Chapter Text
The door to the war room hadn’t fully closed behind Kaitlyn before Cruz spoke. “You still think she’s just an asset?”
Kaitlyn’s expression was unreadable—shoulders squared, arms crossed over a plain black blouse, her hair up in its usual unshakable twist. “She’s not just anything.”
Cruz stood near the window, arms folded, her jaw tight and unreadable. Her shoulder throbbed, the wound from Kamal’s ambush having reopened slightly during the melee.
She hadn’t told anyone. Not yet. She didn’t want Kaitlyn seeing her weakened.
“She saved lives tonight,” Cruz said, keeping her tone flat. Controlled. “Put her own body in front of mine.”
“I saw, and I also saw her hesitate. I saw you shield her, once Kamal revealed himself.”
“She was injured,” Cruz countered. “Not frozen. She’s not trained for combat. She’s not an operator. But she didn’t run, and she didn’t break. She stood her ground.”
“Your defense of her doesn’t surprise me,” Kaitlyn said, stepping further into the room. “What does surprise me is that you still think I’m the one you have to convince. You didn't waste the opportunity once he was distracted. You took it.”
Cruz narrowed her eyes.
“You made your demands,” Kaitlyn lowered herself slowly into the seat at the long mahogany table. “I approved them. The paperwork is signed. But that doesn’t mean I won’t monitor the situation. Closely. If Aaliyah becomes a security risk—or if you do—we both know what happens next.”
Cruz walked over, arms still folded across her chest. “You won’t get that chance. She’s protected now. And so am I.”
“You’re not bulletproof, Cruz. Don’t start thinking you are just because I didn’t fight you on the package.”
There was a beat of silence.
“Was Kamal working alone? Or is he a symptom of a deeper infection?”
Kaitlyn’s gaze sharpened. “We believe Kamal had contingency protocols. Encrypted backdoors in the comms grid. There's a chance someone else might activate what he put in motion if they suspect he’s compromised. We’re going to need Amrohi Oil’s infrastructure—and your relationship with Aaliyah—to cut those wires before they spark.”
“So we’re not done,” Cruz said flatly.
“You were never done. You just finally get to choose how you play.”
Cruz stepped closer. “And you still want her to walk into the line of fire. Alone. But this time with her name on the company, and her blood on the contracts.”
“She doesn’t have to be alone. That’s her choice. Yours too.”
Cruz’s hands curled into fists. “You ever pull anything like this again—separate us, interrogate her the way you did—there won’t be a negotiation. There won’t be a mission. There’ll be hell to pay.”
Kaitlyn met her gaze squarely. “Understood.”
The safehouse felt different now. The threat had passed—at least for the moment—and it was like the whole place had exhaled. The team was running perimeter rotations in pairs. Tucker and Tex were cleaning weapons in the rec room. Bobby stood watch on the balcony.
Inside, the master bedroom was filled with the low murmur of voices and the shifting rhythm of preparation. Aaliyah stood in front of the floor-length mirror, trying on the suit they’d had delivered that morning—tailored navy with a high collar and gold buttons, striking yet modest. Her hijab was a soft cream, pulled low over her ears, framing her face like a portrait.
Cruz sat on the edge of the bed, barefoot, watching her. She didn’t say anything, just looked.
Aaliyah noticed and turned slightly. “You’re staring.”
“Damn right I am.”
A slow smile spread across Aaliyah’s face, but her eyes were laced with nerves.
“You’re going to be perfect,” Cruz said. She stood and walked over to her, trailing her fingers over the line of Aaliyah’s sleeve. “You already are.”
“Once this goes public,” Aaliyah said softly, “there’s no hiding. Not from the press. Not from our enemies. Not from the world.”
Cruz nodded. “That’s why we do it on our terms.”
“And if they don’t accept it?”
Cruz leaned in, brushing her lips against her temple. “Then we show them what acceptance looks like.”
