ACT II: Riptides and Resolve

by iguanaeyez

Summary:

The hunt for Imran Amrohi and Kamal Al Rashdi...Will Cruz and the QRF be able to take down these threats before they get to Aaliyah? Who can they trust? Can Cruz and Aaliyah find their way back amidst the chaos? Expect layered missions and some cat-and-mouse as motives come to light.

If you haven't yet, check out ACT I: Fallout and Fractures. This story picks up from there. Thanks for reading!

Chapter 1: The Storm

Notes:

If you haven't yet, check out ACT I: Fallout and Fractures. This story picks up from there. Thanks for reading!

WARNING - Graphic portrayal of war/violence, children involved.

The desert outside Riyadh rolled beneath them in waves of gold and dust. The SUV convoy cut across the empty landscape like a blade—fast, tight, silent but for the occasional squawk of comms check-ins.

Inside the lead vehicle, Cruz sat between Bobby and Tex. Her shoulder ached with every dip in the terrain, every jolt that reminded her she was still healing—but she gritted her teeth and pushed through. Her rifle was in her lap. Every piece of gear was double-checked. Every plan drilled into her bones. Across from her, Randy watched the terrain through slitted eyes. “Four klicks out. This road turns into a trail in another half-mile. We stop at the ridge.”

“Copy,” Cruz said, her voice low. Calm. Too calm.

Bobby studied her from the side. “You good?”

Cruz didn’t look at her. “I’m fine.”

“Bullshit,” Tex muttered, earning a warning glance from Randy.

Cruz leaned forward. “We get in. We confirm the presence of Imran and Kamal. We copy the transaction and take both of them. No loose ends. Fast in. Clean out. We move on my signal.”

“Assuming it’s just the two of them,” Bobby said. “We’re not walking into a goddamn militia.”

“Which is why Tucker’s got overwatch,” Tex said. “He spots anything weird, he radios it.”

The vehicle slowed, wheels crunching on gravel as they crested a ridge that overlooked the MANTIS compound. The main house was sprawling—white stone walls, arched courtyards, balconies shaded by sculpted awnings. Beyond the estate walls, low buildings dotted the property. Some for security. Others… Cruz knew better than to guess.

Tucker’s voice cut in through the comms. “Got movement. Two SUVs just arrived at the north gate. One of them matches the plate tied to Kamal.”

Cruz exhaled. “Confirmed visual?”

“Confirmed. It’s him. Imran’s there too. He stepped out of the main house to greet him.”

Tex muttered, “Bingo.”

Cruz’s voice turned steely. “Let’s go.”

Gear clicked into place. Weapons locked and loaded. The team moved like smoke through the outer perimeter, fast—shadows in the heat, flanking low behind the brush line as they approached from the south wall. The compound's outer defenses were minimal, relying on remoteness and wealth to stay unchallenged. That arrogance was going to cost them.

Tex and Randy took point, scanning the narrow garden paths and stone-covered ground for tripwires, motion sensors, or anything that screamed trap. Cruz trailed behind them, her movements controlled but careful, the stiffness in her shoulder managed with grit and adrenaline. Bobby covered the rear, fanning out just wide enough to spot threats before they became fatal. Two Cups would handle exfil.

The compound loomed ahead, bathed in moonlight and surveillance shadows, a sprawling stone structure with high walls and a central courtyard. Spotlights arced slowly across the yard, never quite meeting the edges—a flaw in coverage Cruz had already clocked. They reached the breach point. Cruz signaled. Tex took out the security cam with a pulse jammer. Bobby climbed the wall first. Then Randy. Then Tex. Then Cruz—gritting through the sear of pain as she hoisted herself up one-armed, rolled over the edge, and dropped low into the courtyard’s shade.

Voices drifted from inside—Arabic. Laughter. Deals being made. Cruz raised a fist. They paused.

Over comms: “Tucker, confirm Kamal and Imran’s position.”

“Dining room. Far east wing. Surrounded by six guards. Minimal surveillance inside. You’ll need to be quick.”

Cruz turned to Tex and Randy. “We breach soft. Capture/kill both. Once we’re in, there’s no turning back.”

Bobby gave a nod. “Let’s burn this bitch down.”

Cruz’s hand hovered over her radio, hesitated. Then she tapped once. “Joe, you copy?”

A second later: “Copy.”

“And Aaliyah?”

Her voice came through—steady, clipped. “I’m here.”

Cruz exhaled at the sound. Let it settle something inside her. “We’re moving.”

Her comms crackled softly.

Joe: "You’ve got a three-minute window until the next patrol loops around the eastern wall. You’ll need to breach before then or abort."

Tex: "Copy. Setting charges now."

He crouched low, sliding a shaped charge against the outer wall’s weak seam. The quiet click-click of arming mechanisms filled Cruz with that cold, familiar sense of waiting. This part always felt longer than it was. Then the soft phfft of detonation, nearly soundless but effective. A thin line of smoke curled away as the stone groaned and split. Enough for a person—barely.

They slipped inside. The hall was dim and unfinished. Plaster over stone. It smelled faintly of oil and gunmetal. Cruz swept her rifle ahead as she advanced, senses lit like flares.

Tucker: “Thermals showing three bodies two levels down. Holding position.”

Bobby: “Copy that. Secondary heat source just popped up. West wing.”

 

They moved with precision, every footstep soft, every breath controlled. The mansion’s grandeur was hollowed out by the silence—no music, no laughter, just the distant hum of generators and a single television echoing faintly through stone.

Aaliyah’s voice came in through Cruz’s comm.

Aaliyah: “I recognize the layout. Main hall forks three ways—library, parlor, and the underground staircase hidden behind the wine cellar. That’s where the ‘cigar meetings’ usually happened.”

Cruz: "Copy. We’re heading to the cellar now. We split. Bobby with me. Randy, Tex—cover us. If Imran’s here, that’s where he’ll be. Backup will probably come from those hallways. Keep it quiet until it can't be. ”

As they reached the thick oak door, Cruz placed a hand to it—wood, reinforced with steel. She gave Bobby a nod. Seconds later, a low-level EMP charge knocked out any electronics nearby. The door gave way under Bobby's crowbar. What they found below wasn’t just a meeting room. It was a war room.

Three long tables were cluttered with blueprints, weapons crates, and encrypted sat-phones. Screens displayed maps and surveillance feeds of ports and highways across the Middle East. A single open laptop streamed a live satellite feed of a convoy moving toward the Saudi-Yemeni border. And at the far end of the room—

Imran Amrohi. Dressed in a cream-colored linen suit, as if attending another of his glittering social functions, not orchestrating a regional insurgency. Kamal Al Rashdi stood beside him, sharper, darker, eyes narrow as he reached for the weapon strapped to his side.

Cruz: “Freeze, Asshole!”

Weapons raised. But neither man flinched.

Imran smirked, “Ah. So, they send the traitor and the mercs. Charming. Does your little girlfriend know she's fucking a monster? She know what you did in Iraq, Cruz?”

She froze.

Just for a second.

But the word—Iraq—split something open.

------------------------------------

A villa outside Mosul.

The heat was unbearable, the air thick with smoke and rot. Cruz crept down a hallway in lockstep with her team, weapons drawn, ears straining for movement. Broken tiles crunched beneath her boots. The walls were scorched, riddled with bullet holes. She stopped in the doorway.

A boy—no older than twelve—was crouched behind an overturned table, gripping a rifle, barefoot and shaking, eyes locked on hers. Too young to fight. Too terrified to run. And something in Cruz’s chest cracked. She saw him for what he was—not a threat. Not an insurgent. Just a child. A child about the same size her little brother would've been by now. For a moment, time stopped.

“Manuelos, clear the damn room,” her team lead barked. But she didn’t move. Couldn’t. She lowered the barrel slightly. Her fingers slackened on the trigger. She couldn’t do it.

And then—A single shot rang out behind her. The boy’s eyes went wide. And then… they didn’t.

He crumpled in slow motion. She didn’t even turn to see who pulled the trigger. She didn’t have to. All she could do was stand there, heart pounding in her ears, unable to breathe, while the ghost of her brother stared back through those eyes.

------------------------------------

That suppressed memory hit hard, but Cruz didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink.

Cruz: “Drop your weapons. Now.”

Kamal: “I think not.”

He fired first, missing wide right. Cruz dove to the floor for cover, slamming into her injured left arm. The room exploded into chaos—gunfire sparking against stone, crates shattering, blood misting in the low light. Cruz fired from behind an overturned table, as bullets tore overhead. Bobby fired in measured bursts, taking down one of Imran’s guards as Tex and Randy stormed in from the stairwell.

Kamal vanished in the smoke. Imran was gone too—back through a hidden corridor Cruz hadn’t seen.

Cruz: “They’re running! Tex, flank right. Randy, go with him! Tucker do you have eyes on them.”

She hauled herself to her feet, shoulder screaming. Bobby covered her as they gave chase through the narrow stone passage, but it was clear—they were seconds too late. By the time they reached the far exit,

Tucker: "There's a bulletproof black SUV hauling ass outta here."

Cruz stood in the archway, chest heaving, watching said SUV fishtailing away through the back gate, tires spitting gravel and sand, vision sharp with fury and regret.

Joe: “What’s the status?”

Cruz: “Imran and Kamal are on the move; what's left of their security following. Repeat, they slipped the net. But we’ve got intel—files, plans, and a full logistics trace on the convoy. They’re planning something big.”

Aaliyah (quiet, urgent): “Then come back. We’ll figure out the next step. Together.”

Cruz lowered her weapon, eyes still on the horizon. Together. The word steadied her. But this was far from over.

--------------------------------------

The ride back from the compound was quiet. The hum of the engine, the occasional static of comms—those were the only sounds in the vehicle. Cruz sat in the backseat, staring out the tinted window, jaw locked, eyes sharp but distant. Blood had dried into the edges of her bandage. The pain in her shoulder had returned full force, but she welcomed it now. It kept her grounded.

The safe house was quiet when the team returned. Joe had been the first to hear the signal—a short, coded phrase over comms confirming successful exfil. Aaliyah heard it. Cruz's voice. It sounded empty, but it was her. That's what mattered. Joe glanced at Aaliyah from her position at the monitor and nodded once, tight-lipped. Aaliyah stood from where she’d been pacing the room and moved toward the front door, heart lodged somewhere in her throat.

The convoy pulled up minutes later. Aaliyah stepped out onto the porch as Cruz exited the vehicle, flanked by Bobby and Tex. Randy and Tucker followed. She moved with careful precision, her left arm bandaged and stiff, her jaw tight. Her eyes found Aaliyah immediately.

There was something off in Cruz's expression—something far away. She didn’t speak. She barely said a word through the debrief. Joe ran through updates, Bobby tossed her tactical gear onto the couch, and Randy checked the outer perimeter, but Cruz kept to the edges of the room, answering only when spoken to. Aaliyah watched her like she always did—more closely than anyone else—and it was all there, written in the spaces between her silence.

She wasn’t just tired. She was haunted.

Then, the house had shifted again—from staging ground to command center to debriefing room to shelter. When the others began transitioning to their next tasks or to their rooms, Aaliyah crossed the room and gently took Cruz’s uninjured hand. “You should rest.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”

Cruz looked at her, and Aaliyah didn’t flinch under the weight of that stare. There was no judgment in her tone, only concern. And something else, too—something Cruz had trouble facing. Tenderness.

Cruz relented, "Okay." She moved almost like she was running from Aaliyah. Her gate purposeful, knowing Aaliyah would see right through her if she held her gaze too long. Aaliyah followed, catching up just before she reached the bedroom they were sharing.

Once Aaliyah was determined to follow, Cruz knew she had to face her. The door shut softly behind them. For a beat, they just stood there, facing each other. Suddenly, Aaliyah went to the med kit without being asked. “Let me take a look at it,” Aaliyah said softly.

Cruz didn’t answer, but she didn’t move away either. Aaliyah took her hand, and intertwined their fingers. Cruz instantly closed her eyes. “Come with me,” Aaliyah whispered.

Aaliyah led her to the bed. Then, Cruz sat down slowly on the edge of the bed, exhaling like the weight of the day had finally caught up to her and began unfastening the tactical vest, slower than usual. Aaliyah took her hands, placing them at her sides. Gently, she eased the vest from her shoulders, careful not to tug. Cruz tensed only once, when the pressure brushed too close to the wound.

“You’ll need a fresh wrap,” she said, kneeling in front of her. “Joe said it didn’t reopen, but that doesn’t mean it’s not inflamed.” Cruz gave a quiet nod. "Go shower first, and we'll do this after."

She did without argument, without response which was more telling, and was back out in under ten minutes. When she returned, Aaliyah knelt in front of Cruz again. Cruz remained silent, but keenly aware, watching her hands as she worked. They moved with practiced care, lifting the edge of the old bandage and replacing it with something clean and cool.

“It’s not bleeding through,” Aaliyah murmured. “But it’s angry.”

“Like the rest of me,” Cruz said dryly.

Aaliyah met her gaze. Finishing the wrap and taping it in place. “Don’t joke.”

“I’m not.”

Aaliyah wasn't sure if she should press or wait, but she wanted Cruz to know she didn't have to deal with anything alone anymore. She decided to speak openly, "I’ve seen you focused. I’ve seen you angry. But this was different. You looked like you were somewhere else entirely.”

“I was,” Cruz said quietly. “Just not where anyone else could see.”

She leaned back slightly, letting her eyes fall to the worn floorboards.

There was a beat of silence. Aaliyah looked down at the bandage, fingers hovering just above it. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Cruz didn’t answer. She just stilled. Aaliyah waited, leading with patience and care, rubbing soothing circles into her palm.

“I was part of a unit in Iraq. We were clearing a house that was supposed to belong to a lieutenant of a terrorist cell. The intel was bad. The house had a family, and there was a boy in the compound. Armed, but shaking so hard he could barely hold the rifle. He looked like he hadn’t eaten in days. Couldn’t have been more than twelve.”

Aaliyah stilled. “I froze,” Cruz admitted. “I looked at him. He was terrified, and for one second, he reminded me of my brother. My little brother never got to be that age, but the fear in his eyes was so familiar.”

The words came slow, unsteady, like something cracking loose inside her. “I thought about that—about him—and I couldn’t pull the trigger. Couldn’t move. Someone next to me took the shot. But I was staring into his eyes, and at that moment I saw the light leave his eyes. I’ve never stopped seeing it.”

Aaliyah's breath caught. She placed the roll of gauze and tape aside and slid her hands gently over Cruz’s knees, grounding her. “You’ve carried that ever since.”

“Yeah.” Cruz lifted her gaze to hers. “And today, it all came back. Not just what happened, but the way it felt. The look on that kid’s face.”

Aaliyah leaned forward, touching her forehead gently to Cruz’s. “You don’t have to pretend with me, or hide things from me, Cruz. Not about any of it. You’re not alone in it.”

There was something raw in Cruz’s eyes now. “I don’t want to feel this way anymore. I don’t want to keep reliving it.”

"We'll figure it out. You and me." Aaliyah's eyes gleamed in honesty. There was another long pause. The weight of everything between them pressed down—grief, guilt, longing, heat.

Cruz moved first. The kiss was slow and deep, but not hesitant. It was filled with something more desperate than desire—a need to drown the ache, to feel something else. Aaliyah responded without thinking, climbing into her lap, arms sliding around her shoulders. She could feel Cruz’s body taut with tension, the way her hands gripped tighter than they meant to.

But it wasn’t just about forgetting. It was about surviving. Cruz’s lips traced down Aaliyah’s jaw, then stopped abruptly. She pulled back, breathing hard, forehead resting against Aaliyah’s. “I want this,” she whispered. “I just don’t want to use you to make the pain stop." Aaliyah cradled her face in both hands, not to provoke, but to soothe. To remind her she was here. That she wasn’t just a weapon. That she could still be held.

Aaliyah brushed a thumb across her cheek. The desperation in Cruz’s touch wasn’t about pleasure—it was about erasing the ache. But Aaliyah knew that kind of touch. She felt it in herself, too. She slowly kissed Cruz. Letting the moment soften. Gave Cruz the space to breathe.

Cruz pressed her face to Aaliyah’s shoulder and exhaled a shuddered breath. The world narrowed to the space between them, the hush of the house, the promise of one night safe enough to fall apart together.

“I don’t know how to let it go,” she whispered.

“Then don’t,” Aaliyah murmured. “Not yet. But maybe you don’t have to carry it alone.”

Cruz’s arms tightened around her. Aaliyah stayed in her lap, stroking her hair, their breathing slowly syncing until the shadows in the room softened, and the worst of the memory faded just enough for Cruz to close her eyes. They stayed like that—clinging, kissing, grounding each other—until the light outside turned to gold.

Chapter 2: Chasing Shadows

Notes:

WARNING - Graphic portrayal of war/violence

The morning crept in quietly. The house was still heavy with the hum of exhaustion and unspoken worries when Cruz finally stirred. Aaliyah had fallen asleep against her, curled protectively around her like a shield against the world. Cruz didn’t move for a long time. She just laid there, listening to the rhythm of Aaliyah’s breathing, the way it calmed the static still rattling in her chest.

Eventually, the distant clink of dishes and the muted murmur of Joe’s voice in the kitchen pulled them back to reality. The mission wasn’t over. They were just in the eye of the storm. Cruz pressed a soft kiss to Aaliyah’s temple before easing out from under her. She winced as her shoulder protested the movement, but she pushed through it. No time for fragility. Not now.

By the time Aaliyah stirred and joined her, Cruz was in the living room, a map spread across the coffee table, markers and notes scattered around it. Joe and Tex sat nearby, laptops open, pulling satellite feeds. Bobby leaned against the wall, arms crossed, quietly sipping bad coffee from a paper cup. Two Cups, Tucker, and Randy were outside, checking gear and vehicles, the muted clink of metal and low voices slipping through the half-open windows.

Aaliyah paused in the doorway. For a second, she just watched them—all of them falling into their roles like pieces on a board. Cruz glanced up, catching her eye, and something in her chest loosened at the sight of Aaliyah standing there: barefoot, hair mussed from sleep, but alert and steady. Stronger than she realized. Cruz crooked a finger at her, wordlessly calling her over. Aaliyah crossed the room and sat beside her without hesitation. Cruz leaned closer, lowering her voice.

“We have a window,” she said. “Joe picked up chatter overnight. Imran and Kamal Al Rashdi to planning to meet in the next twenty-four hours. Private airstrip, old smuggling route turned landing zone. There must be something imminent coming.”

Joe tapped a few keys and spun the laptop toward them, revealing grainy satellite images of a fenced compound with a cracked runway stretching into the desert. No major security changes noted yet,” Joe said. “If we move fast, we hit them before reinforcements show up.”

Aaliyah leaned in, studying the images, heart thudding hard in her chest. “And after?”

“We take Imran alive,” Cruz said. “If we can.”

“And Kamal?” Aaliyah asked, glancing at the others.

“If Kamal shows,” Bobby answered grimly. “We take him down too.” A heavy silence settled for a beat.

Cruz broke it first, nudging Aaliyah gently with her knee. “You stay here with Joe. Safe house lockdown protocol. Non-negotiable.”

Aaliyah didn’t argue. She knew her place in this. She nodded once, firmly. “I’ll hold it down here." Cruz gave a small smile—one that didn’t quite reach her eyes, but was real nonetheless. She touched Aaliyah’s hand under the table, a fleeting squeeze of connection.

“We move in two hours,” Cruz said to the room. “Check your gear. Double confirm your loads. Tex, Randy, Bobby—you’re with me on primary entry. Tucker’s on overwatch, Two Cups handles exfil. Joe, you run comms. Aaliyah, you stay close to Joe at all times.”

Everyone nodded. No one questioned it. Cruz was taking charge. Bobby looked at Joe and could swear she saw a flicker of pride in her eyes, if only for a moment. Then, the machine was in motion again.

Cruz watched the team scatter to prepare, then caught Aaliyah’s hand again, tugging her gently toward the narrow hallway leading to the bedrooms. She didn’t stop until they were out of sight, hidden by the angle of the walls. There, she turned to face her. The air between them shifted—heavier now. More urgent. Cruz’s hand found the side of Aaliyah’s neck, thumb brushing against her jawline. Aaliyah leaned into her touch instinctively, her eyes searching hers.

