe... there was room for something as fragile and beautiful as love between two unlikely guardians of Earth.
I looked into Hayze’s eyes—those windows to an otherworldly soul—and saw my own dreams reflected there.
“We have much to fight for,” I said finally. “But tonight? Tonight we celebrate this victory and dream of a tomorrow where those fights are just memories.”
Hayze nodded in agreement, and we leaned toward each other—a meeting in the middle—a promise without words that whatever tomorrow brought, we’d face it together.
CHAPTER 17
Hayze
The glow of the screen cast a pallid light across my metallic skin as I scrolled through the latest environmental updates. Earth’s news had become a part of my routine, a way to stay one step ahead in protecting Arlet. The headline caught my eye like a thorn in a bed of leaves. “Who Is Arlet Rune, Really?” A sense of dread tightened around my chest, a feeling foreign and unwelcome.
I read through the lines, each word steeped in suspicion and curiosity about Arlet’s past. The writer had crafted their doubts into a sharp tool, probing for truth where they found none. Credentials questioned, history murky, their insinuations were like shadows creeping closer to the life she’d built.
I couldn’t keep this from her. As I approached Arlet with my tablet in hand, she looked up from her desk, her blue eyes reflecting the trust we’d nurtured between us.
“Arlet, there’s something you need to see.”
She took the tablet with a frown creasing her forehead. As she read, her expression shifted from confusion to anger, then settled into a determined set of her jaw. She handed the device back to me without a word.
“They’re digging,” she finally said. “Digging for something that doesn’t exist anymore.”
“Your past is yours to keep or share,” I assured her. “But this... it could draw unwanted attention.”
Arlet paced the room, steps measured and full of purpose. “My past shouldn’t matter. It’s what I’m doing now that counts.”
“The human world thrives on history and connection,” I pointed out. “An absence can be as telling as a presence.”
She stopped pacing and faced me, her posture defiant. “Then let them dig! They won’t find anything that can harm us—not anymore. Charlotte Bruno is dead and buried. Let them dig up the grave. They’ll find her there.”
I watched her closely, admiring the fire that burned within her despite the chill this article brought upon us.
“We should prepare,” I suggested. “In case they unearth more than just questions.”
Arlet nodded sharply. “We will.” Her voice was steel wrapped in velvet—a combination that had disarmed many.
As we sat down to strategize our response, I couldn’t help but marvel at her resilience. Here was a woman who had left everything behind to protect herself and was now facing the specter of her old life with unflinching courage.
Our discussion stretched into the night, plans laid out like pieces on a chessboard. We calculated each move with precision—how to address inquiries, how to remain transparent without giving too much away, how to keep fighting for our cause without faltering under scrutiny.
Arlet’s hand brushed against mine; it was warm, alive with the pulse of our shared struggle.