Joe entered the room quietly. She wore black jeans, a tactical jacket, and a headset clipped to her belt. “Our camera crew is arriving in thirty. Kaitlyn wants her statement finalized. We'll get set up and begin the livestream before the evening news cycle.”
Aaliyah nodded once.
Cruz turned toward Joe. “And Kamal? What about whoever he was working with?”
“Still checking backchannels. Cruz made sure he was dead. But we’re verifying the network is too. If he left anyone behind to pick up the pieces, we’ll know within 24-48 hours.”
Joe handed a sleek, leather portfolio to Aaliyah. “Your final statement. We’ve made adjustments, but it’s your voice.”
Aaliyah opened it, eyes scanning the pages. Her hands trembled just slightly.
Cruz noticed.
“You’re not doing this alone,” she said. “You never were.”
Aaliyah looked up. “Come with me?”
Cruz nodded. “Every step.”
The cameras were already set up by the time they arrived.
It wasn’t a podium in front of a sea of reporters—not yet. That would come later. For now, this was controlled, intimate. A pressroom disguised as neutral ground—an undisclosed U.S. embassy building with heavily redacted coordinates and double security protocols. The room had been carefully staged: warm lighting, national flags, subtle nods to Amrohi Oil’s branding, and a backdrop that bore no emblems at all. It was meant to look both official and apolitical.
Aaliyah stood in the to the side, barely blinking.
Cruz stayed beside her, her presence a steady anchor. She wore a dark suit—plain, pressed, sharp-lined. Not military, not casual. She looked like what she was now: someone who’d earned the freedom to show up fully as herself. Not a weapon. Not an operative. Just a woman who stood by the person she loved.
Joe lingered a few feet away, giving them space.
“You ready?” Cruz murmured.
Aaliyah exhaled slowly. “No. But I’ll never be more ready than this.”
A cue light blinked once. Live in 10.
She turned toward Cruz. “Will you stand behind the curtain?”
Cruz shook her head. “I’ll be off camera. But you’ll feel me. Right here.” She touched her hand lightly to Aaliyah’s lower back. “Always.”
Aaliyah nodded. She took one more breath, straightened her shoulders, and stepped into the light.
The room fell quiet. Camera rolling. A low beep confirmed the livestream connection.
Aaliyah paused for just a moment. Then she began.
“My name is Aaliyah Amrohi. You’ve heard of me—but I doubt you’ve truly seen me.
“Today I claim my name, my legacy, and my future. Not because others have allowed it—but because I am choosing it.
“In the wake of my father’s death and the exposure of criminal operations that threatened stability across the Middle East, I have made the decision to assume leadership of Amrohi Oil. This decision was not made lightly. I do not take up this role to protect profits. I do so to protect people.
“For too long, energy in our region has been used as a weapon. I intend to turn it into a tool—for sustainability, for equity, and for peace. I will restructure our operations, reallocate profits toward educational and humanitarian partnerships, and ensure transparency at every level.
“I will not be a puppet. I will not be silent. And I will not work alone.
“As part of this new era, I have requested and received full U.S. citizenship and diplomatic protection, not as a favor, but as recognition of what I bring to the table—integrity, insight, and a commitment to justice.
“To those who question my loyalties, I say this: I have given everything. My home, my safety, my name. But I have also found something. Something stronger than fear, louder than doubt. I found love. I found purpose. And I refuse to apologize for either.
“There are those who will try to discredit me. There are those who already have. But I invite you to look closely. Look at what I stand for. Look at what I’m building. And then decide where you stand.”
She paused. Let the silence linger.
“This is only the beginning.”
The livestream ended. The cameras clicked off. The broadcast cut to news outlets across the globe, and within minutes, her name was trending in four languages. Analysts scrambled. Old alliances shifted. Headlines formed.
Inside the room, there was a long, humming silence.
Then a single clap—Joe. Followed shortly by the rest of the team.
She stepped forward. “Hell of a first act.”