“I need you to promise me something,” Cruz said quietly.

“Anything.”

“If anything happens... if we don’t come back on time—you run. You get out. You don’t wait.”

“No.” Aaliyah said firmly, and shook her head fiercely. “I’m not leaving you.”

Cruz’s lips twitched, a sad, almost broken smile. “You have to. You’re not trained for this. They’ll come for you next.”

Aaliyah swallowed hard. “Don’t say that like it’s inevitable.”

“It’s a contingency. That’s all.” They stood there, breathing the same thin, charged air. Then Cruz leaned in, forehead pressing to Aaliyah’s. “I’m not planning on dying,” she whispered. “But I need to know you’ll survive if I don't walk through that door.”

Tears threatened behind Aaliyah’s eyes, but she blinked them back. She pulled Cruz closer by the tactical vest still strapped loosely to her body. Their lips brushed—not quite a kiss, but the breath of one, the promise of one. “Come back to me,” Aaliyah whispered against her mouth. “Whatever it takes.”

Cruz kissed her then—slow, deep, memorizing the feel of her like it might be the last time. Aaliyah responded with matching desperation, hands clutching the fabric of her vest, anchoring herself to her. When they broke apart, Cruz rested her forehead against hers for one long moment more. Silent. Steady.

Then she stepped back. And without another word, she turned and walked away, boots silent against the floorboards. The world tilted back into motion.

--------------------------------------

The desert stretched wide and unforgiving under the rising sun. Cruz adjusted the comms in her ear as the armored SUVs rumbled down the barely-marked dirt track leading toward the airstrip. Two Cups was at the wheel, Randy riding shotgun. Bobby sat beside Tex and Cruz, loading a fresh magazine into her rifle with mechanical precision. Overhead, Tucker’s drone buzzed, sending a live feed back to Joe and Aaliyah at the safe house. Cruz kept one eye on the satellite imagery projected onto her tablet, the other on the horizon.

“Landing strip’s just ahead,” Tex said, voice low. “Visual on two birds—looks like a Gulfstream and a smaller jet.”

“Confirmed,” Joe said over comms. “Both registered under shell companies tied to Imran’s offshore accounts. Looks like Kamal’s already inbound.”

Cruz tapped in. “Acknowledged. Tucker, you have eyes?”

“Perimeter’s light,” Tucker replied. “Two sentries at the gate, four more around the runway. No heavy artillery visible.” Cruz exhaled slowly. This was the best window they’d ever get.

“All teams,” she said, voice calm and clipped. “On approach. Tex, circle wide—Randy, get ready to breach the outer fence. Bobby, with me on primary contact. Quiet until it isn’t.”

They moved like clockwork. The vehicles pulled off a quarter mile from the compound. On foot now, they approached under the cover of an abandoned fuel shed and broken cargo containers littering the edge of the runway. Cruz signaled with two fingers: split.

Tex and Randy peeled off toward the fence line. Bobby and Cruz ghosted forward through the shadows. Through her scope, Cruz saw them: Imran Amrohi, standing with a small entourage near the larger jet. His stance was loose, confident. He didn’t expect anything. Kamal was closer to the smaller plane, flanked by two bodyguards.

“Targets in sight,” Cruz whispered.

Bobby’s voice crackled back. “Ready on your go.”

Cruz’s finger hovered near the trigger. Her heart thudded once, twice, and then— “Green light,” she said. Chaos exploded across the airstrip.

Tex and Randy detonated a charge on the perimeter fence, dropping the wire in a shower of sparks. Tucker opened up from his sniper perch, taking out the sentries in two clean shots. Bobby was already moving, sweeping the right flank. Cruz sprinted forward, teeth gritted against the flare of pain in her shoulder. They had to get to Imran before he bolted.

She ducked behind a refueling truck, weapon raised, scanning for threats. Bullets pinged against the metal near her head. “Contact left!” Tex barked. Cruz pivoted, dropping a gunman who’d been trying to flank them. A second assailant appeared. Cruz disarmed him, but he quickly got the upperhand, pushing her into the refueling truck head first. She immediately felt the moisture dripping down her face, and knew it wasn't sweat. Anticipating he would try to kick her while she was down, she used his next move to her advantage, grabbing his leg and upending him. She used her sidearm to end it swiftly.

Across the airstrip, Imran was shouting orders. His men fumbled for weapons, retreating toward the jet. Not today. Cruz broke cover, charging forward as Bobby laid down suppressive fire. She tackled Imran to the ground just as he reached the jet’s stairs, slamming the butt of her rifle into his shoulder to keep him down. He shouted in Arabic, furious, struggling against her.

“Clear!” Bobby called.

Tex zip tied Imran’s wrists roughly behind his back. Blood trickled from the man’s temple where Cruz had clocked him, but he was breathing. Conscious.

Kamal hadn’t been so lucky—Tucker’s clean shot had dropped him before he ever reached cover. Cruz exhaled sharply, adrenaline burning through her veins. She tapped her comms.

“Primary target secured. Kamal is down. Prep exfil.”

Joe’s voice cracked back, steady and strong. “Copy. Two Cups is en route. You’re clear to move.”

The team checks the bodies for anything useful and Randy is the first to notice. "Cruz, check this out." Cruz approaches, and he continues, "Is it just me or is this not Kamal Al Rashdi?" Cruz saw it immediately. This was not Kamal.

"Joe, do you copy?" Static.

"Go Cruz."

"Negative on Kamal. He was not here. Looks like he sent someone with a similar look and build in his place, as a decoy."

"Acknowledged. Add that to the list of questions we have for Imran." Joe, added sarcastically. As they dragged Imran toward the fallback vehicle, Cruz allowed herself one fleeting thought—One step closer to ending this. One step closer to getting back to her...to ending this for her.

--------------------------------------

The safe house door slammed open. Joe was already up from her station at the table when Cruz staggered through first, Imran in tow, hands zip-tied behind his back, a canvas bag yanked roughly over his head. Tex and Randy flanked him, grim-faced, weapons still drawn.

Bobby followed close behind, sweeping the room with sharp, practiced glances before giving a clipped nod. “Clear.”

Aaliyah was already moving before her brain caught up. Cruz was bleeding. A gash sliced across her temple, dried blood streaking down into the collar of her jacket. Her vest was dusty and torn at the seams. Her knuckles were raw where she'd fought. But she was standing—alive—and somehow that mattered more than anything. Without thinking, Aaliyah closed the distance between them.

Cruz met her halfway, exhaustion and relief crashing over her in equal measure. For a second, the world narrowed to the space between them. Aaliyah’s hands cupped Cruz’s face, thumbs skimming carefully over the bruises blooming across her skin.

“You’re hurt,” Aaliyah breathed.

Cruz gave a broken laugh. “You should see the other guy.” Her voice was rough, frayed from adrenaline and the taste of violence still lingering at the back of her throat.

Behind them, Tex and Randy shoved Imran roughly into a chair, binding him there as Joe barked low instructions to Bobby. The safe house buzzed with tension—but it all blurred at the edges for Aaliyah and Cruz.

“You’re okay,” Aaliyah whispered, like she needed to say it out loud to believe it. “You’re okay.”

Cruz’s hand caught Aaliyah’s wrist, grounding her. “I told you I’d come back.” The words were simple. But they hit like a hammer.

Aaliyah surged forward, arms wrapping tightly around Cruz, not caring about the blood or the dirt or the sharp edges of the tactical gear pressing against her skin. Cruz tensed for a fraction of a heartbeat—then melted into her, burying her face in the crook of Aaliyah’s neck. It wasn’t gentle. It was desperate, reckless, raw. They clung to each other as the world spun around them, breathing in the proof that they were both still here. Still fighting. Still theirs.

Cruz pulled back first, reluctantly, but she didn’t let go entirely. Her forehead pressed against Aaliyah’s, their breath mixing, uneven and shaking.

“We’re not done yet,” Cruz murmured. “We have to move fast. Imran may not talk and we can't stay here forever. We should expect someone to come looking for him.” Aaliyah nodded, even though her fingers curled tighter against Cruz’s vest like she was afraid she’d disappear if she let go.

Joe's voice cut through the thick air. “Tex, Randy—set up in the back. I want double security on this place. Bobby, start data pulls from Imran’s phone and the satellite feeds. I’ll handle first crack at questioning him.” Bobby gave a thumbs-up without looking up from her laptop. Tucker offered to help.

Cruz squeezed Aaliyah’s hand once—sharp, sure—and then stepped away, forcing herself back into mission mode. She unbuckled her vest and the collared bloodied from her the gash in her forehead. Aaliyah didn't hesitate, placing her hands over Cruz's, a silent request. Cruz nodded, and Aaliyah carefully removed her vest, tossing it over a chair. Cruz raked a hand through her hair, wincing as she disturbed the cut on her temple.

Aaliyah stayed close, an anchor within reach. “Let me help you clean that,” she said quietly, voice steady despite the pounding of her heart.

Cruz nodded again, and let herself be led to the makeshift kitchen, Aaliyah pulled supplies from a cabinet: gauze, antiseptic, a cracked bottle of rubbing alcohol. Cruz sat stiffly on a stool, her shoulders rigid, as Aaliyah dabbed gently at the cut on her forehead.

“You don’t have to be so careful,” Cruz said, a ghost of a smirk on her lips.

“I’m not about to be rough with you,” Aaliyah shot back. Her hand was steady, but her voice betrayed her worry. Cruz watched her. Close. Silent.

The antiseptic stung and Cruz hissed under her breath, but didn’t flinch away. Aaliyah worked methodically, hands tender, but her eyes fierce—almost angry.

“You shouldn’t have had to go out there like that,” Aaliyah muttered. “You’re still healing.”

“I didn’t have a choice.”

“There’s always a choice.”

Their eyes locked. And for a moment, the space between them burned. Cruz’s hand reached out, fingers wrapping lightly around Aaliyah’s wrist where it hovered near her temple. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to. Aaliyah's eyes brimmed with understanding, reading Cruz's thoughts...I chose you...It was all right there, in the way Cruz touched her. In the way she leaned in and kissed her softly, gently worshipping every part of her lips. The kiss felt like peace amidst the chaos. Pulling back, Cruz sighed, the barest brush of breath against Aaliyah’s mouth—A gravitational pull. A promise.

Footsteps clattered behind them. Joe’s voice carried down the hall. “Cruz, we’re ready.” Cruz exhaled slowly, the spell between them breaking but not shattering. She pulled back. Pressed her forehead to Aaliyah’s for one heartbeat longer. Then she rose, shoulders straightening.

“All right,” Cruz said grimly. “Let’s get some answers.”Aaliyah watched her walk away, fists clenching hard around the bloodied gauze in her hands.

This wasn’t over. Not yet. But they were together, and Aaliyah was determined to carry more of the burden moving forward.

Chapter 3: Only Fire

Notes:

WARNING - Graphic portrayal of war/violence

The room used for questioning wasn’t much — just four cracked walls, a battered metal chair bolted to the floor, and a single harsh light overhead. The safe house hadn’t been designed for comfort. It was built for survival.

Imran Amrohi sat slumped in the chair, his wrists bound tight to the arms with flex cuffs. Blood matted his graying hair where Tex had pulled the bag off his head. His chest heaved with labored breathing, the stink of sweat and fear curling off him like smoke.

Joe leaned casually against the far wall, arms folded, a predator waiting for the first sign of weakness. Tex and Randy flanked the door, stone-faced and silent. Bobby monitored from the corner, a tablet in her lap already working on pulling the encrypted files from Imran’s confiscated phone. Cruz stood just inside the door.

Aaliyah lingered in the hall, her shoulder brushing the frame. Close enough to hear. Not close enough to interfere.

“Name,” Joe barked.

Imran lifted his chin with a defiance he hadn’t earned. “You know who I am.”

Joe smiled thinly. “Good. Saves us the trouble.” She pushed off the wall and sauntered forward, a slow circle around the chair, deliberate, letting the tension stretch tight across the room. Cruz had seen this walk, this demeanor. She remembered vividly the conversation, about breaking, about how long she would have to get to her before it was too late, about women being beheaded and burned when they were caught. A sobering thought of 'Why the fuck did I sign up for this again?' She was so different then, and she chuckled to herself. This caught the attention of Bobby who nudged her back into focus.

“We’ve already pulled your communications,” Joe continues to saunter. “We know about the deal you set up with Kamal Al Rashdi. We know you’re the one who funneled payments to the teams that targeted Aaliyah Amrohi.”

At Aaliyah’s name, Imran's mouth twisted. “She’s nothing but a spoiled liability. Always was.” A muscle jumped in Cruz’s jaw. Bobby caught it — a flicker of warning in her eyes — but kept her face smooth. Almost bored.

“That's funny. You risked a hell of a lot to try and get her out of the way.,” Joe calmly asserted, bring things back into focus.

“She would’ve ruined everything,” Imran spat. “If she had the slightest idea what was at stake—”

“Enlighten us,” Cruz interrupted sharply. “What is at stake?”

Silence.

Joe glared at Cruz. She could tell it was a final warning. She stepped in closer, boots scraping loud against the concrete. “You’re already dead,” she said conversationally. “You just haven’t caught up to it yet. So make yourself useful. Tell me who you’re working with.”

Imran's eyes gleamed. Something ugly. Something close to glee. “You think I’m the end?” He laughed—a wet, broken sound. “You think cutting off my head stops the body?”

Joe didn’t blink. “Keep talking.” Imran leaned forward as far as the zip ties allowed, a sick smile stretching across his battered face.

“You’re too late. Kamal’s already made contact. And not just with me. You missed the real threat.”

Joe's posture shifted, almost imperceptibly. Cruz caught it instantly. “What threat?” she snapped.

Imran’s gaze swung to her, pinning her in place. “Ask her.” He jerked his chin toward the hallway—toward Aaliyah. A chill raced down Cruz’s spine.

Joe narrowed her eyes. “Ask her what?”

“She’s the one they want,” Imran hissed. “She’s the reason Kamal’s making his move. Not oil. Not money. Her.” The words hit like a gunshot. For a second, no one moved.

Then Cruz was shoving off the wall, closing the distance in three strides. Joe caught her arm hard, yanking her back before she could rip Imran out of the chair. Bobby arrived in the same second flanking Cruz. “Not now,” Bobby said low and fierce. “Not like this.” Cruz’s chest heaved. Her hands curled into fists at her sides.

Joe turned back to Imran, her voice like ice. “Explain." But Imran only laughed again, wheezing, blood flecking his lips.

“You won’t make it in time,” saying it with a smile that exuded nothing but confidence and certainty. Behind them, Bobby's tablet beeped—loud in the tense silence. She glanced down—and froze.

“Uh, guys?” Bobby's voice cracked across the room. “You’re gonna want to see this.” Joe and Cruz turned at once, the interrogation momentarily forgotten. Bobby rotated the tablet to show them the cracked screen—A live feed.

Security footage, grainy but clear. A warehouse. Men in tactical gear moving through it, preparing…for something. Crates stacked high. Weapons. Vehicles. And in the center, a screen showing a blurry, enlarged photo. Aaliyah. Standing with Cruz outside the safe house hours ago. Marked. Targeted.

Bobby swallowed hard. “They’re mobilizing.” Joe cursed low under her breath. Cruz’s mind raced, pieces falling into place at breakneck speed. Imran hadn’t just betrayed Aaliyah to protect himself. He’d sold her—to the highest bidder. Kamal. And he was out for blood. And now the clock was ticking. The moment the feed cut out, the room erupted into action.

“Tex, pull everything you can from that footage—location, timestamps, player IDs—everything,” Joe ordered, already moving toward the door.

Tex's fingers flew across the tablet. “On it.” Two Cups and Randy were grabbing weapons, their movements efficient and grim.

Cruz turned, finding Aaliyah standing frozen in the hallway. Their eyes locked—and Cruz saw it, the fear flashing in her…but not just fear. Resolve. Aaliyah didn’t flinch away. She stepped into the room, chin high, gaze steady.

“What’s happening?” she asked, voice strong despite the tremor Cruz could hear beneath it.

“They’re coming for you,” Cruz said roughly. “Fast.” No sugarcoating. No lies.

Aaliyah nodded once, absorbing it faster than Cruz could have imagined even days ago. “What do you need me to do?” she asked. It stunned Cruz silent for a heartbeat. God, she wanted to shove Aaliyah into the deepest bunker she could find, lock the door, and throw away the key. Shield her from all of this. But that wasn’t who Aaliyah was. And it sure as hell wasn’t who Cruz loved.

Joe answered first, sharp and sure. “We need your eyes. Your instincts. Anything you remember about Kamal Al Rashdi, anyone you’ve seen around him, anything you recognize in the footage, or locations nearby that may be of interest.”

Aaliyah nodded again. “I can do that.” She moved to Tex’s side without hesitation, scanning the frozen frame on the tablet. Bobby threw a look at Cruz—you good with this? Cruz gave a terse nod. She wasn’t good. But she trusted Aaliyah more than she trusted herself.

“We need to move,” Tucker growled. “Safe house is burned.”

Joe swore under her breath. “Agreed. Everyone gear up.”

Cruz snagged her gear from the rack by the door, checking her sidearm, roughly putting on the tactical vest, wincing but pushing through the pain while double-strapping her vest, feeling the click of readiness settle into her bones. Aaliyah hovered at the edge of the room for a beat, then moved closer to Cruz, whispering low enough that only she could hear.

“You’re not leaving me behind,” Aaliyah said quietly. It wasn’t a question. Cruz looked at her—really looked—and saw no room for argument. Still, she cupped Aaliyah’s jaw, grounding them both in a touch. Her thumb brushed the soft curve of Aaliyah’s cheek.

“No, we're doing this together. I’ll keep you safe,” Cruz promised hoarsely.

Aaliyah shook her head. “We keep each other safe,” she corrected gently. Cruz’s throat closed.

Behind them, the team prepped with brutal efficiency, their voices a low hum of orders and weapon checks. Tex tossed Cruz a rifle; she caught it without looking, sliding the strap across her chest.

Bobby finished loading a duffel of extra ammunition and medical gear, zipping it shut with a snap. “Five minutes,” Bobby said. “Move.”

Joe grabbed the tablet and a hard drive. “I’ve got their location. They're still at the warehouse, at least for now.”

“We don’t have much time,” Randy muttered.

“Then let’s make it count,” Cruz said grimly. She turned to Aaliyah. “Stay with me.”

“Always,” Aaliyah whispered. No hesitation. No fear. Only fire.

Cruz leaned in, pressing her forehead to Aaliyah’s for one stolen second—their breaths mingling, the unspoken words anchoring them. Then the moment shattered, urgency driving them apart. The team filed out, Cruz at the lead, Aaliyah moving at her side without needing to be asked.

Outside, the desert night stretched wide and waiting. A storm was coming. And this time, Aaliyah wasn’t the girl hiding from it. She was stepping straight into the heart of it.

-----------------------------------------

The warehouse loomed like a monolith against the horizon, crouched in the outskirts of Riyadh’s industrial sector—surrounded by cracked asphalt, abandoned equipment, and nothing else but silence. Cruz watched it through the scope of her rifle from their vantage point, two rooftops over, heart hammering against her ribs.

“They're still inside,” Joe confirmed over comms, voice a tight whisper. “Movement on thermal. Four—maybe five signatures. No sign of Kamal yet.”

“Copy,” Bobby said. “Tucker, Two Cups—you’re our eye in the sky. Tex and Randy, flank left. Cruz and I take the right. Aaliyah stays with Joe on comms.”

Randy interjected. "Comms in the field isn't the same as in a safehouse. Joe will already be in a compromised position doing this in the middle of a gunfight."

Cruz, on edge, responded sharply, "Well, you wanna drop her off at Starbucks, until we're done, Randy?!"

“Stop, Cruz,” Aaliyah cut in immediately. Cruz flinched at the hard edge in her voice, lowering her scope to glance at her. Aaliyah stood her ground, “We agreed,” Aaliyah said, steady and low. “We do this together. Give me what I need. A vest. A helmet. Whatever.”

Joe hesitated for half a breath, then gave a sharp nod. “Stay with Cruz. Do exactly what she says. No freelancing.”

Aaliyah nodded once. Cruz helped her put on a vest with plates, a headset snug over her dark hair, a sidearm belted at her hip—no training, but willing. Brave. Cruz exhaled slowly, weighing a dozen arguments—and losing all of them. Cruz's eyes were full of turmoil. Torn between the pull to protect and the need to empower.

Because the truth was, if something went wrong on this mission, Cruz wanted Aaliyah at her side, not left behind alone. “Stay low,” Cruz muttered. “Stay close.”

They moved as a unit, silent shadows slipping from cover to cover. The warehouse was poorly lit, its metal walls rusted and thin. Easy entry. Easy death, too. Bobby led them to a breach point—an old service door half-hanging off its hinges. Tex and Randy fanned out opposite them, laying silent cover.

On Cruz’s signal, they slipped inside. It smelled of oil and dust and something coppery. Gunmetal. Blood. Cruz moved first, sweeping left. Bobby swept right. Aaliyah followed Cruz, small and quick, her steps near soundless. They cleared the first section—empty crates and stacked pallets. Nothing.

The thermal signatures had been deeper inside. Cruz tightened her grip on her rifle. They crept toward the back offices, where a cracked door spilled a slice of light into the gloom. Bobby gestured—three fingers up. Three contacts.

Cruz nodded, heart pounding harder. She pressed Aaliyah against the wall behind a thick metal beam. Low whisper against her ear: "Don't move unless I say."

Aaliyah’s hand found the back of Cruz’s vest for one fleeting second, grounding them both. Then Cruz slipped forward with Bobby.

The next sixty seconds moved in blinding precision—
—Flashbang deployed.
—Door kicked.
—Shots fired, sharp and controlled.

When the smoke cleared, two men were down, unconscious or dead. The third—a wiry figure with a bloodied lip and a cheap handgun—stumbled backward, hands up. “Where’s Kamal?” Bobby barked. The man spat blood, sneering. “Already gone. You’re too late.”

Cruz felt it then—the wrongness prickling under her skin. Too easy. Too quiet. She spun around—And saw it. Small, blinking red lights tucked under the tables. Pressure plates. An explosive web. “Trap!” she roared.

Bobby grabbed the prisoner and shoved him toward Tex. “Get him out!”

Cruz spun, snatching Aaliyah by the arm, hauling her toward the exit at a dead sprint. The first charge went off behind them—a gut-punch of sound and force, rattling the metal walls, pressure slamming Cruz’s wounded shoulder like a hammer. She gritted her teeth against the pain, never slowing.

Ahead, Tex and Randy were dragging the prisoner, Bobby covering their rear. “Move, move, move!” Bobby shouted. Another explosion rocked the structure. Dust and debris rained from the ceiling.

Cruz shielded Aaliyah with her body, keeping herself between her and the danger without thinking. They broke into the open air, feet pounding broken concrete, lungs burning. Then they were behind cover again, the warehouse a fiery inferno behind them.

Cruz pulled Aaliyah down beside her, shielding her until the roaring heat subsided. Aaliyah gasped for breath, face streaked with grime, eyes wide but clear.Cruz touched her face, quick and urgent. “You’re okay. Are you hurt?”

Aaliyah shook her head, coughing once. “I’m fine—you?” Before Cruz could answer, Bobby’s voice snapped over comms.

“Tucker, Two Cups—we need an evac now! We have a prisoner and wounded—coordinates incoming.”

“Copy that,” Tucker replied. “Inbound, three minutes.”

Cruz let out a shaky breath and leaned her forehead against Aaliyah’s. “We almost didn’t make it,” Aaliyah whispered. Cruz didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Because even through the haze of smoke and adrenaline, she knew—They were closer to the beginning than the end.

Chapter 4: Too Close

Notes:

WARNING - Graphic depictions of violence/war, interrogation

Tucker and Two Cups deposited the unconscious prisoner onto the concrete floor, Bobby and Randy immediately tying him down with zip cuffs. Joe was already pulling out the emergency medical kit.

Aaliyah walks Cruz to the office in the back. Cruz dropped heavily onto one of the cots, finally releasing a breath she seemed to be holding since the warehouse exploded. Pain flared bright and vicious through her injured shoulder, stealing her breath.

Aaliyah reacted in an instant, kneeling beside her. “Let me see,” she said, voice shaking. Cruz didn’t argue. Couldn’t. Her muscles trembled too hard. She helped her sit up then move to a chair. Aaliyah’s hands moved with surprising steadiness, gently pulling the vest and undershirt free with gentle efficiency.

Tucker knelt across from Aaliyah, cutting Cruz’s shirt open with medical shears. Beneath it, blood bloomed dark and sticky over the makeshift bandages already half-soaked through. “You tore it open again,” Tucker muttered grimly. “Bad.”

Cruz let her head fall back against the wall, jaw locked against the groan fighting to escape. Aaliyah just touched Cruz’s face lightly, grounding her. "I’ve got you." God, Cruz wanted to believe that.

Tucker cleaned, restitched, and rebandaged the wound with ruthless precision while Aaliyah whispered to Cruz under her breath, little encouragements—'You're okay.' 'I'm here.' 'Just breathe.' The moment the bandage was secured, Cruz caught Aaliyah’s wrist and held it, her grip trembling, but not from pain. From fear. Delayed and debilitating. Aaliyah saw it in her eyes and it was like she could feel the fear coursing through her veins.

Aaliyah shifted closer, kneeling between Cruz’s knees, forcing her to look up. “You got me out,” she said, fierce and low. “You didn’t let go.”

Cruz’s breath shuddered out of her, raw. “Couldn’t,” she rasped. “Couldn’t lose you.”

The others were heard in the periphery, moving outside the space, somehow in the background—Joe and Bobby interrogating the prisoner, Tex and Randy securing the perimeter—but Cruz barely registered them. It was just Aaliyah in front of her. Warm. Alive. Cruz dragged her good hand up, cupping Aaliyah’s cheek with aching tenderness.

Aaliyah leaned into it, eyes closing for one long, broken second—then surged forward and kissed her. Not hard. Not frantic. But deep. Lingering. Absolute. Cruz met her with everything she had left, pulling Aaliyah closer, feeling the thud of her heart against her own. The kiss tasted of smoke and fear and something deeper—something devastatingly soft, dangerously permanent.

Aaliyah broke the kiss first, resting her forehead against Cruz’s. “You’re mine,” she whispered, fierce and trembling. “You don’t get to leave me.” Cruz’s throat closed. She kissed Aaliyah again, slower this time, a promise sealed against the chaos still ahead. Footsteps scuffed nearby.

Joe’s knocked, her voice, dry and sharp, “Hate to interrupt, ladies, but our guest is waking up. And he’s ready to talk.”

Cruz exhaled a shaky breath against Aaliyah’s skin. Duty called. But so did she. Cruz kissed the corner of Aaliyah’s mouth one last time—tender and reluctant—before forcing herself to stand. “Later,” she promised, voice hoarse.

Aaliyah’s hand squeezed hers before letting go. And together, they turned toward the next battle.

--------------------------------------------

In the back room, Imran Amrohi sat shackled to a steel chair, silent and unbothered despite the blood staining his sleeves. He hadn’t said a word since they returned. No pleas, no bargains. Only cold stares and silence. Seemed to be in complete disbelief that they survived the warehouse trap.

Randy and Tex stood watch over him, rifles slung low but ready. In the main room, Joe stood over their second prisoner—the one they'd grabbed during the firefight—who was just now waking up with a groan, zip cuffs biting into his wrists and ankles.

Cruz hovered nearby, one hand pressed absently to her fresh bandages. Aaliyah sat beside her, close enough that their knees brushed, settling her without speaking. Joe tossed a glance toward Bobby, who nodded once.

"Let's get started," Joe said. The prisoner blinked up at her, disoriented, blood trickling from a cut above his eyebrow. "Where’s Kamal?" Joe asked, voice like stone.

The man just stared at her, defiant. Joe sighed and crouched, placing a knife carefully on the ground between them. "That’s a simple question," she said. "But we can take the long way around if you want."

The man spat at her feet. Bobby moved in an instant, jamming the barrel of her rifle against his chest with a sickening thud. The man gasped, crumpling sideways. Joe didn't flinch. "Last chance."

Behind her, Aaliyah felt Cruz tense beside her—but Cruz stayed still, breathing deep. The prisoner coughed weakly, glaring up at them. And then, finally, he spoke.

"Kamal’s always moving," he rasped. "Tomorrow night. Big shipment. Private airfield outside Riyadh."

Joe’s eyes sharpened. "Coordinates?" The man hesitated. Aaliyah leaned forward unconsciously, heart hammering.

Joe picked up the knife again, twirling it lightly. "Or I can start cutting pieces off and you can draw me a map in blood," she said pleasantly. The prisoner’s face twisted. And then, reluctantly, he rattled off numbers. Joe nodded once, sharp and satisfied. She jerked her chin toward Tex.

"Check this out. Confirm it." Tex was already moving toward a secure laptop.

Joe turned to Cruz, her expression tight. "We have a window," she said. "Kamal’s going to surface. This might be our last chance to cut him off—and end this."

Cruz’s jaw locked. "Then we don’t miss." Aaliyah touched her hand under the table, silent support. Cruz squeezed back, almost imperceptibly.

Imran's shadow loomed down the hallway—silent, waiting—but for now, the mission was clear. They had a target. They had a timeline. It was time to move.

The air inside the safe house was taut, vibrating with unspoken urgency. Maps were spread across the metal table, satellite images pinned down by battered mugs and empty magazines. Joe traced a gloved finger along the dirt roads leading to the private airfield, lips pressed tight in thought.

Cruz leaned forward stiffly, bandages hidden beneath a dark jacket, her eyes hard and calculating. The last mission had carved fresh lines around her mouth—lines Aaliyah wanted to smooth away but couldn’t. Not yet.

"We have a twenty-minute window before Kamal’s bird lifts off," Joe said, voice clipped. "Minimal security—probably local hires. He either thinks he’s invisible or invincible."

"Overconfident," Bobby muttered, tapping her pen against a side gate marked on the aerial shot. "We can use that."

Tex nodded. "Two teams. One on the bird, one on Kamal."

Cruz spoke for the first time, voice low. "I’m taking Kamal." No hesitation. No question. Joe nodded without argument.

"Two Cups and I will handle the exfil and comms side. Tucker on overwatch. Randy and Bobby with Cruz on the primary snatch." She glanced over her shoulder toward the back room, where Imran sat, still silent and shackled. "We can't risk moving him yet. He stays under lock here with Tex until we’re wheels up."

Aaliyah stood a little outside the circle, arms crossed tight across her chest. She could feel Cruz’s gaze flick to her and away, restrained like a physical pain. Joe caught the tension and hesitated.

"Aaliyah—" Joe started carefully.

"I'm not going anywhere," Aaliyah cut in before she could finish. Her voice was quiet, unshaking. "I'll stay here. With Tex. With Imran." The words tasted bitter on her tongue. She wanted to be near Cruz—to follow her into hell if she had to—but she wouldn't be a liability. Not when the stakes were this high.

Joe gave a small, almost approving nod. "Good. You’ll support me on comms. Tex will be able tap into footage from Tucker's drone. So, you and I will have eyes and ears."

The meeting broke apart into murmured logistics—frequencies, loadouts, fallback points. But Cruz stayed rooted in place as the others moved. Finally, when the room thinned, Cruz turned. Her eyes found Aaliyah’s, and for one long, unbearable heartbeat, neither of them breathed. Cruz crossed the room slowly, every step deliberate, heavy. Aaliyah didn’t move—couldn’t.

Cruz stopped only when they were close enough to touch. But she didn’t reach for her. Not yet. "You don’t have to pretend you're okay with this," Cruz said roughly, voice a low scrape of guilt and need.

Aaliyah shook her head, tears pricking, unshed. "I’m not okay with it," she whispered. "But I know this needs to be done, and I believe in you." The words were a gift. A sword. A promise.

Cruz swallowed hard, something shattering quietly in her chest. Slowly, almost reverently, she raised a hand and brushed her fingers along Aaliyah’s cheek, tracing the curve of her jaw as if memorizing it. Aaliyah leaned into the touch, a soft, desperate sound escaping her throat.

"I’ll come back to you," Cruz whispered fiercely. "No matter what."

"You better," Aaliyah breathed.

Cruz hesitated—then bent and pressed her forehead to Aaliyah’s, their breath mingling, the world narrowing to the space between their mouths. But Cruz didn’t kiss her. Didn’t let herself fall. Instead, she lingered there, heart pounding against Aaliyah's skin, until duty ripped her away. Without another word, Cruz pulled back and turned away, the loss of her touch a physical wound.

Aaliyah stood frozen, fists clenched tight at her sides, listening to the sound of boots moving out, gear clicking into place. And then the door slammed shut behind them. Leaving her in the thick, suffocating silence of waiting.

Chapter 5: Cutting Resources and Getting Resourceful

Notes:

WARNING - Graphic depictions of violence/war

The night swallowed them whole. The safehouse shrank in the rearview as the convoy cut through the deserted outskirts, engines low, headlights killed. The city had fallen away, leaving nothing but endless sand and the occasional stuttering pulse of distant lights.

Inside the lead SUV, Cruz sat shotgun, rifle resting across her lap. Her body hummed with coiled adrenaline, every muscle drawn taut. The world outside was a blur, but inside her mind, there was only clarity. One mission. One objective. And one silent promise anchoring her through the chaos. Get back to her.

Bobby drove, knuckles loose on the wheel, eyes flicking from the road to the GPS. Randy rode behind them, gear rattling softly with every bump. Through her earpiece, Cruz heard Joe’s voice, calm and surgical. "Final check. Two Cups, you’re clear to move?"

"Affirmative," Two Cups replied. "Got your exfil hot and ready."

"Tucker? Joe rattled off. "Overwatch in position."

"Tex?" Joe asked next.

"Safehouse is secure," Tex said. A slight pause. "They’re good."

They meaning Aaliyah. Cruz exhaled slowly, letting herself soak that in.

Bobby shifted gears. "We’re three klicks out."

Cruz adjusted her vest, fingers checking her sidearm, knives, spare mags. Movements automatic. Ritual. Her mind flickered—unbidden—to the feel of Aaliyah’s forehead pressed to hers. The trembling of her breath. The way she hadn’t begged Cruz to stay, hadn’t pleaded with her to be careful. She’d simply believed in her. That faith was heavier, more sacred, than any burden Cruz had ever carried into battle.

Randy broke the silence. "You good, Cruz?"

Cruz didn’t turn around. She just said, low and sure, "I’m good."

The airstrip loomed ahead—a rectangle of cracked asphalt and blinking, half-dead runway lights. A lone jet sat on the tarmac, black and gleaming under the stars, engines idling like a sleeping beast. Kamal’s ticket out.

"Positions," Joe’s voice crackled in their ears.

Cruz felt herself fall into the rhythm of it—the calm before the break, the breath before the blood. Bobby peeled off, driving them down a side dirt road lined with scrub and rusted fencing. They stopped a hundred meters out. Lights off. Engines off. Doors whispering open.

Cruz hit the ground light and silent, rifle cradled in her arms. Randy moved alongside her, crouching low. The night wrapped around them, a living thing. Joe’s voice was a phantom in her ear. "Primary team, move."

Cruz led the way, boots barely whispering across the sand, breath steady despite the adrenaline ripping through her veins. One more breath. One more step. One more promise to keep. She tightened her grip on her rifle. Aaliyah’s voice echoed in her mind—I believe in you—stronger than any battle cry. Cruz didn’t look back. She moved forward into the dark.

The night detonated into chaos. Cruz heard the first suppressed shots pop through the air, saw the flicker of movement near the airstrip’s battered fencing. Randy was already shifting, tracking targets, tight and precise. Bobby flanked left. Cruz covered right.

"Contacts moving south—four o’clock," Joe’s voice crackled. Cruz caught the shadow of a man sprinting from the hangar toward the plane, shouting into a radio. No way he’s calling for help. Without hesitation, she squeezed the trigger. One clean shot. The man dropped without a sound.

They surged forward, low and fast. Two Cups' voice came through calm as a heartbeat: "Tower’s dead. No comms in or out."

Good. No backup coming. Ahead, three armed men spilled from the hangar, startled but moving quick. Cruz shifted her weight, planting one knee into the dirt, rifle braced. Breathe. Sight. Squeeze. Two down before they could raise their weapons. Randy dropped the third before Cruz had even chambered another round.

"Clear left," Bobby hissed over comms.

Cruz pushed forward, reaching the base of the plane’s boarding ramp. The engines still idled, hot and ready. A bad taste filled her mouth. "This was a setup," she muttered.

"There's 5 people leaving the back of the building. They're loading into two vehicles," Aaliyah whisper shouts over comms.

Joe expanded, "Confirmed. Secondary signals heading northeast, away from you."

"Kamal’s probably in the wind," Bobby confirmed grimly. "My money's on him being one of those 5 assholes running from the scene."

Cruz’s gut twisted. Dammit. Movement caught her eye inside the plane—flash of a figure hauling a duffel bag, another hefting a crate.

"Looks like they’re exfil’ing intel," Cruz said sharply into comms.

"Retrieve what you can," Joe ordered. "Priority is Kamal, we don't know if he was one of them, and disrupting any handoff. Clear the plane and the building."

Cruz moved first, charging up the ramp with Bobby on her heels. Inside the plane, two men spun around—one armed, the other clutching a satphone. The armed man raised his weapon. Cruz didn’t hesitate. Two shots. Two bodies dropped. Smoke and the tang of gunpowder thickened the air. Randy swept inside after them, covering the rear.

Cruz kicked the satphone aside. "Bag everything and move," she ordered.

Bobby knelt, checking the crates. "Documents. Drives." Randy hauled the duffel open—cash, passports, and what looked like transport logs. All of it evidence. Proof of Kamal and Imran’s activities, details about the network.

"Extraction point’s hot," Two Cups called.

"You got five minutes, tops," Tucker estimated. Cruz’s mind raced. Kamal was gone—already running. But this—this was still a victory. Cutting their resources. Forcing their hand. They moved fast, securing everything portable, slinging it over their shoulders. Cruz took point back down the ramp, scanning the desert’s edges.

Aaliyah notices dust moving on the edge of the screen. "Tex, Joe, I think someone is coming toward them. Top right of the image."

Joe sees it immediately, "Vehicles. Shit. Dust kicking up from the northeast guys. You got incoming."

Cruz heard it. The roar of engines in the distance. "Go, go, go!" Cruz barked. They sprinted for the SUV, Randy firing suppression shots behind them. Bullets cracked the night air. Cruz ducked low, feeling the burn of adrenaline flare through her system.

Two Cups floored the gas the second Cruz hauled the door shut. The SUV rocketed back toward the safehouse route, tires spitting sand. "Tucker," Cruz called. "Cover?"

"Got eyes. Sending a little love their way." Overhead, the sharp rattle of automatic fire sounded—Tucker lighting up the pursuit vehicles from his overwatch perch. Cruz slumped back against the seat, cradling her rifle, heart hammering in her chest. They had survived. But it wasn't over. Not even close.

——————————————————————

The safehouse door slammed shut behind them, the bolts thrown home. Inside, it was stiflingly hot—heavy with tension and the sharp smell of gun oil and sweat. The team moved fast, tossing gear onto the battered table, kicking weapons into a pile.

Cruz barely registered it. Her entire being was tuned to one thing. Aaliyah. She found her instantly—standing near the far wall, tense and wide-eyed, hands clenched into fists at her sides. Alive. Whole. A ragged breath tore out of Cruz’s chest. "Aaliyah," she rasped.

In the next second, Aaliyah was moving—across the room, dodging around Two Cups and Randy without hesitation. She collided into Cruz’s chest, wrapping her arms around her with a desperate force that knocked the rifle from Cruz’s hand. Cruz caught her, holding her so tight she felt Aaliyah’s heartbeat slamming against her own.

"You’re okay," Aaliyah gasped against her neck. "You're okay—you’re okay—" Cruz tightened her grip until her arms shook. Buried her face in Aaliyah’s hair, breathing her in. Alive. Alive.