Cruz approached from behind and laced her fingers through Aaliyah’s. “They saw you.”
Aaliyah turned toward her, eyes bright. “Do you think they understood?”
“They will,” Cruz said. “Because you didn’t just announce your legacy. You lit the fuse.”
The fallout began before the team's applause stopped.
Within an hour of Aaliyah’s broadcast, international networks were running commentary in real time—each segment dissecting every sentence, every pause, every word from her lips like scripture or scandal.
Saudi officials issued a public statement questioning the legitimacy of her claim. The U.S. State Department issued a non-statement that only confirmed she had been granted “protected status under an undisclosed arrangement.” There were rumors of boardroom walkouts at Amrohi Oil. There were also whispers of silent applause.
Kaitlyn Meade stood at the head of the conference table at Langley—her posture impossibly straight, one hand resting on the back of her chair, the other scrolling through a tablet.
“This is a goddamn storm,” she muttered.
Joe stood nearby, arms crossed, her team scattered around the perimeter of the room—Tex, Tucker, Two Cups, and Bobby. All quiet. All listening.
“She knew it would be,” Joe said simply.
“She didn’t flinch,” Bobby added, almost admiringly. “That took stones.”
“She has more than most world leaders,” Kaitlyn said, not looking up. “But that kind of power paints a target. And we just helped her draw the crosshairs.”
Joe didn’t blink. “We also helped stabilize a region that’s been on fire for decades. She wants peace. She wants reform. That scares people.”
Kaitlyn exhaled sharply, glancing around. “You’ve all seen the chatter. The chatter’s already turned into strategy. Oil futures are surging. Proxy states are panicking. And Kamal's network hasn’t resurfaced—yet.”
That name still turned heads in the room. The only loose thread left.
“Until they do,” she continued, “you stay on them. Full rotation. No gaps. If he shows up, we don’t wait. We dice up the rest of the snake.”
Her voice was clipped, final.
Joe gave a single nod. “Understood.”
Hours later, Cruz and Aaliyah sat barefoot on the patio behind their new safehouse, staring out at the ocean. The team was still nearby—Tex had taken first watch from the bluff behind the guesthouse, while Bobby and Two Cups were double-checking the perimeter—but for now, they had solitude. And silence.
Cruz had shed her jacket, lounging in a sleeveless black tee and cargo pants, feet propped on the railing. Aaliyah curled beside her, wrapped in a thin blanket, her head resting on Cruz’s shoulder.
Neither of them had spoken for a while.
The world was shifting. But for now, they didn’t have to.
Aaliyah finally broke the quiet. “Did you ever imagine this?”
Cruz gave a dry chuckle. “Me? Sitting in a beach house after helping overthrow half a legacy oil empire? With the woman I—” She caught herself. “No. Never.”
“You can say it.”
Cruz turned slightly. “I love you. That’s the part I never thought I’d say out loud.”
Aaliyah smiled, soft but radiant. “I love you too.”
A pause.
“I meant what I said up there,” Aaliyah whispered. “About us building something. About this being only the beginning.”
Cruz tilted her chin down to rest on Aaliyah’s head. “I know. And I meant what I told Kaitlyn. No more running. No more hiding. Wherever you go, I go.”
Aaliyah’s fingers threaded between Cruz’s. “I want to find a place. Not just a house. A home. For us.”
“I’d like that,” Cruz said. “Someplace with sunlight. Space. Peace.”
Aaliyah glanced up. “And a garden. I want to grow things. Isn’t that strange?”
Cruz shook her head. “You’ve seen enough destruction. Wanting to create now isn’t strange—it’s human.”
They both looked out at the water.
For the first time in what felt like months, neither of them felt like they had to be on edge.
No alarms. No urgent briefings. Just the hush of waves and the warmth of the other’s hand.