"I’ve got you," Cruz whispered roughly. "I’m here." Around them, the team pretended not to notice—giving them that fragile sliver of privacy. But it wasn’t enough. Cruz needed more—needed space where she could feel Aaliyah without the world watching, without the mission crowding in.

Without thinking, she caught Aaliyah’s hand and tugged her with her, weaving through the half-lit hallways of the safehouse. Aaliyah didn’t resist—she followed blindly, her fingers gripping tight, her breathing ragged. They found a side room—small, probably a utility closet once, now just bare walls and dusty air. Cruz kicked the door shut behind them. The second it clicked, they were on each other.

Cruz crushed her mouth to Aaliyah’s, fierce and unrestrained, all the fear and anger and longing detonating at once. Aaliyah answered with a raw, broken sound, her hands sliding into Cruz’s hair, pulling her closer, anchoring them together. Cruz stumbled backward, dragging Aaliyah with her until her back hit the wall. She didn’t care. She needed the closeness. Needed this.

Aaliyah’s hands were everywhere—cupping Cruz’s jaw, skimming down her ribs, finding every solid, living part of her. "I thought—" Aaliyah started, voice breaking. "When I saw them coming for you—you were under fire..."

"I’m here," Cruz growled against her lips. "I’m not going anywhere." She kissed her again, slower this time, deeper. Pouring every shredded emotion into it—I’m alive. You’re alive. We’re still standing. Aaliyah pressed closer, molding against her, her body fitting into every worn-down edge Cruz didn’t know she had. For a long, breathless moment, there was nothing but them—heat and touch and the dizzying feel of being home.

Cruz finally broke the kiss, resting her forehead against Aaliyah’s, panting. "I missed you," she whispered. Three words ripped straight from the torn edges of her heart.

Aaliyah swallowed hard, her lashes wet. "I was so scared."

Cruz cupped her face gently, brushing her thumbs along her jaw. "I know," she said. "Me too." They stayed like that—holding onto each other like the world might break apart at any second—until the sounds of the team filtering through the hall reminded them reality hadn't stopped. Cruz kissed her forehead once, lingering.

Aaliyah held on, her fingers still tangled in Cruz’s shirt like she couldn’t bear to let go. Neither could Cruz. Because whatever came next, they’d face it together. And Cruz would burn the world down before she let anything touch Aaliyah again.

The makeshift operations room was sweltering, not with heat but with anxiety, dimly lit by a single battered lamp. Cruz sat at the table, her thigh pressed lightly against Aaliyah’s under the surface—small, grounding contact that nobody commented on. Joe, Bobby, Two Cups, Randy, Tucker, and Tex were gathered around, exhaustion dragging at every line of their bodies. But the adrenaline hadn't burned off yet. They were still in it.

On the table between them, a scatter of evidence—phones, laptops, a bloodied ledger, stacks of documents hastily stuffed into bags during the raid. Joe flipped a burner phone over in her hand, grimacing. "Encrypted as hell. We'll get the techs on it, but it'll take time." Bobby was able to coordinate with a few techs she trusted with her life back home. They could decrypt some of this mess they found exponentially faster, even remotely.

"And Kamal?" Cruz asked, voice low and tight.

Bobby shook her head. "Gone. Slipped out just before we hit. We rattled the tree, but the snake's still loose."

Two Cups leaned forward, tapping a map spread across the table. "He’s hurting. We hit his infrastructure—money lines, comms. He'll be desperate."

"Desperate means reckless," Randy said. "We can use that." A tense silence stretched.

Aaliyah shifted beside Cruz, the faintest movement—but Cruz felt it like a live wire. Aaliyah lifted her chin slightly, her voice steady despite the weight of the room pressing down. "I know Kamal," she said. All eyes swung to her. She didn't flinch. "He's proud. Arrogant. Cocky, really. If we show him we have something that could expose him, he won't run. He’ll come for it."

Joe’s brow furrowed. "And how exactly do you suggest we bait him?"

Aaliyah glanced briefly at Cruz—a flicker of silent trust—then back to the group. "Me," she said simply. "I’m the bait." The table erupted into overlapping protests.

"No way—"
"That’s insane—"
"We're not putting you in his crosshairs—"

Cruz’s heart slammed against her ribs. Every instinct screamed no—to drag Aaliyah away, to shield her from even the idea of that risk. But she forced herself to stay still. Forced herself to trust her.

Aaliyah held up a hand, cutting through the noise. "I’m not saying I walk in unprotected," she said calmly. "I’m saying we control the circumstances. Control the environment. Draw him to a meet. We feed him just enough intel to make him believe I have something he needs to bury."

Joe leaned back, studying her. "And you think he’ll bite."

"I know he will," Aaliyah said. "He's been eyeing opportunities to exact revenge since this went down in Mallorca. He can't stand the idea of me breathing, much less gaining something after he lost his brother. His plans may be unraveling like cheap fabric, but Imran and I are loose ends he won't leave behind willingly."

Bobby gave a low whistle. "Girl’s got stones," she muttered, not unkindly.

Aaliyah's gaze flicked to Cruz again, just for a second—you taught me to think like this, it said. Cruz swallowed hard, feeling a strange, sharp ache behind her ribs.

Joe exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand down her face. "Even if he bites, it’s a damn tight rope to walk."

Cruz interjects, "I don't know if he'll believe it. He knows there isn't anything he could offer that I would trade you for." Cruz's eyes softened. "Imran, on the other hand, he may believe we're willing to barter for. I think we could use this to catch him. Still, if, we do this, there will be exposure."

"Then we plan it down to the second," Aaliyah said. "We control the location, the backup, the exits."

Tex cracked his knuckles. "We could rig a kill zone easy enough."

"Not a kill zone," Aaliyah said firmly. "An extraction. We get him alive and we can find out whatever else we don't know." Another beat of stunned silence.

Cruz finally spoke, her voice low but unwavering. "I’m in," she said. "Aaliyah’s right, I’m backing her play." Aaliyah’s eyes locked with hers across the table—dark, shining, steady. They weren’t just fighting back anymore. They were taking control.

Joe sighed heavily. "Alright. Let’s sketch it out. No commitment yet—we’ll lay out every contingency first."

The team nodded grimly, already shifting into operational mode. As the room erupted into logistical chaos—maps unfurled, comm lines discussed—Cruz let her hand drift under the table. Found Aaliyah’s fingers. Wound them together. Just for a moment. A silent promise, knotted between them in the dark: I’m with you. All the way.

Chapter 6: Laying the Trap

Notes:

WARNING - Graphic depictions of violence/war

The room cleared out in stages. Joe dragged Bobby into the kitchen to set up a makeshift command post. Tex and Randy disappeared to scout potential meet locations. Two Cups hunched over a laptop, setting up encryption lines with the tech team back in D.C. Tucker in the back, meticulously checking munitions. Gradually, the clutter and noise faded, until it was just Aaliyah and Cruz left at the battered table.

The heat between them felt thick, like humidity after a storm. Neither moved at first. Cruz leaned back slowly, studying Aaliyah—not with a soldier’s calculating gaze, but with something far more dangerous. Something personal.

"You know this is dangerous," Cruz said quietly. Not a question. A statement. A warning.

Aaliyah’s mouth tilted into the barest hint of a smile. "You taught me not to flinch."

That cracked something open in Cruz’s chest—raw and tender. She reached out, brushing her knuckles lightly along the inside of Aaliyah’s wrist. Aaliyah didn’t pull away. Instead, she turned her hand over, palm up. Inviting. Trusting.

Cruz laced their fingers together again, rough calluses scraping soft skin. She leaned in, until their foreheads almost touched. "When this is over," Cruz murmured, her breath stirring Aaliyah’s hair, "we're getting out. You and me."

Aaliyah’s fingers squeezed hers. "Where would we even go?"

Cruz gave a ghost of a smile. "Somewhere nobody knows our names." Aaliyah’s smile faltered—not from fear, but from the overwhelming weight of wanting. Cruz dipped her head lower, pressing a kiss to the inside of Aaliyah’s wrist—a slow, deliberate press of her mouth against the racing pulse there. Aaliyah made a soft, broken sound. Half a gasp, half a whimper. And it snapped whatever fragile restraint Cruz had left.

She rose in one fluid movement, guiding Aaliyah up with her, backing her toward the darkened hallway that led to the bedrooms. They moved in silence, breathing each other in. Cruz found their door, shoved it open, almost in desperation. Compared to the lavish life Aaliyah, was used to, it was barely larger than a closet—just a small bed, a cracked mirror, and mostly boarded windows.

Cruz kicked the door shut behind them. Then her hands were in Aaliyah’s hair, pulling her in, mouth claiming her in a kiss that was all teeth and heat and desperate need. Aaliyah answered back just as fiercely, fisting the front of Cruz’s shirt, dragging her closer. They stumbled to the bed, collapsing onto the thin mattress in a tangle of limbs. Hands roamed, frantic and searching. Cruz's touch pulling movement and sounds that were intoxicating. Aaliyah exhaled and in that moment she surrendered…every muscle taut from need and want immediately relaxed. She was engrossed in the moment they were creating and simply felt relief. Cruz continued her explorations; palming Aaliyah's chest so gently, and feeling every ripple of the shiver she caused. Bringing her hand to her navel, and letting her thumb rest in the recess as four adventurous digits, sneak beneath her waistband.

Cruz hesitates, and Aaliyah stiffens. Eyes meeting hers, knowingly. Cruz will always wonder how she reads her so well. "What is it, my love?" Aaliyah whispers, cutting through the fog.

Cruz removed her hand and braced herself over Aaliyah on her good arm, her hand unconsciously fisting in the sheets beside her head, the other cupping Aaliyah’s jaw. Aaliyah waited for her to gather her thoughts, running her fingers through Cruz's hair, and massaging the base of her scalp.

"Aaliyah, you have no idea how much I want to do this. I could spend a lifetime just worshipping every inch of you." Aaliyah gasps at the visual…not sure if Cruz was aware of what she insinuated—a lifetime—but wanting that more than anything. Cruz continued, "It's just... you deserve more than this Aaliyah. So much more than a grimy safehouse and rough sheets. I don't want this to be how you remember our first time."

Confused, Aaliyah asks, "Our first time?" As soon as she says it, she realizes. She sees it in the sincerity of Cruz's eyes. This would be Aaliyah's first time with Cruz—not Zara—Cruz, and she wanted it to be special, meaningful. Aaliyah repeats it, then, with full understanding. "Our first time."

"I want to give you everything, Aaliyah and I know it isn't enough, but this is unacceptable. I don't want it to be hidden or subdued like in New York. I don't want it to be tainted with fear or danger on the horizon here, with contingencies and exit strategies in the back of my mind. I want you to be free, and feel free, with me," Aaliyah feels tears welling up, but refuses to blink them away. Not wanting to break eye contact in this moment. Cruz kisses her collarbone, hands beginning to move again. "I want to take my time with you," grabbing her breasts. "I want you to be consumed with what my hands, mouth, and maybe something else, are doing..." she smirked, slipping her hand between Aaliyah's thighs. Aaliyah's hips launch forward, whimpering, eyes fluttering shut… the combination of her words and hands were too much and the whimper almost breaks Cruz. "...just in the moment. Just us."

Cruz stilled her hand, memorizing the moment and the scene beneath her. Aaliyah opened her eyes, inches away. The optimal vantage point to see every emotion laid bare. Love. Trust. Desire. Aaliyah pulled Cruz down and kissed her fervently. Nipping her lower lip. Requesting entry with her tongue. Receiving Cruz's in return. All while marveling at Cruz's restraint, not moving a muscle since she last spoke.

Needing air, Aaliyah broke the kiss, maintaining eye contact with Cruz. "When are you going to realize that you're everything?” Cruz’s mouth was agape, almost shocked by the question that hung in the air. “I couldn’t even imagine this, Cruz. It hurt too much to hope for something anywhere near what we have. But…meeting you and being with you broke me wide open…even before New York. I knew.” Aaliyah cupped her face with both hands. Exuding conviction in her words and demanding Cruz receive them. “I wanted you from the start and I couldn’t understand why I was so drawn to you. It was more than lust. I wanted you in my life in every conceivable way. I need that. I need you.”

”Actually having this with you…a future with you…is infinitely more than I could have imagined.” Aaliyah knows some things about her past, things that have conditioned Cruz believe otherwise, but Aaliyah internally vows, then, to show her and tell her in different ways, consistently, leaving no doubt. She’d start by reaffirming now. "You're everything to me, Cruz Manuelos. I want it to be special for you, special for us." Cruz blushed. "I think we can save the extra-special activities for when this is over, but we shouldn't deny ourselves everything."

The glint in Aaliyah's eyes told her all she needed to know. Cruz beamed and nodded. Then, leaned back in and kissed her lips, each of her cheeks, then lower on her neck, nipping occasionally. Aaliyah moaned, her chest heaving, still reacting with anticipation. Cruz shifted back to her lips, swallowing the sounds. Then, the desperation shifted. Their kisses slowed, deepened—savoring each other now. Mesmerizing. Magnetic. Meaningful.

Aaliyah broke the kiss first, panting, her eyes huge and dark in the low light. She framed Cruz’s face with both hands, voice trembling but sure. "Come back to me," she whispered.

Cruz pressed her forehead to Aaliyah’s, closing her eyes against the burn building behind them. "I swear it," she whispered back.

Another kiss—this one softer, almost reverent. Then, Cruz pulled away, breathing hard, forcing herself to separate. They had a plan to finish. A fight to win. Later—Later, once they survived—There would be more.

Cruz straightened, stood, offering her hand. Aaliyah took it without hesitation, letting Cruz pull her to her feet. Together, they stepped back into the dim hallway, into the noise and tension and chaos still waiting for them. But something had shifted between them now. Solidified. An unbreakable thread, stitched tight and glowing hot between their hearts. And it would hold. No matter what came next.

The kitchen was crowded again by the time Cruz and Aaliyah rejoined the others, but now every movement buzzed with purpose. Maps and floor plans sprawled across the battered table. Two Cups’ laptop threw a faint blue glow across the stacks of encrypted phones and burner radios. Joe scribbled down a timeline on the back of a piece of cardboard, her handwriting sharp and fast. Cruz squeezed Aaliyah’s hand once before letting go and stepping into the center of the chaos.

“All right,” she said. Her voice cut through the noise, low but commanding. “Here’s what we’ve got.”

Everyone stilled. Joe flipped the cardboard around so Cruz could read it easily. “We set the meeting with Kamal for noon tomorrow," Joe said, tapping the makeshift timeline. "Abandoned industrial park, outskirts of the city. Plenty of cover. Only a few active security cameras—Two Cups already hijacked them." Two Cups gave a little salute without looking up from his laptop.

Cruz nodded. "Good. And Imran?"

"Tucker is watching him," Bobby said. "Sedated, tied, and gagged. No way he’s slipping out." Aaliyah stiffened slightly at the mention of her uncle. Cruz caught it, her hand brushing lightly against Aaliyah’s back in silent reassurance.

“We're bringing Imran with us tomorrow," Joe continued. "Controlled exposure. Kamal will want proof he’s alive before committing to anything.”

"Won't that be risky?" Tex asked, arms crossed. "Guy’s a snake."

"Which is why I’m handling it personally," Tucker said. “We’ll keep Imran in the SUV until the final handoff. Two Cups will monitor the perimeter. Bobby and Tex, you’re ground-side backup. Joe on overwatch stays with Aaliyah on comms.”

Joe and Aaliyah exchanged a quick glance. Unspoken agreement: we hold the fort.

“And if Kamal doesn’t take the bait?” Bobby asked.

Cruz smiled, slow and razor-sharp. “Then we still have leverage. Either way, he’s walking into a trap.”

Randy leaned over the table, pointing at the circled meet location. "You want me setting up the secondary extraction?"

Cruz nodded. "Yeah. South end of the lot. Unmarked van. If shit goes sideways, we push Kamal that direction."

A charged silence fell. Everyone knew what that meant. There would be no second chance. It was all in, all or nothing.

Aaliyah broke the silence first. Her voice was steady, clear. “If this works, and Kamal’s taken alive—what then?”

Cruz looked at her—and for a moment, the whole room faded away.

Her answer was quiet, but lethal.

"Then we find out who else is still moving the money, who's pulling the strings. We rip the rest of their network out at the roots. And we end it.” Aaliyah held her gaze for a long moment, then nodded once. Resolved. Ready.

It struck Cruz again—how much Aaliyah had changed. How much stronger she’d become without ever losing the soft, aching heart that made her who she was. Joe clapped her hands, breaking the heavy mood. "All right, folks. Eat, hydrate, check your gear. We move out at 0900. No mistakes."

The team dispersed quickly, each one slotting into their roles with silent efficiency. Cruz hung back a moment, watching Aaliyah quietly organize her notes by the window. Joe caught Cruz's look and gave her a knowing smirk. A silent go to her. Cruz did.

She crossed the room and stood beside Aaliyah, close enough to feel the warmth of her shoulder. Aaliyah looked up at her, something unguarded flickering in her eyes.

"You okay?" Cruz asked softly.

Aaliyah nodded. Then, after a heartbeat, she intertwined their fingers. The action wasn’t desperate. It was a tether—a request for steadiness, for connection before the storm. Cruz gave her hand a gentle squeeze, and Aaliyah’s smile was small, private, just for her. And as the others prepped for war around them, Cruz leaned in, brushing a kiss against Aaliyah’s temple—light and protective. No promises they couldn’t keep. No more lies. Just the silent vow between them: I’m here. As long as it takes.

The house quieted as the night wore on. Gear was packed. Plans reviewed. The hum of adrenaline still pulsed faintly under the surface, but most had retreated to find a few stolen hours of sleep before dawn. Cruz found Aaliyah standing at the window of their small room, arms crossed over her chest, staring out into the darkened city beyond. The pale moonlight caught the curve of her cheek, the slope of her shoulder. She looked untouchable. Remote. But Cruz knew better. She closed the door softly behind her, locking it with a soft click.

Aaliyah didn’t turn. “I keep thinking about how many nights I stood at windows like this,” she said quietly. “Hoping for something that never came. Dreading the next dutiful task. Wanting to be free. Terrified of what that meant."

Her voice was steady, but Cruz heard the old ache threading through it. “I’m not leaving you behind,” Cruz said, crossing the room.

Aaliyah finally looked at her, eyes luminous in the low light. “You already did once.” Cruz flinched. Not because Aaliyah meant it cruelly—she hadn’t. It was just the truth, laid bare between them.

But Aaliyah shook her head before Cruz could speak. "I know why," she said. "You had been caught, had to put duty first. I’m sure I would have, also, the next morning by marrying Ehsan. Been dutiful. I know it wasn’t because you didn’t want me."

Cruz reached her, brushing a strand of hair back from Aaliyah’s face, letting her fingers linger against the warm, living pulse at her jawline. "Never," Cruz whispered.

For a long moment, they just breathed in the quiet. No battlefield between them now. No roles. No missions. Just the two of them. Aaliyah lifted her hand and pressed it over Cruz’s, multiplying the warmth against her skin.

“Just be here with me tonight,” she said again, softer. “Not because you’re protecting me. Not because of a mission. Not because we’re running. Just because you want to.”

Cruz didn’t hesitate. She bent and kissed her—slow, savoring, lips moving over Aaliyah’s like a promise. Aaliyah rose into it, her body fitting against Cruz’s with desperate familiarity, as if they could fold themselves into each other and forget the dangers closing in. The kiss deepened, heat and tenderness woven tight together. Cruz cupped the back of Aaliyah’s head, holding her steady, her other hand settling low on Aaliyah’s hip.

Aaliyah made a soft sound against her mouth, the kind that made Cruz’s heart lurch painfully inside her chest. They broke apart only when breathless, foreheads resting together. Neither willing to pull away.

“Come here,” Cruz said hoarsely, tugging her gently toward the bed. Aaliyah went easily, trusting, the tension in her body unwinding all at once as Cruz guided her down.

Aaliyah carefully removed Cruz's clothes, drinking her in. Cruz watched Aaliyah remove her own; her eyes taking the journey from head to toe and back. There was no rush, no frantic urgency. Just touch. Hands exploring the familiar lines of each other’s bodies through thin layers of fabric—thumbs tracing ribs, fingers stroking the soft hollow at the small of the back, knuckles grazing along a hipbone.

Cruz pulled Aaliyah close under the worn blanket, feeling the way her body fit so perfectly against hers. For a long time, they said nothing. Comforting cuddles. Calming caresses. Just breathed together, heartbeats syncing, skin-to-skin.

Finally, Aaliyah whispered against Cruz’s collarbone: “Promise me you’ll come back.”

Cruz tightened her arms around her. "I’ll always come back to you," she replied.

Aaliyah didn’t answer with words—just a shuddering breath, and the way she tucked herself even tighter against Cruz’s body, as if she could keep her there, protect her from what lie ahead. Cruz stayed awake long after Aaliyah fell asleep, listening to the soft, even sound of her breathing. Holding her like a prayer.

Because tomorrow...Tomorrow might demand everything.

But tonight—Tonight was theirs.

Chapter 7: Too Clean

Notes:

WARNING - Graphic depictions of violence/war

Morning came. The quiet buzz of movement stirred the house—boots scuffing over floors, murmured voices, the clatter of gear being checked one last time. Cruz dressed quickly by the low light of the bedside lamp, careful not to wake Aaliyah. But she wasn’t surprised when Aaliyah stirred anyway, blinking sleepily up at her from the bed.

For a moment, they just looked at each other. No words. No goodbyes. Everything that needed to be said had been spoken last night—in whispers against skin, in the way their bodies had held on so fiercely.

Cruz crouched down beside the bed, brushing her knuckles along Aaliyah’s cheek. “You don’t have to say anything,” Cruz murmured.

Aaliyah shook her head, struggling to find her voice. Finally she just whispered, “Come back to me.”

Cruz pressed her forehead against Aaliyah’s for one breath, two. Letting it brand her. Needing to feel her. Then, she stood, slipping her sidearm into place at her hip, pulling her jacket tight. Aaliyah watched in awe of this person who's quickly become everything. She tore her eyes away to get dressed.

Across the house, voices called out—time to move. Bobby stood by the front door, rifle slung loose across her back, reading something on a tablet. She lifted her gaze as Cruz approached, her face grim but steady.

"Convoy's ready," Bobby said. "Tex, Two Cups, Randy—already outside." Cruz nodded.

She glanced back over her shoulder—Aaliyah was now standing in the bedroom doorway, arms wrapped around herself, watching her go. It took everything Cruz had to turn away.

She slipped through the front door into the morning air. The safehouse sat tucked between half-abandoned buildings, the streets around it still draped in the blue-gray hush of morning. Three SUVs idled at the curb, exhaust curling in the air.

Two Cups sat in the lead vehicle, fingers drumming nervously on the steering wheel. Tex and Randy were loading last-minute supplies into the back of the second truck. Tucker was positioned in the third, Imran in tow, double-checking comms gear.

Bobby was already pulling open the passenger door, calling over her shoulder to Cruz, “Clock’s ticking, Manuelos.” Cruz settled into the seat beside her, quickly glaring at Imran. He remained restrained and gagged, with a canvas bag over his head. Cruz strapped herself in, feeling the weight of the mission settle onto her chest like a second skin.

As the convoy pulled away from the curb, Cruz couldn’t stop herself from looking back one last time. Through the narrow crack in the curtain, she caught a glimpse—Aaliyah standing at the window. Watching her go. It was enough. It had to be.

Cruz turned her head forward, jaw tight, eyes cold. Focus. Get it done. Get back to her.

The city unspooled around them, sun rising sluggishly over the horizon. Somewhere ahead, Kamal Al Rashdi was preparing for his meeting. Somewhere ahead, the real confrontation waited. And Cruz would walk through hell if she had to. Because there was someone worth fighting for now. Someone waiting for her to come home.

The city bled away behind them, replaced by barren stretches of open road. The convoy moved fast, weaving through sparse traffic, headed for the outskirts where the meet was scheduled to go down. Cruz sat rigid in her seat beside Bobby, scanning the horizon, heading to a quick pitstop. Once that was taken care of, they were back on the road. The radio crackled low between updates from Two Cups and Tex.

“Checkpoint up ahead,” Two Cups’ voice came through. “Looks clean. No visual on Kamal’s people yet.”

Bobby glanced at Cruz. “Too clean?”

“Maybe.” Cruz’s jaw tightened. Her instincts were clawing at her gut. “Keep eyes up.”

They slowed near a crumbling checkpoint that marked the last real divide between the city and the industrial wastelands beyond. Tucker’s truck rolled through first, sweeping the perimeter with sensors disguised as standard customs tech.

Cruz watched every twitch of movement, every glint of glass from the broken buildings nearby. Nothing moved. No one stirred. Too still. Something was off.

“Passing checkpoint,” Two Cups muttered, tapping the brakes just enough to avoid suspicion. “No engagement.”

The SUVs bumped over cracked asphalt and kept moving, heading toward a deserted refinery complex where the meet was supposed to take place. Wind picked up, rattling loose metal signs, tugging dust into swirling columns across the road.

Cruz pulled her sidearm from her holster, checked it with a practiced flick of her wrist, then slid it back into place. Her gaze cut to Bobby. “You ready?”

Bobby flashed a quick grin. “Born ready.”

Still, Cruz could see the same tension in her shoulders, the same awareness that something about this was wrong. The refinery came into view—massive, skeletal, abandoned. Rusted metal piping wound like veins over concrete walls. The whole place looked dead. And that’s what made it dangerous.

“Eyes on possible overwatch positions,” Tucker’s voice came sharp through comms. “North tower, southwest catwalk.”

“Copy,” Cruz replied. “We stick to the plan. If Kamal shows, we leverage Imran. Take our chances. If not—we abort.”

They weren’t risking Imran’s information. He was too valuable. Even now, hidden nearby at a secondary site far from the safehouse, guarded by trusted operators, he was their bargaining chip. But Kamal had to believe he was close enough to touch. Close enough to kill if the deal went south.

The convoy pulled into the refinery’s hollow courtyard. The ground was pitted and broken. Old oil stains turned the earth black. Windows high above them yawned open like empty mouths.

“Too quiet,” Bobby said under her breath. Cruz nodded once. Every nerve in her body was alive, electric.

They stepped out of the vehicles in a tight formation. Tex and Randy fanned out, checking angles. Two Cups kept the engines running, ready for a hot exit. Cruz moved toward the center of the courtyard, heart hammering against her ribs, Bobby shadowing her right flank.

Minutes passed. Nothing. Then—

Movement. A shadow slipping from behind a column. Another figure emerging from the far side of the yard. Men with rifles. Not Kamal. Not his usual crew either. Wrong uniforms. Wrong posture. Too aggressive.

“This isn’t a meet,” Cruz snapped into comms. “It’s a fucking setup. Fall back!” Gunfire exploded from the upper windows.

Cruz tackled Bobby behind a rusted pipe assembly just as bullets chewed through the air where they’d been standing. “Tex! Tucker! Return fire! Two Cups, engines hot!” Cruz barked into her mic.

Chaos erupted—Bullets shredding metal. The high crack of sniper rounds cutting through the refinery’s hollow acoustics. Tex’s machine gun opened up, answering with brutal precision. Cruz dragged Bobby toward better cover, gritting her teeth against the pull in her bruised ribs.

“We’re pinned!” Bobby shouted, reloading with a vicious snap. Not just pinned—herded. Toward the broken catwalk on the north side.

Cruz’s mind raced. It wasn’t about killing them outright. It was about trapping them. She keyed her mic. “This is bait! They’re trying to cut us off! Regroup southwest entrance!”

“Copy!” Tex’s voice came through, fierce and steady. A flashbang exploded nearby—blinding white light, deafening noise.

Cruz shoved Bobby down behind cover, shielded her as best she could. Her ears rang. Her vision blurred.

But she could still hear it—Above the chaos, another vehicle pulling up fast. And stepping out, casual as you please, wearing a shark’s grin—Kamal Al Rashdi.

Here. Smug. Dangerous. Cruz’s blood went ice cold. This wasn’t just a trap. This was personal.

Gunfire raked the broken refinery, biting into crumbling stone and shrieking off twisted metal. Cruz shoved a fresh mag into her weapon with a snap, eyes locked on Kamal across the courtyard. He stood there like he owned the place, flanked by six mercs with heavy rifles. Casual. Untouched by the chaos around him.

“Zara,” he called across the gap, using her old alias like a knife. “Or should I say...Cruz now?”

Bobby cursed “this motherfucker” low beside her, ducking another burst of fire from above.

Cruz rose just enough to fire two tight shots—forcing the nearest shooter to duck. She didn’t hesitate. Didn’t think. Instinct carried her.

“Tex, suppressing fire north side. Tucker, west tower. Two Cups, swing the second vehicle around for hard exfil, now!”

They needed to punch out before Kamal tightened the noose. Cruz motioned to Bobby. “We’re moving on my mark.” A bullet nicked the ground inches from her boot.

Kamal smiled wider, unfazed. He shouted again, voice carrying easily in the open air. “Running already, Zara? After all that time pretending you were hanging out with us…wanting to be one of us. We should catch up.” He chuckled, the sound pure malice. “Tell your little lover I said hello. I hope she’s enjoying the last few hours of her life.”

Cruz’s muscles locked. Heat slammed through her veins. What did he mean about Aaliyah? Bobby caught the shift in Cruz’s body language instantly.

“Focus, Cruz!” she barked. “He’s trying to get in your head.” But it was already too late. The fury was there, cold and sharp behind Cruz’s ribs.

“You don’t get to say her name,” Cruz said under her breath, voice tight with lethal promise. A flash of movement—Tex peeling off to lay down suppressive fire with brutal efficiency. Tucker’s rifle cracked twice from overwatch—precision shots that dropped two rooftop shooters.

An opening. Small, fast, deadly. “Now!” Cruz shouted.

She and Bobby sprinted low across the open ground, weaving through the hail of bullets. Pain lanced through Cruz’s ribs as she vaulted a twisted pipe. She gritted her teeth, forced her body to move.

The second SUV screeched into view, Two Cups hanging halfway out the door, firing bursts to cover them. Cruz shoved Bobby toward the vehicle first, then followed, slamming into the side and hauling herself in, “Go, go, go!” she roared.

The SUV fishtailed in the dirt, tires screaming for traction before they caught and launched forward. Kamal’s men gave chase—but Cruz saw immediately they didn’t intend to catch them.

This was a message. A warning. Kamal wasn’t worried about killing her today. He was planning something worse.

Behind them, the refinery shrank into the horizon—gunfire fading into the distance. Cruz braced herself against the seat, breathing hard, blood roaring in her ears. Bobby panted beside her, wide-eyed but alive.

Tex’s voice crackled over comms. “All accounted for. Tucker’s trailing behind, covering rear. Heading to fallback site.”

Joe, over comms, "We'll meet you there. Already en route."

Two Cups shot a quick glance at Cruz through the rearview mirror. “What now?”

Cruz didn’t hesitate. “We regroup.” Her voice was low, grim. “And then we hunt him.”

--------------------------------------

The fallback house was buried behind an overgrown line of trees, invisible from the cracked road. An old farmhouse, reinforced in every way that mattered: barred windows, reinforced doors, escape tunnels carved into the earth.

Cruz barely waited for the SUV to roll to a stop before she was out, boots hitting gravel hard. Pain flared where the wound pulled, but she didn’t slow down. Inside the house, Randy and Joe just finished sweeping for threats, holstering weapons as she walked up to the house.

Bobby caught Cruz’s arm as she blew past. “Tex and Two Cups are setting up comms. Tucker’s got perimeter. We’re secure—for now.”

Cruz gave a tight nod, barely hearing her. Aaliyah. She had to find Aaliyah. She pushed deeper into the house, past dark hallways and a battered kitchen where Joe was muttering into a radio. Her heart pounded harder with each step. And then—She saw her.

Aaliyah stood at the far end of the hallway, hands clutching the hem of an oversized sweater, eyes wide and frantic. For one suspended second, neither of them moved. And then Aaliyah ran to her. Cruz caught her mid-stride, lifting her clean off the ground, arms locking tight around her like a vise. The shock of Aaliyah’s body against hers—soft, warm, alive—hit so hard Cruz couldn’t breathe.

Aaliyah clutched the back of her neck, pulling her down, burying her face into Cruz’s shoulder. Small, broken sounds tore from her throat, half-sobs, half-whispers Cruz couldn’t make out. Cruz closed her eyes, squeezing her tighter. Her body ached. Her wounds screamed. She didn’t care. She’d carry Aaliyah to the ends of the earth if she had to.

“I’m here,” Cruz rasped, voice cracking. “I’ve got you, baby. I’m here.”

Aaliyah’s fingers fisted in the collar of her jacket. “Don’t—don’t leave me again—”

'Never,' Cruz wanted to say, without hesitation. 'Not again.' But she couldn't. She wouldn't lie to her, and Kamal was a threat they couldn't walk away from. She just held her tighter. They stayed locked together for a long, aching moment, the chaos of the world falling away around them. Finally Cruz shifted, setting Aaliyah down but keeping her close, one hand sliding to the small of her back.

“We need a minute,” Cruz said over her shoulder to Bobby and Joe, who were pretending not to watch. Bobby lifted two fingers in a quick signal—got it—then ushered Joe down the hallway without a word. Cruz touched her forehead to Aaliyah’s, breathing her in.

“You’re safe,” she whispered. “You’re safe, my love. I’m right here.” Aaliyah’s breath shuddered out against her mouth. And then Aaliyah kissed her. Not tentative. Not soft. A hard, desperate collision of lips and teeth and breath, like she was trying to memorize Cruz from the inside out.

Cruz backed them into the nearest empty room, kicking the door shut without looking. She pressed Aaliyah against it, hands framing her face, drinking her in like a woman starving. Aaliyah quickly, but carefully removed her gear. With the barrier removed, their bodies fit together like they were made for it. Every point of contact sparked heat under Cruz’s skin, threatening to burn her alive.

Aaliyah’s hands roamed—shoulders, arms, the plane of Cruz’s back—mapping her like she didn’t trust her to stay. “I thought—” Aaliyah gasped between kisses, “I thought he’d—take you from me—”

“Not possible,” Cruz growled against her mouth. “Never happening.”

She kissed her again, softer this time. Slow. Deep. Pouring every unspoken word, every fear and every vow, into the seam of Aaliyah’s lips. Aaliyah melted into her, surrendering everything she was. Cruz’s hand slid down to cup the curve of her hip, drawing her closer until there was no space left between them. Their heartbeats hammered against each other, frantic and syncopated.

But they couldn’t lose themselves completely. Not yet. Not with Kamal still out there. Cruz forced herself to pull back, pressing one last lingering kiss to the corner of Aaliyah’s mouth.

Aaliyah understood. “We’ll have more time soon, habibti,” she promised, her voice laced with restraint.

Cruz agreed, “We will. I'll make sure of it.”

Aaliyah’s fingers tangled in the front of her shirt like she couldn’t bear to let go. “You better,” she whispered fiercely.

Cruz touched her forehead to hers again, just breathing her in. Then she forced herself to step back. Eliminating the threat and getting them out unscathed was the priority. Revenge would just be icing on the cake.

Chapter 8: No Such Thing as a Fair Fight

Notes:

WARNING - Graphic depictions of violence/war

The farmhouse's kitchen had been hastily cleared into a makeshift command post. Maps were spread across the battered table. Guns, comms gear, laptop screens glowing cold in the dim light. The team gathered fast. Cruz came in first, her hand brushing briefly against Aaliyah’s lower back as they separated. The silent promise between them—soon—buzzed like a live wire.

Joe stood by the window, peeking past the curtain to watch the tree line. Bobby leaned over the table, marking positions with a red pen. Tex and Two Cups manned the radios, alternating between local chatter and encrypted feeds. Tucker prowled the perimeter outside like a ghost.

Randy looked up as Cruz entered, his face grim. "We got a problem," he said without preamble.

Cruz stepped up, scanning the map. "Talk to me."

Randy pointed at a sector marked just outside the fallback zone. "Drone surveillance picked up movement. Two vehicles. Heavy bodies. No insignias, no plates. Same type Kamal's crew used when they hit our last safe house."

"How close?" Cruz asked sharply.

"Close enough," Bobby said. "We're guessing recon first. Then hit squad."

Joe swore under her breath. Two Cups tapped the laptop. "And we just lost two relay drones. Jammed or shot down."

Cruz’s jaw tightened. They didn't have much time. Her mind ran the calculus fast. Kamal hadn't just fallen back—he was hunting them. Because he knew Imran was alive. And he was desperate to erase the evidence. Cruz glanced at Aaliyah, who stood close but quiet, absorbing every word. Aaliyah wasn't a civilian anymore. Not in the ways that mattered. She understood the stakes.

"Options?" Cruz demanded.

"We can hold this place," Bobby offered, voice calm. "Set traps. Funnel them into kill zones."

"Or," Joe added, "we run again. Take Imran deeper into the mountains. Go dark. Make Kamal come to us on our terms."

Cruz weighed it, fast. Hold—and risk Aaliyah getting caught in a siege. Run—and risk exposure on the move. Neither option sat well.

"We need to finish this," Aaliyah said suddenly, her voice steady and sure. The room went still. Every eye turned to her. She straightened her shoulders, chin lifting. "Kamal won't stop. You know that. He'll keep hunting us. Hunting anyone who helps us. He has to be dealt with."

Cruz felt a surge of pride so fierce it hurt. Aaliyah wasn’t speaking from fear. She was speaking from fire.

Bobby nodded slowly, a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. "Girl’s not wrong."

Joe reached for the map, dragging it closer. "If we stay, we make this house a tomb," she said bluntly. "Best case, we kill them. Worst case, they bury us."

"We can't risk Aaliyah," Cruz said firmly.

Joe’s hand tightened on the table. "No," she agreed. "We can't." A plan began to form, hard and lethal. She looked up, locking eyes with Bobby, then Cruz, then Randy.

"We set a decoy," Cruz said. "Make Kamal think he’s found us. But the real fight happens elsewhere. On our ground."

"And Imran?" Tex asked, frowning.

Cruz's voice dropped into something dangerous. "He’s not my priority anymore. Kamal is."

Joe's brows lifted. "You're saying…?"

"I'm saying we use Imran as bait." The table went dead silent. Aaliyah’s face didn’t even flinch. She knew. Knew there was no clean way out of this. Knew Cruz would tear down kingdoms to keep her safe.

Joe couldn't believe what she was hearing. Bobby looked at Joe, who was staring at Cruz. The look she gave Cruz...it was a mix of disbelief, pride, and recognition. Cruz finally understood. Joe wondered if this was how Kaitlyn reacted internally years ago when it really started to click for Joe.

Randy let out a low whistle. "That’s cold, Manuelos."

Cruz stared at the map, jaw set. "That's war. There's no such thing as a fair fight." Joe's eyes snapped up, her brows went to the ceiling. Hearing her say the words with such certainty took her back to the hotel room...trying to talk Cruz off the cliff after she realized she was in love with her mark. Now, she understood.

The farmhouse buzzed with the savage, methodical rhythm of warriors preparing for war. Guns were cleaned and loaded. Booby traps were laid—crude but vicious. Joe and Bobby rigged false heat signatures to make it seem like Imran was hidden in the farmhouse basement. Tex and Two Cups camouflaged the trucks, creating false tire tracks leading in the wrong direction. Randy, grim-faced, mounted remote-triggered explosives along the dirt approach. The kill box was being built.

And in the midst of it all, Cruz caught Aaliyah’s eye. A silent understanding passed between them. Now. Before the blood started. She crossed the room with a purpose, took Aaliyah's hand in hers without a word, and led her upstairs. Behind them, no one questioned it. They understood. Cruz found a small bedroom tucked under the eaves, the door creaking on its hinges. No lock. No luxury. Just a narrow bed, thin curtains blowing in the mountain wind, and a fragile sliver of stolen time. Cruz shut the door behind them.

For a moment, they simply stared at each other, the space between them charged and electric. Then Aaliyah moved first—closing the gap, gripping the front of Cruz’s shirt, pressing her forehead to Cruz’s chest. The impact of it stole Cruz's breath.