Kaitlyn stood against the wall, arms crossed, watching the flurry of final preparations as press aides checked lighting, microphones, and the precise angle of the flag behind the podium. She caught sight of Cruz lingering near the far edge of the staging area, tension radiating off her in quiet waves.
She approached with the same careful authority Cruz had come to expect.
“You got a second?” Kaitlyn asked.
Cruz didn’t look over. “Just one.”
Kaitlyn waited until they were out of earshot before speaking. “We’ll release the joint statement as soon as Aaliyah finishes the briefing. The language is careful—doesn’t suggest coercion, doesn’t fully confirm prior involvement, just contextualizes the facts and highlights her leadership transition.”
Cruz’s jaw flexed, but she nodded. “You already decided that before you asked me, didn’t you?”
“Of course,” Kaitlyn said plainly. “But you still deserved to know. And… to weigh in, if you had objections.”
Cruz’s voice was low. “She’s going to be under a microscope. You realize that, right? Every move she makes. Every alliance she forms. They’ll tear her apart if they get the chance.”
Kaitlyn didn’t argue. “Then it’s a good thing she has you.”
That gave Cruz pause. She looked at Kaitlyn, surprised. There was no smugness in Kaitlyn’s face—just a hint of the weight she carried herself. A hint that she wasn’t nearly as immune to consequence as she pretended to be.
“I read your revised personnel recommendation,” Kaitlyn said quietly. “You want to be off the books. Permanently.”
“Yes.”
“You could do more with us. Train incoming handlers. Intel strategy. Safer work. Cleaner.”
Cruz shook her head. “I’ve done enough. This—” She glanced back toward the hallway where Aaliyah’s voice filtered softly through the cracked door, rehearsing one last line. “This is the only mission that ever mattered.”
Kaitlyn looked at her for a long moment. “It’s done then. Your discharge is final. Joe has the file. All the strings are cut.”
She turned to go, but paused, glancing over her shoulder. “Keep her safe, Cruz. We'll be watching.”
Cruz replied without hesitation. “Always.” Cruz wasn't sure if her response was to them watching or keeping Aaliyah safe. Maybe both.
Joe entered the green room giving Cruz and Aaliyah a nod before running through logistics one last time, “Bobby and Tex will be in the back of the crowd. Two Cups is running drone support. I’ll be at the perimeter with Randy. No one gets close unless they’re cleared.”
Aaliyah reached for Cruz instinctually. Cruz met her gaze, "You got this. I'll be right behind you."
The room was filled. Clean lines, perfect lighting, and an air of charged anticipation. Bobby stood along the side wall, arms crossed, watching every inch of the room like a hawk. Cruz hovered behind the curtain, out of sight but never far.
Aaliyah took a breath as she stepped up to the podium. Her posture regal but grounded. Her curls were pinned back loosely, framing her face. She wore a sharp cream blazer over a black silk blouse, and her Amrohi family ring caught the light as she adjusted the mic.
The room fell silent.
“Thank you for being here,” she began. Her voice carried effortlessly, strong and calm. “My name is Aaliyah Amrohi, and I am the daughter of the late Asmar Amrohi.”
There was a murmur, a ripple of cameras flashing, but she didn’t flinch.
“For years, my father’s legacy has loomed large over the global energy sector. His influence—political, financial, and often, opaque—has had profound effects on both domestic and international relations. I speak today not to defend his legacy, but to take responsibility for the one I intend to build.”
Cruz listened, heart pounding.
“I have agreed to assume leadership of Amrohi Oil. Not in the traditional sense, and not from the seat of inherited power. I will do so from a distance, through a restructured trust and board, governed by transparency, monitored by international observers, and guided by the principles of equity and environmental transition.”
Another flash of cameras.
“My decision was not born from ambition. It was born from necessity. And from hope—that my position can prevent the company from falling into hands that would weaponize its resources or destabilize the region further. I want to be clear: I do not seek control. I seek accountability.”
There was a silence that followed—deep and still, as if the room itself was holding its breath.