She buried her nose in Aaliyah's hair, breathing her in, grounding herself. Aaliyah’s voice was a whisper against her sternum. "What if I lose you?" She shuddered at the thought, "I can't lose you, Cruz."

"You won't," Cruz said roughly, hands splaying over Aaliyah’s back, pressing her closer. "I swear to you." Aaliyah tipped her head back, her eyes shimmering with everything she didn't say out loud. Cruz lowered her forehead to Aaliyah’s. Their breath mingled—shallow, trembling.

"I need you," Aaliyah whispered. "Right now. However much we can have."

Cruz exhaled shakily. "I’m yours," she said, voice wrecked and honest.

Their mouths met—desperate, searching. It wasn’t a gentle kiss. It was hungry, a clash of mouths and teeth and panting breath. Cruz backed her toward the bed with a fierce kind of reverence, hands roaming up under Aaliyah's shirt, just feeling her, anchoring herself to the living, breathing proof that Aaliyah was here, safe, real. Aaliyah fisted her hands in Cruz’s shirt, pulling her down, kissing her like she wanted to burn the moment into her bones. They stumbled onto the bed, Cruz catching most of her weight so she didn’t crush Aaliyah.

The mattress creaked under them, the scent of dust and sweat and survival thick in the air. Their legs tangled, hands mapping familiar territory with desperate tenderness. Cruz pressed her forehead to Aaliyah’s again, breaking the kiss, chest heaving.

"If I don't stop—" she rasped.

"You don't have to," Aaliyah whispered fiercely, desperately. "I want you. I want it all."

Cruz squeezed her eyes shut, every muscle in her body shaking from restraint. "If we don't stop, it means it's goodbye," she whispered, "And this isn't goodbye, Aaliyah."

Aaliyah froze, then took a deep breath. She rubbed Cruz's cheek with her thumb. Cruz opened her eyes and kissed Aaliyah again—slow this time, aching, savoring every second—then buried her face in her neck. They stayed like that, tangled together, lips brushing, hands threading through hair, hearts hammering.

Outside, the storm of war built. But inside that room, for just a little longer, there was only them. Only the way Cruz clung to Aaliyah like she was salvation. Only the way Aaliyah held her like she was home.

--------------------------------------

The mountain air turned electric as twilight sank into full darkness. Far below, faint headlights flickered—ghostly on the dirt road winding toward the farmhouse. Cruz stood at the upstairs window, sniper rifle in hand, her body pressed close behind the half-open shutter. Her eyes, sharp and deadly, tracked every movement.

Two Cups' voice crackled over comms. "Two vehicles, heavy suspension. Convoy formation. Approximately ten hostiles minimum."

"Weapons visible," Randy added from the barn loft.

"They’re expecting a fight." Bobby, calm and certain.

Cruz's mouth set into a hard, grim line. Good. She was ready to give them one. She felt rather than heard Aaliyah move behind her, standing just out of the kill zone, watching Cruz work. There was a steadiness in Aaliyah now that hadn’t been there. A fire forged in terror, betrayal, love—and the ironclad decision to survive. Cruz's heart clenched.

For one dangerous, vulnerable second, she wanted to turn around, pull Aaliyah into her arms, and say fuck it all—forget the plan, forget vengeance, forget blood. But the headlights were getting closer.

Aaliyah must have seen the war inside her, because she stepped forward, put a hand gently at Cruz’s back—between her shoulder blades—and whispered, "Go." Not goodbye. Not be careful. Just go. Fight. Win. Come back.

Cruz squeezed her eyes shut for a heartbeat. Then she breathed out slow and steady and stepped into her purpose. The trucks rolled into the kill zone. The first explosion hit dead center under the lead vehicle, flipping it sideways in a fireball of twisted metal. Gunfire erupted from the rear truck—wild, panicked. Bobby and Joe fired from flanking positions, picking them off methodically.

Cruz raised the sniper rifle, found her mark—a tall figure barking orders beside the second truck—and squeezed the trigger. The man’s head snapped back in a spray of blood. "Target down," Cruz said coldly into comms.

Tex and Two Cups sprang the second trap—hidden IEDs that sent dirt and shrapnel spewing into the night. The remaining hostiles scattered, desperate for cover that wasn’t there. One broke for the house. Big mistake. Cruz shifted aim, breathed out, and took him down before he got within fifty feet. It was a slaughter. Controlled, brutal, exact. The kind of fight Cruz was made for. But every kill only sharpened the ache in her chest—the need to end this and make it back to the woman waiting behind cover.

When the final gunshot faded into the night, an eerie silence settled over the field of corpses and burning wreckage. "Clear," Bobby said into comms. "Clear," echoed Randy and Tex.

Cruz exhaled and slung the rifle over her shoulder. She turned—and found Aaliyah standing exactly where she'd left her, hands clenched into fists at her sides, face pale but fierce. Alive. Waiting. Cruz crossed the room, tentatively. Before she even thought about it, she wrapped Aaliyah in her arms, kissing her hard—gripping her like a drowning woman grabbing a lifeline. Aaliyah kissed her back just as fiercely, threading her hands into Cruz’s hair, grounding her. The heat of it made Cruz dizzy. But they had to move. It wasn’t over yet.

Cruz broke the kiss reluctantly, resting her forehead against Aaliyah’s. "We have to secure the scene and get outta here," she said, voice low and raw. "Fast."

"I’m with you," Aaliyah said, no hesitation.

Cruz kissed her again—one swift, brutal press of mouth to mouth—and then they ran. Down the stairs. Into the night. Toward whatever waited next.

The night smelled like burning rubber, hot oil, and blood. Cruz moved fast, clearing each body with military precision, while Bobby and Randy covered the perimeter. Tex stayed posted near the barn entrance, rifle at the ready. Two Cups swept the vehicles, checking for any secondary traps or surviving enemies. Aaliyah hovered at Cruz’s side, careful to stay just behind her, alert but not getting in the way. Her presence was a tether, an anchor Cruz hadn’t realized she needed until it was there—steady, silent, fierce.

"All clear," Two Cups called from the trucks. Cruz gave a terse nod and moved to the lead vehicle—what was left of it. Flames crackled in the wreckage, throwing long, twisted shadows across the field.

"Found something," Bobby said over comms, her voice tight. Cruz turned sharply, jogging toward the barn where Bobby stood by a body—one of the better-dressed men, who hadn't had a chance to even draw his weapon before Cruz dropped him.

Bobby crouched low, rummaging through a leather satchel slung over the man's shoulder. When Cruz got closer, she caught a glimpse of it—a thick black binder, slick with blood.

“What the hell is that?” Randy muttered, stepping in behind her.

Bobby opened the binder carefully, peeling the wet pages apart. Inside—documents. Dozens of them. Blueprints, transaction records, schematics for something… bigger than they thought.

Cruz grabbed the flashlight from her belt, clicked it on, and swept the beam over the top page. Not just bigger. Worse.

Aaliyah leaned in too, frowning as she tried to read the blood-smeared Arabic scrawl. "This isn’t about Riyadh," she murmured. "This is international. There are locations listed… London. Istanbul. New York."

Cruz’s stomach twisted. This was one hub of a global operation—and they had just stirred a much bigger hornet's nest.

"We need to move," Cruz said sharply. "Now."

Bobby snapped the binder shut. Randy grabbed the satchel. Two Cups waved the all-clear from the vehicles—none were salvageable, the explosives had shredded the engines beyond repair.

Cruz turned to Aaliyah. "You stay with Bobby. Move fast. Stay close."

Aaliyah’s jaw set stubbornly. "I'm not leaving you."

Cruz caught her by the shoulders, urgent. "You’re not. You’re staying alive. With me. We move together. But if something happens, Bobby knows the fallback route." It was a compromise. Barely. Aaliyah nodded, fierce and determined, but Cruz saw the fear lurking just behind her eyes—and the trust. The bone-deep trust that Aaliyah didn’t offer lightly.

They sprinted back toward the house. The team moved in tight formation, no wasted steps, no unnecessary noise. Behind them, the field burned—a hellish beacon against the black sky. Inside the farmhouse, they grabbed the essentials—guns, comms, backup hard drives with intel from the earlier operations. Tex rigged the barn and house with failsafe charges, setting timers just in case.

"Three minutes," Tex warned.

"Move!" Cruz barked. They fled into the darkness, toward the fallback vehicles stashed a mile down the road—a rugged, mud-splattered SUVs hidden under camo netting.

Cruz yanked open the back door, shoving Aaliyah inside first, then diving in after her. Randy gunned the engine the second Two Cups slammed the last door. Joe, Bobby, Tex, and Tucker in the other. Tires tore through the dirt. Behind them, the farmhouse and barn went up in a roaring double explosion that lit the mountainside like a second sunrise.

Aaliyah gripped Cruz's hand in the dark, tight and unbreakable. Neither of them spoke. There were no words left for this. Only survival. Only war. Only each other.

-----------------------------------------------------

The next location was a crumbling villa tucked into the side of a cliff, abandoned decades ago, now serving as a temporary ghost shelter. Randy and Tex swept the perimeter immediately. Bobby and Two Cups secured the downstairs. Cruz led Aaliyah upstairs, moving almost on instinct now—her body was running on adrenaline and sheer willpower, but her mind was already several steps ahead, calculating risks, contingencies.

When they reached a back bedroom, Cruz finally stopped. It was small, dark—nothing but a battered bed frame and an old dresser. But it was enough.

She closed the door behind them, locking it with a quick twist of the old rusted latch. Aaliyah turned to face her—and in the dim light spilling from the hallway, Cruz saw the full weight of everything they had survived written across her face: the fear, the fury, the desperate, aching relief.

Neither of them spoke. They didn’t need to.

Cruz grabbed Aaliyah’s face in both hands, and kissed her—hard, desperate, claiming. Aaliyah gasped against her mouth, then melted into her, arms winding tight around Cruz's shoulders, her fingers threading into her hair like she couldn't get close enough. The kiss deepened fast, spiraling, their bodies pressing flush, heartbeats hammering against each other.

The room disappeared.
The war outside disappeared.
It was just them—alive, still standing, and needing—no, aching—for something to hold onto.

Aaliyah pulled back just enough to look at her, breathing hard. "That scared the hell out of me," she rasped, voice rough and low.

"I know. I was scared too," Cruz shot back.

Aaliyah cupped Cruz’s jaw, her thumb stroking over the bruises starting to bloom there. Her voice broke slightly. "We can't keep doing this, Cruz—we might not make it. I know you’re skilled. You all are. I see it now, but one asshole with a lucky shot could take everything from me."

Cruz closed her eyes for half a second, letting the feel of Aaliyah's hands, Aaliyah’s breath, anchor her back to herself. "No chance," she whispered hoarsely. "Not leaving you. Ever."

Aaliyah surged forward and kissed her again—this time slower, deeper. Cruz let herself sink into it, threading her arms around Aaliyah’s waist and lifting her slightly until Aaliyah gasped against her mouth. When their lips finally parted, Cruz pressed her forehead to Aaliyah’s, breathing her in.

"I need you," Aaliyah whispered against her mouth.

"I’m here," Cruz promised, voice raw.

They tumbled back toward the creaky bed, falling into it together in a tangle of limbs. Cruz moved carefully, mindful of her healing injuries—and Aaliyah was well aware. She kissed every scar she could reach—over Cruz’s temple, along her collarbone, over the scar forming on her arm; tracing the scars on her back. Her tenderness undid Cruz more than any battlefield could.

Cruz traced slow, reverent hands along Aaliyah’s sides, under the hem of her shirt, not pushing, just feeling. Just needing the realness of her. The soft whimper Aaliyah made in the back of her throat nearly broke her. They kissed and touched each other like it was survival itself.

No clothes came off. There wasn’t time—there wasn’t even really privacy—but they didn’t need more. Their bodies tangled tighter, hands memorizing every inch they could reach, breathing each other in like oxygen. Cruz tucked Aaliyah beneath her protectively, kissed the side of her throat, felt Aaliyah’s hands fist in her shirt and hold her there.

For a long moment, they just existed like that—wrapped around each other, hearts pounding in tandem, a fierce, unbreakable knot against the dark.

A knock sounded at the door—Two Cups' voice low but urgent. "Debrief in five."

Cruz closed her eyes, kissed Aaliyah’s forehead, and reluctantly pulled back.

"I’ll be right back," she murmured.

"You better be," Aaliyah whispered fiercely.

Cruz gave her a crooked smile—tired, bloody, but real—and kissed her again, once, slow and deep and lingering. Then she stood, straightened her shirt, and headed into whatever hell waited next. But not before glancing back, catching one last glimpse of Aaliyah sitting rumpled and radiant in the dim light, waiting for her. Her reason to fight. Her reason to end this.

Chapter 9: Revolving Door

Notes:

WARNING - Graphic depictions of violence/war

The makeshift war room was nothing more than an old dining table littered with a few cracked chairs, a lone bare bulb hanging overhead, swinging slightly in the breeze leaking through broken windows. Cruz entered last, her body still humming with the aftershocks of Aaliyah’s touch, her soul a little steadier for it. Joe, Bobby, Two Cups, Randy, Tucker and Tex were already gathered, haggard and bruised but alive. Their faces snapped to Cruz as she stepped into the circle.

Two Cups got right to it. "Imran's locked in the cellar. Tex and Randy reinforced the door. He’s not goin' anywhere." Cruz nodded. Good. That problem, at least, was temporarily caged.

Bobby pulled out a battered laptop and turned it toward the center of the table. A grainy satellite image loaded on the screen—the compound, the surrounding valley, and beyond it, a network of roads spiderwebbing toward distant cities. "We pulled everything we could before exfil," Bobby said, her voice low, urgent. "Flash drives, hard copies, encrypted comms. Imran was running more than a weapons deal."

Joe leaned in, tapping the laptop with two fingers. "It’s bigger than that. He was brokering multiple networks—arms, oil, human trafficking. Layered under shell companies that connect back to real Western firms."

Two Cups let out a low whistle. "Man had a damn empire."

Cruz crossed her arms, frowning hard. "How much did we grab?"

"Enough to burn him and Imran," Bobby said. "But not enough to bring down everyone he's tied to. Someone else is pulling the strings— maybe more than one someone."

Joe shot Cruz a pointed look. "Which means if they know we have Imran, they're already moving to contain this. Probably sending clean-up teams."

Tex nodded grimly. "We can’t sit on him for long. The longer we wait, the more risk we’re stacking."

Silence fell, heavy and crackling. Cruz felt the weight of it settle between her shoulder blades. They weren't just running a rogue operation anymore. They were sitting on a powder keg—and they’d just lit the fuse. Aaliyah appeared silently in the doorway, a shadow wrapped in a hoodie two sizes too big for her. Her gaze swept the room, landing on Cruz, and Cruz felt the invisible tether between them tighten. She needed Aaliyah to understand the stakes—but she also needed to shield her from the full ugliness. Aaliyah wasn’t a soldier.She shouldn’t have to be.

"We move at first light," Cruz said, voice firm. "We find a new handoff point. Somewhere secure, off-grid. Joe, work your contacts. Bobby, sweep the flash drives again. Two Cups, Tex, start prepping fallback routes."

"And what about Imran?" Randy asked bluntly. "You think he's gonna sit quiet while we make calls?"

Cruz’s mouth curved into a grim, humorless smile. "If he doesn’t, I'll make him."

A ripple of dark chuckles passed around the table. They broke into assignments quickly after that, years of muscle memory kicking in. The team scattered, and Cruz sought out Aaliyah. Having her in proximity was a refuge. A modicum of peace. Aaliyah took her in, slipping into Cruz’s orbit like gravity itself. Her hand found Cruz's, fingers curling tightly.

"You’re not doing this alone," Aaliyah said, voice quiet but fierce.

Cruz squeezed back, her heart pounding—not with fear this time, but with something far more dangerous. Hope. "I know," Cruz murmured. She lifted Aaliyah’s hand to her mouth, pressing a kiss to the inside of her wrist. "I’m counting on you."

For a long moment, they stood there, wrapped in each other’s presence, letting the world outside wait. Tomorrow, the war would come again. Tonight, they had each other.

---------------------------------------

The house was quiet the next evening. The kind of heavy, loaded quiet that only came after adrenaline burned itself out. Outside, the desert wind moaned against the walls. Inside, it was only them. Cruz led Aaliyah by the hand through the darkened hallways, bypassing the rooms where the others were bunking down in exhausted clusters. She found a storage room near the back of the house—small, dusty, forgotten. The perfect pocket of privacy.

Cruz shut the door behind them with a soft click. For a moment, they just stood there, breathing, staring at each other through the dim moonlight filtering through a cracked window. Aaliyah crossed the space first, slipping into Cruz’s arms like she belonged there. Cruz caught her against her chest, both hands fisting in the back of Aaliyah’s hoodie.

Their mouths found each other fast, desperate, no soft tentative build-up this time. Aaliyah kissed her like she'd been starved for it, her fingers digging into Cruz’s jacket, tugging her closer, pressing them chest to chest, heartbeat to heartbeat.

Cruz groaned low against her lips, feeling everything at once—relief, hunger, fear, love—every tangled thing she’d shoved down over the last twenty-four hours. She kissed Aaliyah harder, until she could barely breathe. Until she forgot the danger, the politics, the bodies they’d left behind. Until there was nothing but the woman in her arms.

Aaliyah’s hands moved under Cruz’s jacket, skimming the thin cotton of her T-shirt, fingertips finding bare skin at her waist. Cruz shivered. Not from the cold. From the sheer want of it. But she forced herself to slow down. To breathe.

She broke the kiss reluctantly, resting her forehead against Aaliyah’s, both of them panting. They clung to each other, like two drowning people clinging to the same broken piece of wood. "I missed you so much it hurt," Aaliyah whispered, voice raw. "Every second you were gone…"

Cruz brushed her fingers through Aaliyah’s hair, tucking messy strands behind her ear. Her throat burned with everything she wanted to say but didn’t know how.

Cruz knew these runs were beginning to take a toll on Aaliyah. Gone for hours on duty, clandestine meets with other operators, once for supplies, chasing down information based on chatter. Sometimes just on patrol. The waiting and wondering left Aaliyah more worried, frazzled and on edge each day.

Aaliyah choked back a sob, "I thought this might get easier...but it's harder every time, Cruz." Aaliyah's eyes glistened in the moonlight, but she didn't let the tears fall. She kissed Cruz again, slower this time. A kiss that said stay. A kiss that said don’t ever leave me again.

Cruz answered it with everything she had. She guided her back against the wall, letting the tension unravel just enough to let them exist here, right now, without the world pressing down on them. Aaliyah wrapped her arms around Cruz’s waist, trusting her completely, their bodies aligning perfectly. Every brush of lips, every desperate gasp, every whispered promise pressed between them. Clothes stayed on. This wasn’t about sex. It was about need. It was about survival. It was about them.

Minutes—or maybe hours—later, Cruz finally eased up, setting Aaliyah carefully on her feet. She kept her wrapped tight in her arms, unwilling to let her go. "We have until first light," Cruz whispered, her voice thick with longing and regret. "Then I have to go again."

Aaliyah nodded, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye stubbornly. "Then we don’t waste a second."

They curled up on the makeshift bed together, tangled in each other, hearts syncing beat by beat in the dark. Not speaking. Just breathing. Cruz listened to the steady rhythm of Aaliyah's heart against her chest, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she let herself hope.

The first light of dawn filtered through the curtains, casting soft shadows across the room. It was always the same—when morning broke, it was time for them to go their separate ways. Cruz lay next to Aaliyah, her fingers lightly grazing the soft skin of Aaliyah’s back, unwilling to break the contact just yet. The sound of the team moving around in the house, gathering their gear and preparing for the day, was muffled, but still too close. They couldn’t have long.

Aaliyah stirred, pressing her face into the crook of Cruz’s neck, not quite ready to leave the quiet, fragile peace they'd carved out in the dark. "Stay," Aaliyah murmured, voice thick with sleep.

Cruz’s breath hitched at the plea, but she swallowed it back. She’d made a promise to herself. To them. She ran her hand through Aaliyah’s hair, a soft caress, lingering for a moment longer than was sensible. "I can't," she whispered. "Not yet." The weight of those words settled over them like the soft thrum of a distant storm.

Aaliyah pulled back just enough to look at her, her eyes still heavy with sleep but filled with that familiar fire—fierce, unyielding. "I know," Aaliyah whispered. "But you will come back, right?"

Cruz's lips pressed into a thin line, but the flicker of guilt in her chest almost had her breaking. Almost. "I always do," she said, her voice steady, though her heart wasn’t. She tucked a strand of hair behind Aaliyah’s ear. "I’ll be back. I promise."

Aaliyah’s lips trembled, but she nodded. She didn’t say it, but Cruz could feel it—Aaliyah was trying to make peace with the fact that Cruz might not. That uncertainty was the most painful thing of all. For a long moment, they just held each other, the seconds stretching into something deeper, something more enduring than either of them had ever planned for. Then, a distant voice called out from the hallway—a signal for the team to rally. Cruz pulled back reluctantly, but she didn’t let go of Aaliyah immediately.

"Stay safe, Cruz," Aaliyah said, her voice catching on the words, her fingers clinging to the back of Cruz’s neck.

Cruz pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. "Always." It was the closest thing they would get to a promise. Aaliyah knew that, and yet, she couldn’t help the small, aching hope that something more would come from it.

As Cruz stood, Aaliyah followed her with her eyes, trying to memorize every detail of her. The way her shoulders were squared, the slight stiffness in her movements. She was already closing off, already turning into the soldier again. The door clicked shut behind Cruz as she stepped out of the room, and Aaliyah allowed herself a single, shaky breath.

The weight of everything pressed in again. The mission. The uncertainty. The distance. Aaliyah stood, stretching, her muscles sore from too many hours in the same position, but it was nothing compared to the ache in her chest. She didn’t let it show. Not yet. Not until she could be alone again.

The team gathered around the dining table, tactical plans and mission specifics spread across the table. Joe, Bobby, Randy, and the others were talking through the final touches of their strategy. Cruz stood near the back of the group, arms crossed, her gaze focused but distant. Aaliyah’s eyes flicked to her every few seconds, watching the way Cruz interacted with the team, how she slipped so easily into the role of a leader. She was used to leadership within her ranks as a Marine. She rose quickly, and earned the respect of her peers and commanders, along the way. She noticed Joe stepping back, asking for her input, but didn't have the time to be bothered with why. Maybe Joe just knew she wouldn't blindly follow orders when it came to Aaliyah, easier to let Cruz take on some leadership in this.

But she wasn’t just a leader.

Aaliyah could see it in the way Cruz handled herself. In the way she moved. The way she carried everything, even the memories that still haunted her. Cruz was walking a tightrope of purpose and pain, and Aaliyah had no idea how to catch her if she fell. The tension in the air was suffocating. It wasn’t just the mission weighing on them—it was the feeling that nothing would ever be the same between them again.

Cruz caught her watching and gave her a small, almost imperceptible nod. A silent acknowledgment. A promise. Aaliyah nodded back, keeping her emotions in check, but inside, she was already preparing for the fight that was coming. Not just for the mission, but for Cruz. For both of them. The clock ticked on.

Cruz strapped on her gear with mechanical efficiency, the sound of Velcro tightening, holsters snapping, weapons clicking into place filling the room in a steady, grim rhythm. Aaliyah stood near the doorway, arms crossed, her body taut with restrained emotion. She knew she couldn’t ask Cruz to stay. She knew it would be selfish. But knowing didn’t make it any easier to watch her walk into danger. Again.

Joe brushed past, giving Aaliyah a quick, understanding squeeze of the arm. Bobby, Randy, and the others moved around with a different energy now—quieter, sharper. A mission energy. Cruz turned toward Aaliyah, checking the last strap on her vest, her dark eyes locked on Aaliyah's face.

“You know the drill,” Cruz said, voice low. “Stay inside. Trust Joe. If anything happens—”

“I know,” Aaliyah interrupted, her voice steady. Stronger than she felt. “I remember everything you taught me.” Something flickered across Cruz’s face—pride, maybe, or something even heavier—but she masked it quickly. For a second, it seemed like Cruz might cross the space between them, pull Aaliyah into one last embrace. But she didn’t. The mission was too close now. They were both too exposed.

Instead, Cruz’s voice softened. "I’ll find you when it’s over." The promise was raw, and it broke something loose inside Aaliyah. Before she could think, before she could talk herself out of it, Aaliyah stepped forward and reached for Cruz’s hand. Just a touch—fingers brushing over the back of Cruz’s knuckles—but it tethered them both.

"I'll be waiting," Aaliyah said, barely louder than a breath. Cruz swallowed hard, her jaw tightening, and for a moment it looked like she might say something she couldn’t afford to. Something that would cost them both too much. Instead, she squeezed Aaliyah’s fingers once—brief, burning, enough to leave a mark—and stepped away.

Bobby called out from the front door. Time to move. Cruz nodded once to Aaliyah, turned, and was gone. The door shut with a final, echoing thud, and Aaliyah was left standing in the thick, humming silence of the house. She pressed her palm flat against the door for a long moment, breathing through the ache in her chest, before she pushed off and moved to the living room where Joe was already pulling up surveillance feeds on her tablet.

“Come on,” Joe said, not unkindly. “You’re with me now. Eyes and ears.”

Aaliyah gave her a tight smile. “Let’s do it.” She sat down next to Joe, heart hammering against her ribs, her eyes already scanning the screens. She wouldn’t sit idle. She would help however she could. And she would be ready when Cruz came back. Because she had to believe Cruz would come back.

Chapter 10: We'll Figure It Out

Notes:

WARNING - Graphic depictions of violence/war

The van bumped along the uneven road, headlights cutting through the deep black of night. Inside, the team was crammed tight—gear packed at their feet, weapons secured to their sides, tension threading the air between them. Tex was driving, eyes steady, hands loose on the wheel but ready for anything. Bobby rode shotgun, her voice a low murmur as she relayed updates from Two Cups over the comms. In the back, Cruz sat with Randy and Imran, her hand resting lightly on her rifle.

Imran Amrohi sat cuffed, hooded, and sandwiched between them, his head bowed slightly, breathing shallow through the dark cloth. Too many leaks, too many enemies still out there. He was too valuable to be left alone. Instead, they kept him moving with them, hidden, a secret buried inside the heart of their team. Only a handful of trusted operators knew he was still alive, much less in their custody.

Cruz's jaw ached from clenching it. Every bump in the road jostled her, but she noticed the pain less and less. Her arm closer to being healed and when engaged, only a dull ache. Compared to the first few days, she barely registered it. Her mind was elsewhere—back in that safehouse, back with Aaliyah. She could still feel the ghost of Aaliyah’s hand brushing against hers. Still hear her voice: 'I'll be waiting.' Cruz closed her eyes briefly, shutting out the flickering dashboard lights. She couldn’t afford distractions. Not now.

Ahead, Bobby’s voice sharpened. “Checkpoint coming up.”

The van slowed, everyone tensing automatically. Cruz adjusted her position, subtly shifting to shield Imran more fully with her body. If the checkpoint wasn’t friendly—if this was a setup—Imran couldn’t fall into enemy hands. Tex muttered under his breath, the engine idling low as they rolled toward the barrier. Two guards in tan uniforms with battered rifles waved them down. Flashlights swept over the van, the beams slicing through the windows.

Bobby leaned out, brandishing falsified travel documents and speaking in clipped, fluent Arabic. Cruz kept her gaze locked on the guards, reading body language, watching for the telltale flinch of suspicion. A long moment stretched, the air electric.

Then—The guards waved them through. Tex drove on without looking back. No one spoke for several minutes, the adrenaline draining out slowly, leaving a hard edge of focus behind.

Finally, Bobby twisted in her seat. "Two Cups says handoff is five clicks ahead."

Cruz nodded silently. They were almost there. Almost to the place where Imran would be hidden away, interrogated, squeezed for every secret he had. And then—maybe then—Cruz could finally go back. Back to the safehouse. Back to Aaliyah. If they survived the night.

Three clicks later, they ran into trouble. "Two SUVs closing in," Bobby barked. Movements were instinctual at that point.

Tex needed the plan, "We dealing with this here or you wanna haul ass?"

Cruz left no doubt, "Stop and pop, Tex! No telling what they might run us into. Check your mags. You know what to do."

Bobby needed to update the rest of the team. "Joe, do you copy?"

Joe: "Copy, what's your status?"

Bobby: "We got two SUVs coming in hot. We're reversing course to deal with this shit." Tex flips the SUV around, and the gunfire starts.

Aaliyah's eyes went wide. Joe noticed and continued, "Tucker can we get eyes on them? Satellites, drones, something?" Tucker was already on it.

The gunfire lasted seconds or hours. Aaliyah wasn't sure. She just knew time stopped. She could barely register the indistinct yelling over the incessant sound of bullets firing and ricocheting.

Tucker interjected, "Got a visual." Everyone crowded around the laptop. Aaliyah released a breath she didn't know she was holding, when she saw her on the screen. Her profile and stance unmistakable. From what she could tell, everyone was ok. Multiple enemies down by the 2 SUVs, but there were two assailants remained. Then, their shooting stopped

Suddenly, they were surrounded by smoke. The two remaining charged. They could hear the boots coming. Cruz fired toward the sound, but suddenly she upended by someone she couldn't see. The next minute was a blur. She felt boots maybe a knee to her abdomen. She protected her head, and after timing his attacks, quickly pulled her sidearm and fired. The smoke was beginning to clear.

Aaliyah saw the smoke engulf Cruz and the men charge and she felt as if the wind was knocked out of her. All they could hear was the chaos of shots with no visibilty. The smoke clung to the scene like it was adhered. It hung for moments that stretched to an eternity of not knowing; refusing to shift or dissipate.

"One down," Cruz coughed out. Aaliyah exhaled.

Joe sighed, almost inaudibly. "Copy. Bobby, Randy, Tex. One more and he was at the rear of the SUV when we lost visual. Smoke's clearing, eyes up. Cruz, can you confirm Imran's status?"

Before Cruz could respond, another shot ring out. Bobby interjected. "Clear! Oh and I've got eyes on Imran. Still chained in the truck."

The literal and figurative smoke clearing, Cruz burst into action, "Bobby, Randy we need to clear the scene quick. Check these guys and their trucks for anything that might be useful. Tex, make sure this truck will get us outta here."

"Yo, Cruz! Check this out." Randy leaned out of the truck and there was a thin file and two pictures: Aaliyah and Cruz. Coordinates written in the corner. Cruz ran over to Randy and what she saw let off sirens in her head.

"Joe! The house is blown. Get out now!" Cruz yelled. Tucker and Two Cups gathered their gear. Aaliyah threw the medical supplies and some of their food in a duffel bag. Joe grabbed all of the sensitive tech. Tucker swept the rooms and grabbed the go-bags left behind by his teammates, and they were out of the house in 4 minutes. Bobby, explained what they found in the car as they packed up.

"On the move. Bobby, did you clear the scene?" Joe's ability to remain calm was uncanny.

"Do you have Aaliyah?" Cruz interjected, disregarding the question. Aaliyah's voice hitched. She could hear the strain in her voice. She was hurt.

"She's here, and she's fine. Is the scene clear? We need to select a rendezvous point and deal with the extraction." Joe understood the sentiment, but needed to get her team back on track.

"I need verbal confirmation." Cruz would not be dissuaded.

"Cruz, I'm here. We got out. We just need to know where we're going." Aaliyah's voice soothed her, and in that moment she just let it buoy her. "Okay," was all Cruz could muster.

Sensing the opening, Bobby and Joe worked out a plan to turn the hand off location into a make shift safehouse. Bringing the operators up to speed on the change, they took care to hide their trail en route to the location. Joe, Tucker and Aaliyah were taking a more direct route and would beat them there. Off-roading was painful. Cruz hoped the damage to her ribs would be minimal, hoping the plates in her vest prevented any broken ribs. At the very least there was some deep bruising and at least one laceration. Bobby did what she could to bandage it on the road.

The location was tucked deep inside an abandoned industrial district, where broken concrete and rusted fencing masked quiet secrets. No streetlights, no witnesses. Only shadows and the low hum of a generator somewhere in the distance. Tex pulled the van into a crumbling warehouse shell, headlights cutting off as the steel doors groaned shut behind them. Inside, the team moved fast.

Randy and Bobby hauled Imran out, rough but efficient, keeping him off-balance. Cruz followed close, hand hovering near her weapon even though Imran was cuffed and blindfolded. She didn’t trust anything about this night—not even now. Two Cups was already inside, waiting with a pair of trusted operators from the black ops unit. Faces Cruz barely recognized but knew by reputation. Silent, lethal, and most importantly—loyal.

The handoff was quick. Imran was bundled into a reinforced interior room, shackled to a floor bolt, the walls soundproofed. The team exchanged a few clipped words—status updates, timelines, security sweeps. No wasted breath. It should’ve been a relief, knowing the asset was secure. It wasn’t.

Cruz stood rigid at the edge of the room, waiting for final clearance. Her hands twitched to move, her muscles taut, her body screaming to go. Joe caught her eye from across the room, gave a slight nod. You’re clear. Cruz didn’t hesitate.

She turned, boots grinding over broken concrete, and stalked through the maze of the warehouse. She passed armed guards, passed Bobby and Tex setting up secondary defenses, passed Two Cups briefing the reinforcements. None of it mattered. Only one thing mattered.

Her.

She found the right corridor by instinct sensing her proximity, her heart hammering, pulse roaring in her ears. The heavy door was slightly ajar. Cruz pushed it open—and froze. Aaliyah was there. She sat perched on the edge of a battered metal cot, her hair loose around her shoulders, face buried into the soft gray hoodie Cruz remembered lending her days ago. Her legs were tucked up, arms wrapped around them.

But at the sound of the door, her head snapped up—And when their eyes met—The world cracked open. Neither of them spoke.

Cruz entered, her hands rough and trembling as she yanked the door closed behind her. She barely registered the loud clang of the latch. Aaliyah was already up, already moving, colliding with Cruz so hard it knocked the breath from her lungs.

Cruz caught her, arms wrapping tight, crushing her close. Breathing through the pain. Aaliyah buried her face against Cruz’s neck, her fingers fisting in Cruz’s jacket like she never wanted to let go. Cruz held on just as fiercely, her hand sliding up into Aaliyah’s hair, gripping the silky strands, pressing her closer, closer, like she could merge them into one.

Aaliyah was whispering something—a litany, broken and desperate—"I missed you—I missed you—I missed you—"

Cruz couldn’t speak. Could barely breathe. The smell of her. The feel of her. The raw, aching presence of her. She pushed Aaliyah gently back just far enough to see her face. Tears streaked Aaliyah’s cheeks, but her eyes were steady, fierce, alive.

Cruz brushed her knuckles along Aaliyah’s jaw, featherlight, reverent. "I’m here, habibti," Cruz rasped. "I’m here."

Aaliyah surged forward before Cruz could say another word, pressing her mouth to Cruz’s in a kiss that shattered them both. It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t restrained. It was everything they hadn’t said—terror, relief, hunger, grief—poured into the desperate crush of lips and tongues and teeth. Cruz stumbled backward until her shoulders hit the wall, pulling Aaliyah with her, pinning her there. Their bodies fit together like they’d been molded for it, frantic hands mapping familiar curves, relearning, rebranding. Aaliyah kissed her like she needed to memorize her. Like she needed to own her. Cruz kissed her back like she already did.

When they finally broke apart, both gasping, Cruz rested her forehead against Aaliyah’s, their bodies still tangled tight. "I thought I lost you," Aaliyah whispered, her voice wrecked.

"Never," Cruz promised, fierce and low. "Just a couple more scratches," Cruz smirked and winced. Sminced? Aaliyah slid her hands up under Cruz’s jacket, feeling for wounds, for proof she was still whole. Her touch turned tentative when she found the thick bandage at Cruz’s ribs.

Cruz caught her wrist gently. "Later," she said, voice rough with need and exhaustion. "Right now, I just need you." Aaliyah nodded, her eyes shimmering with fresh tears.

The warehouse safehouse had settled into a heavy silence. Outside the room, Joe and Two Cups were coordinating watches. Bobby and Tex were running final security checks. Randy was setting up the next phase of transport. But here, in the dim light of the small interior space, it was just Cruz and Aaliyah. The rush of reunion had ebbed into something quieter. Something more dangerous.

Cruz sat back against the edge of the cot, legs stretched out, breathing unevenly as Aaliyah carefully peeled away her jacket. Her ribs ached like hell, and she could feel the heat and dampness under the bandage—a fresh bleed. Aaliyah’s hands were trembling. She tried to hide it. She failed. "Let me," she whispered. Cruz just nodded, throat too tight to speak.

Aaliyah worked slowly, peeling up the blood-streaked gauze. Her fingers were sure despite the slight tremor, her movements gentle. Cruz watched her in silence, memorizing every tiny detail—the pinch of concentration between her brows, the way her bottom lip caught between her teeth when she focused. The wound wasn’t pretty. Angry red slashes from the night’s chaos.

Cruz grunted when Aaliyah pressed a fresh antiseptic pad against it. "Sorry," Aaliyah murmured. Her voice cracked on the word.

"Don’t apologize," Cruz said hoarsely. "I’m here. That’s what matters." Aaliyah nodded, biting her lip harder, fighting tears.

When the fresh bandage was taped down, she leaned back on her heels, studying Cruz like she was afraid to blink and find her gone again. "You scared the hell out of me. I couldn't do anything but watch and..." Aaliyah whispered.

"I know," Cruz said, her voice breaking. "I’m sorry." Aaliyah shook her head fiercely. "Don’t—don’t be sorry for surviving. Just… just don’t leave me again."

Cruz reached out, cupping Aaliyah’s face in both hands, pulling her in closer until their foreheads touched. "We have to get through this. Then, I’m not going anywhere," she vowed. "Not unless you tell me to."

Aaliyah closed her eyes. Breathed her in. Let herself believe it. "You’re hurt," she said softly. "You need rest."

"So do you," Cruz countered. Her thumbs stroked gentle arcs along Aaliyah’s cheekbones. "Come here."

Aaliyah didn’t resist. She slid onto the cot beside Cruz, curling up against her side with aching care, mindful of the injury but desperate for contact. Cruz wrapped an arm around her, holding her close, resting her chin against the crown of Aaliyah’s head. They fit.

Even broken, even battered, they fit.

For a long moment, neither spoke. The low hum of the warehouse faded into the background. Finally, Aaliyah’s voice rose, quiet and tentative. "What happens now?"

Cruz exhaled slowly, feeling the weight of it. "First, we keep Imran locked down until we get clearance from Langley. Joe’s arranging that with the extraction team. Blackbird or someone close. High-priority evac."

Aaliyah nodded against her shoulder. "And after that?" she asked, even softer.

Cruz hesitated. Not because she didn’t know the answer—but because she did. She shifted enough to look down at Aaliyah, brushing loose strands of hair from her face. "We figure out what we want. Away from all this."

Aaliyah’s eyes widened, a tremor passing through her. "You mean it."

"I mean it," Cruz said fiercely. "I’m not walking away from you, Aaliyah. I’m done pretending I can." A tear slid down Aaliyah’s cheek. Cruz caught it with her thumb. "Wherever you are," Cruz said, voice low and certain, "that’s where I want to be."

Aaliyah surged up and kissed her—not with the desperation of before, but with something deeper. Something anchored and terrifyingly real. It was slow. Lingering. A promise made in the ruins. Cruz kissed her back just as slowly, threading her fingers through Aaliyah’s hair, holding her like a lifeline. When they finally pulled apart, Aaliyah rested her head against Cruz’s chest, listening to the steady thump of her heart.

"We’ll figure it out," Aaliyah said. "We’ll figure it out," Cruz echoed in a whisper.

They stayed like that—pressed together in the dim room, clinging, breathing each other in—as the outside world faded to a distant hum. Outside, the world still raged. But inside this room, for one fragile, defiant moment—They had peace. They were still fighting to survive. They were together. And for tonight, that was enough.

Chapter 11: Alive. Breathing. Here.