“I have committed to work with U.S. and international entities to provide aid, stability, and infrastructure support to areas most impacted by recent conflicts. I will do so not as a symbol of wealth, but as a woman who has seen firsthand what power without restraint can destroy.”
She paused, then delivered the final line:
“Effective immediately, I begin that work.”
She stepped back. No questions. No interviews. Just the truth, and a door closed behind her as she walked offstage, heart racing.
Cruz was waiting just beyond the curtain. When their eyes met, Aaliyah sagged just slightly—just enough for Cruz to catch her in an embrace. Silent. Steady. Home.
The silence was almost unbearable at first.
After days of planning, security rotations, diplomatic wrangling, and the press briefing that had just shaken the global media landscape, the quiet was too complete. But it didn’t last. As soon as the door clicked shut behind them and they were alone, the silence turned sacred.
Aaliyah sank onto the edge of the bed, her blazer sliding from her shoulders in a single, elegant motion. Cruz stood nearby, watching her—not like a bodyguard, not like an agent. But like a woman seeing the person she loves take her first real breath in weeks.
“I thought I was going to throw up,” Aaliyah murmured, her voice hoarse with fatigue and adrenaline. “I’ve never talked into a wall of cameras like that in my life.”
“You didn’t look it,” Cruz replied softly, crossing the room. “You looked like a queen.”
Aaliyah smiled faintly, eyes rimmed with fatigue. “That might be the only time I do.”
Cruz crouched in front of her, hands resting on Aaliyah’s knees. “You crushed it, baby. You owned that room. And every single one of them knew it.”
Aaliyah looked down, the gravity of the moment pressing into her chest now that it was done. “It’s real now.”
“It’s always been real.”
“No,” she whispered. “It’s ours now. Not survival. Not espionage. Not some mission. Just… life.”
Cruz reached up, brushing a curl behind Aaliyah’s ear, her fingers trailing down her jaw. “That’s what I want. Life with you.”
Aaliyah leaned forward, resting her forehead against Cruz’s. “Even if it’s complicated? Even if the world’s still watching?”
“I’ve been under a microscope most of my adult life,” Cruz murmured. “But I’ve never cared about being seen until you.”
They stayed like that for a long while. Breathing in sync. Skin pressed skin. Eyes closed. The hum of a ceiling fan and the distant waves from the beach below filled the space between them.
Then Cruz pulled back just enough to look her in the eyes. “I want to show you something.”
Aaliyah tilted her head. “Now?”
Cruz nodded, standing and offering her hand.
They walked barefoot through the wide corridor of the estate. Past arched windows framing the setting sun, down to the back deck that overlooked the water. The sky was painted in streaks of amber and gold, melting into the soft pinks of dusk.
But Cruz didn’t stop there. She led her down the stone path to the small garden tucked beneath the palm trees. There was a bench—sleek, wood-carved, clearly new. Beside it, a cluster of potted jasmine plants had been placed around a table with two glasses and a chilled bottle of sparkling water.
“Tex brought this stuff from town earlier,” Cruz said. “I asked for one space to be just for us.”
Aaliyah touched the petals of the jasmine, breathing in the scent. “Why jasmine?”
“You told me once it reminded you of your childhood. Of home.”
Aaliyah’s throat tightened. She looked at Cruz, the ache in her chest blooming wide.
“I don’t know where we’ll go after this,” Cruz said quietly. “But I want you to know… I’ve been looking.”
“For what?”
“A home,” she said. “Not just a place to hide. Not a fallback. A real home.”
Aaliyah wrapped her arms around her, pressing her cheek to Cruz’s chest. “We’ll find it. And when we do, it’ll be because we fell in love with it together.”
They held each other until the light dimmed and the cicadas began to sing. There were no interruptions. No calls. No plans. Just the comfort of knowing they’d stepped out of the fire and into something that might just grow roots.
And tomorrow… the world would come calling again.