Notes:

WARNING - Graphic portrayal of war/violence

Morning crept into the safehouse in dusty gray slants through the boarded windows. Cruz woke first, an incessant buzzing brought her back to reality. Every muscle in her body protested, but she stayed still, unwilling to disturb the woman curled against her side. Aaliyah’s breathing was slow and even, her hand curled loosely against Cruz’s ribs just above the fresh bandage. Cruz let herself have another minute—just one—before duty forced her back to reality.

Carefully, she shifted, pressing a soft kiss to Aaliyah’s hair before easing herself upright. Aaliyah stirred, blinking up at her with a soft, disoriented sound. "What is it? Where are you going?" she whispered, motioning to the phone.

"Just a meeting," Cruz murmured. "I’ll be right back." Aaliyah caught her hand, squeezing gently before letting go. Cruz gave her a small smile, then crossed the room with a slight limp, shrugging back into her jacket.

The rest of the team was already gathered around a makeshift table in the main room—Joe, Bobby, Randy, Tex, Two Cups, and Tucker on the comms. The atmosphere was tense, the kind of brittle tension Cruz recognized from every op that went sideways just enough to be dangerous.

Joe straightened when she saw Cruz approach. "You good?" she asked quietly.

"Good enough," Cruz rasped.

Joe nodded, satisfied, then flipped open a secured laptop, projecting an encrypted briefing onto a portable screen. "Here’s the situation," she said, her voice clipped and straight business. "Langley authorized exfil. Blackbird’s sending a team to retrieve Imran within forty-eight hours. We’re to maintain secure custody until then."

Cruz nodded. It was expected. "But," Joe continued grimly, "there’s been chatter overnight."

Tucker spoke up from his station in the corner. "Local cells are moving. Word’s out that Amrohi’s in U.S. custody. They’re scrambling assets. It’s gonna get hot."

"How hot?" Cruz asked.

"Multiple contacts sighted within ten klicks," Tex said, tapping the map. "Could be scouts. Could be prepping for an assault." Cruz felt the shift in the room. A slight bracing. A collective tightening of focus.

Joe clicked to the next slide—a satellite image showing multiple vehicles positioned along potential approach routes. "We have two options," Joe said. "Hold this location and dig in, or relocate to the fallback safehouse outside the city and prep for a hard defense."

Randy grimaced. "Moving him’s a risk. If they catch us en route..."

"If we stay here and they bring numbers, we’re boxed in," Two Cups pointed out.

Bobby leaned back, crossing her arms. "The north fallback house is better fortified. Better sightlines. Easier to defend."

Joe looked at Cruz. "Your call. You know what’s riding on this."

Cruz's jaw tightened. She did. Imran Amrohi was the linchpin—if they lost him, the whole operation could collapse. But Aaliyah was here, too. Vulnerable. And moving increased the risk to her. She weighed it fast, instincts honed by too many years of survival. "We move," Cruz said firmly. "At dusk. Less visibility, better odds."

Joe nodded once. No argument.

"We’ll run distraction protocols," Tex said, already pulling up a secondary set of plans. "Split vehicles. Decoys."

"We’ll keep it tight," Randy added. "Minimal exposure."

"And Aaliyah?" Joe asked quietly.

Cruz’s mouth was a hard line. "She rides with me."

Joe’s lips twitched. Not a smile—more of an acknowledgment. She understood. "Then we better start prepping," she said briskly.

The room dissolved into motion, everyone shifting into assigned tasks. Cruz stayed for a second longer, anchoring herself, feeling the clock ticking down in her bones. Then, she turned and headed back to the small room—back to Aaliyah. She had to tell her what was coming. And she had to make sure she was ready. Because tonight, a storm would break. And they needed to survive it—together.

Cruz pushed open the door quietly and slipped inside. Aaliyah was sitting up now, pulling her hair into a loose knot atop her head, the blanket still wrapped around her waist. She looked over at Cruz immediately, her eyes searching her face.

"What is it?" Aaliyah asked, her voice low but steady. She was getting good at reading Cruz—the tiny shifts, the tension she carried like extra weight.

Cruz crossed to her and knelt in front of her, resting her hands on Aaliyah’s thighs. "We’re moving tonight...all of us," she said. "It’s not safe to stay here. They’re coming."

Aaliyah inhaled sharply but didn’t panic. She nodded once, absorbing it. "Where?"

"Another house north of here. It was intended to be somewhere we would fall back to if we ran into trouble in that area," Cruz said. "Better fortified. But... it’s not going to be easy." She looked up at her, her hands tightening slightly. "You ride with me. You stay close to me. No matter what."

Aaliyah cupped Cruz’s face between her hands. "I’m not going anywhere without you," she said, fierce and certain.

Cruz closed her eyes for a moment, breathing in the comfort of her. Then, very deliberately, she rose, pulling Aaliyah up with her until they stood chest to chest. Their mouths found each other without hesitation this time, a desperate, almost reverent kiss. Cruz buried her fingers in Aaliyah’s hair, and Aaliyah clutched the front of Cruz’s jacket like she could anchor herself there forever. The kiss deepened, slow and aching, and Cruz let herself drown in it for a few precious seconds before she forced herself to pull back. Their foreheads pressed together, breath mingling.

"I don’t want to lose you," Cruz whispered roughly. "Not after everything."

"You won’t," Aaliyah said fiercely. "I swear it." Cruz kissed her again, softer this time, memorizing the shape of her mouth, the taste of her. Mapping her body; almost marking her with an awed touch. Reveling in Aaliyah's response to the journey her hands were making. Shortness of breath, hardening nipples, face flushed, her body arching toward her.

A sharp knock came at the door. Tex’s voice filtered through. "Five minutes for final load-out."

Cruz exhaled shakily and rested her forehead against Aaliyah’s once more.

"Gear up," she said. "Stay ready."

"I’m with you," Aaliyah promised. Cruz gave her one last kiss—a lingering press of lips and hearts—and then pulled away, already feeling the space between them like a wound. Tonight, everything would change again. And she was going to make damn sure they both survived it.

The safehouse buzzed with a low, purposeful energy—the kind that wrapped itself tight around the nerves, ready to snap. Outside, night approached. Soon, the desert darkness would be dense and absolute. Cruz moved swiftly through the house, checking gear, confirming weapons, scanning exits. She felt the strain in her body but ignored it, the pain dulled by adrenaline and the singular drive to get Aaliyah out safe.

Aaliyah appeared beside her, dressed in plain dark clothes Joe had scrounged up—black cargo pants, a fitted long-sleeve shirt, boots laced tight. She looked strong. Ready. But Cruz saw the fine tremor in her hands when she fastened the last strap of her small tactical bag. Without a word, Cruz reached out and steadied her fingers. Held them for a breath longer than necessary.

Aaliyah lifted her chin, her brown eyes fierce. "Ready," she said.

Cruz gave a small nod. "Stay close. Eyes on me."

The rest of the team was already assembling near the vehicles out back—two battered SUVs rigged for stealth, low profiles, tinted windows. Joe handed Cruz a comms earpiece. "Channel four. We’re staggering the convoy. Decoy vehicle heads out first."

"Copy," Cruz said, slotting it in her ear.

Tex came up with a grim smile. "Got eyes in the sky too. Tucker’s set up a mobile drone. We’ll know if anyone’s moving ahead of us."

"Good," Cruz said. "No mistakes tonight."

She turned back to Aaliyah, smoothing a hand briefly down her arm.

"You ride front seat with me," she said.

"I was going to roll with Two Cups," Aaliyah said, a flicker of a smile breaking through the tension.

"Do I need to be worried?" Cruz responded with a devilish grin.

Two Cups, quick as always, "HELL YEAH!!!" Sudden and genuine laughter rippled across the room; pushing away the tension and heaviness of what they were about to traverse. The final hurdle. Moments later, laser focus.

Cruz opened the passenger door of their SUV, gesturing for Aaliyah to climb in. She scanned the perimeter once more—reflexively cataloging every shadow, every sound—and then slid into the driver’s seat beside her. Imran Amrohi, heavily restrained and hooded, was secured in the back seat, guarded by Bobby and Randy. His silence was eerie, but Cruz didn’t spare him a glance. He wasn’t the priority now.

Joe, Two Cups, and Tex loaded into the second SUV, positioned to trail them by a few minutes, creating layered movement to confuse any potential pursuit.

Through the comms, Tucker’s voice crackled softly. "All quiet on immediate perimeter. Convoy one, you are green." Cruz closed her hand over Aaliyah’s for a moment—one last, silent vow—then shifted into gear and pulled them into the darkness.

The desert swallowed them whole. The road stretched ahead, narrow and unlit, nothing but black sky and the occasional glint of starlight off the battered hood. Every muscle in Cruz’s body was tight with vigilance. Her right hand stayed close to the weapon holstered at her hip, her left steady on the wheel. Aaliyah sat rigidly beside her, her gaze flickering between the dashboard, the side mirror, and Cruz’s profile.

"You okay?" Cruz asked quietly.

Aaliyah nodded. "Are you?"

A grim smile touched Cruz’s lips. "I’m better with you next to me." Aaliyah reached out and linked her pinky through Cruz’s on the center console. It was a small gesture, hidden, but it settled something wild in Cruz’s chest.

They drove on, deeper into the night, the fall back house still miles away. But as long as Aaliyah’s touch anchored her—no matter how small, how fleeting—Cruz knew she could survive whatever tempest was coming. They both could.

Together.

The kilometers slipped away under the wheels. For a while, it was almost easy to believe they'd made a clean break. But Cruz knew better. Her eyes flicked to the rearview mirror again—and that's when she saw it.

Headlights.
Far back.
Too steady.
Too deliberate.

"Contact rear," Cruz muttered into the comms. "Single vehicle, trailing at distance. Not overtaking. Not falling back."

"Copy," Joe's voice came back tight. "Same on our six. Could be shadowing both convoys."

"Could be coincidence," Tex added. "Could be a tail."

Cruz shook her head. "No coincidences tonight."

Her mind worked fast, years of fieldwork stitching possibilities together. They were still a good twenty minutes out from the next checkpoint—a lonely gas station that barely passed for a landmark. If they were going to shake or neutralize a tail, it had to be before then.

Aaliyah leaned in closer, catching the change in Cruz’s posture. "What’s happening?" she whispered.

"Maybe nothing," Cruz said. "Maybe everything."

She dropped her voice to the team comms again. "Joe, Tex—drop back. Force the vehicle to commit. If they make a move, we deal."

"Copy," Joe said, already slowing down behind them.

A beat passed. Two. The trailing headlights hesitated—then accelerated. Fast. Shit. "They're making a move," Cruz barked. "Hold tight."

Aaliyah barely had time to brace as Cruz downshifted, wrenching the SUV off the main road and onto a rough, barely visible service trail that cut hard right into the open desert. Dust exploded in their wake, a blinding cloud swallowing the headlights. Bobby and Randy gripped the restraints on Imran tighter, keeping him secure. The trailing vehicle didn't hesitate. It followed, roaring after them, engine whining under the strain.

"They want him bad," Bobby muttered. Or Aaliyah, Cruz thought grimly. Either way, they weren't giving him—or her—up.

The service trail twisted around a low rocky rise, visibility cutting to almost nothing. Cruz took the turn fast, tires skidding, keeping the momentum up. They couldn’t outrun pursuit forever. They needed another play. Up ahead, Cruz spotted a narrow gap in the rocks—a dead-end for vehicles but maybe wide enough for two people on foot.

"Plan B," she said, voice low and steady. "We ditch the ride. Go on foot. Joe and Tex create noise and confusion to buy us space."

"Got it," Bobby said immediately, yanking the gear bag from the floor.

Randy nodded sharply. "Let's move."

Cruz looked at Aaliyah. "This gets messy, you stay glued to me. Understand?"

"I understand," Aaliyah said without hesitation. Her hand tightened on Cruz’s sleeve. Cruz’s heart hammered against her ribs, but she forced herself to focus.

No mistakes.
No fear.
Only survival.

She slammed the brakes, skidding the SUV sideways to a stop near the gap. "Out!" she barked. "Now!"

Doors flew open. The desert night swallowed them in dry, heavy silence. The pursuing vehicle roared into view behind them, slowing slightly at the sight of the abandoned SUV—but not stopping. Whoever was inside wanted blood.

Joe’s voice crackled through comms, "Engaging. On your six." Gunfire erupted behind them, short, sharp bursts. Cruz didn't look back. She grabbed Aaliyah’s hand, yanked her into the narrow pass between the rocks, and ran. Imran stumbled, dragged between Bobby and Randy, but they moved fast, practiced.

The path curved upward, steep and punishing. Rocks slipped underfoot. The air turned thinner, colder. Cruz pushed harder, never letting go of Aaliyah. She could feel her trembling from exertion, from fear—but Aaliyah kept pace. Kept trusting her. They crested the rise—and Cruz spotted it: the dark hollow of an abandoned shepherd’s outpost maybe two hundred meters ahead.

"That’s our hold point," she panted. "Move!" Gunfire cracked again, closer this time. Shouts in Arabic echoed behind them—angry, desperate. Cruz shoved Aaliyah forward, shielding her body with her own as they sprinted the last stretch.

On abandoned outpost loomed ahead—crumbling walls, a broken roof, but enough shelter to make a stand if they had to. They crashed through the open doorway, boots skidding on sand. Cruz spun immediately, raising her weapon, scanning the darkness outside.

Bobby and Randy dragged Imran into the corner, securing him fast. Aaliyah collapsed against the wall, breathing hard, face flushed but determined. And for one sharp second, Cruz just looked at her.

Alive.
Breathing.
Here.

Cruz lowered her weapon an inch, letting the adrenaline bleed off just enough to feel it—what could have been lost. Aaliyah’s wide eyes locked onto hers, reading it all. Without thinking, Cruz crossed the space in two strides and crushed Aaliyah against the crumbling wall, kissing her like the world was ending. Because for all she knew—It was.

Chapter 12: Precise. Deadly. Hers.

Notes:

WARNING - Graphic portrayal of war/violence

Aaliyah clutched at Cruz like she could anchor them both to the earth. Her fingers dug into the tactical vest, feeling the pounding of Cruz’s heart underneath, frantic and alive. The kiss was raw, desperate—nothing like the tenderness they'd shared before. This was need, pure and unfiltered, crashing over them in the dark. Cruz cupped the back of Aaliyah’s head, deepening the kiss, tasting the fear, the survival, the relief burning through both of them. Aaliyah gasped into her mouth, clinging tighter.

It wasn’t clean.
It wasn’t soft.
It was the messy, furious, grateful kind of kiss that happened when you realized how close you’d come to losing everything.

Cruz finally broke the kiss, breathing hard, forehead pressed against Aaliyah’s. The gunfire outside coming into focus. The shouts grew louder. But here, in this crumbling ruin of a shelter, there was only them.

She needed to move—needed to fight—but she couldn't tear herself away yet. "I thought I was gonna lose you," Cruz rasped, her voice broken and low, lungs desperately needing air.

"I’m here," Aaliyah whispered fiercely. "I'm right here." Their hands found each other again, sliding over gear and skin and the small slivers of bare wrist and collarbone that felt impossibly real in the dark. It wasn’t enough. But it had to be.

Cruz kissed her again—softer this time, lingering—before forcing herself to pull back. She kept hold of Aaliyah’s hand as she turned back toward the open doorway, weapon at the ready.

Bobby moved beside them, checking the old building for vulnerabilities. Randy stationed himself by the rear, covering the narrow entry they’d squeezed through.

Outside, an engine revved—then cut abruptly. Voices approached. Footsteps crunched on the dry earth.

"We’re gonna have company," Bobby muttered.

Cruz nodded grimly. "We hold. Short bursts. Conserve ammo." She squeezed Aaliyah’s hand once more, hard, before letting go. "Stay low. Stay behind me." Aaliyah crouched instinctively, pressing into the shadow of a broken pillar. Her eyes never left Cruz.

The first silhouette appeared in the ruined doorway—armed, moving fast. Cruz didn’t hesitate. Crack. One clean shot. The man crumpled without a sound. Shouts erupted—more shadows fanning out, searching for angles. Gunfire lit up the night.

Cruz moved like she was born to this, body low and lethal, weapon barking sharp, measured bursts. Bobby and Randy flanked her, covering angles, calling targets. Dust filled the air. Bullets pinged off stone. Through it all, Cruz was a force—relentless, unyielding. Every shot, every movement screamed one thing: Not tonight. Not her. Not on my watch.

Aaliyah covered her mouth with trembling hands, watching the woman she loved become something terrifying and beautiful all at once. Not reckless. Not desperate. Precise. Deadly. Hers.

Minutes dragged by—an endless dance of fire and fury. Slowly, the gunfire thinned. The attackers realized they weren’t gaining ground—and they didn’t have time to waste. Another shouted order. Another retreat. Engines roared back to life. Tires kicked up dust. They were falling back.

Cruz stayed crouched by the wall, eyes sweeping the landscape, gun trained steady. She didn’t relax until the dust fully swallowed the sound of retreat. Only then did she lower her weapon and let out a breath that rattled from somewhere deep inside her.

Bobby crossed to her, clapping a hand on her shoulder. "We’re clear. For now."

Randy checked Imran’s restraints again, grim-faced. "Asshole’s still breathing. Guess we still have our leverage."

Cruz turned immediately back to Aaliyah. Kneeling in front of her. "Aaliyah," she said roughly, her voice cracking on her name. Aaliyah threw herself into Cruz’s arms without hesitation. She buried her face against Cruz’s neck, breathing her in, shaking from the adrenaline and terror and overwhelming relief.

"I’ve got you, baby. I’ve got you." Cruz whispered, over and over, rocking her gently despite the heaviness of her own exhaustion. Aaliyah’s fingers clutched at the back of Cruz’s jacket like she never wanted to let go again. Neither did Cruz.

For the first time since they met, there were no lies, no distance, and no doubt between them. Only the simple, unbreakable fact that they were still alive—and they still had each other.

Whatever came next—
Whatever hell waited down the road—
They were determined to overcome it.

Cruz pressed her lips to Aaliyah’s temple, closing her eyes for a moment longer. Just a moment. Just this. Before the world came crashing back in.

Once the trail was clear, they doubled back to the abandoned vehicle, and continued heading north in tandem with the other SUV, arriving a couple hours later than expected, but whole, nonetheless.

The battered building settled into a tense, uneasy quiet. Bobby and Randy moved systematically, checking ammo, patching minor wounds, reloading for the next inevitable fight.
Imran lay cuffed and gagged in the corner, glowering, but wisely silent.

Cruz sat with her back against the cold stone wall, legs stretched out, Aaliyah curled into her side. Their hands were still linked—quiet, unobtrusive—but neither seemed willing to break the contact. The adrenaline was wearing off now, leaving behind a bone-deep exhaustion that made every movement feel heavier.

Bobby dropped beside them with a grunt. "That convoy wasn’t the whole network. More reinforcements will come."

"Then we need to move," Cruz said hoarsely, glancing down at Aaliyah. Her thumb brushed absently along Aaliyah’s knuckles, grounding herself as much as the woman beside her.
"There’s a fallback site about twenty klicks east. We grab the trucks and haul ass before dawn."

Randy nodded grimly. "Already prepping the route. We can’t afford a firefight here."

Joe emerged from the stairwell with Two Cups close behind, their faces tight. "True. Working on our exit. Comms are spotty," Joe said. "But I got a short burst out to Kaitlyn. She’s got an extraction point ready."

Cruz nodded, processing fast. Options, risks, backup plans. But even as she spoke, as she moved through the necessary logistics, her gaze kept drifting back to Aaliyah. Alive. Safe—for now. Aaliyah squeezed her hand gently, as if feeling the storm still rolling inside her. She didn’t need to say anything. She was just there. And Cruz had no words for what that meant.

Randy jerked a thumb toward the back rooms. "Go grab five minutes. Both of you. We’ll handle prep. You need it more than any of us." Cruz hesitated. Duty warred with instinct.

But Bobby flicked a glance between them and added, quieter, "Trust us. Go."

Cruz rose stiffly, helping Aaliyah up without letting go of her hand. She led her down a narrow hallway to a half-collapsed storage room that still had four solid walls and a door they could wedge closed.

The second the door clicked shut, Cruz pulled Aaliyah into her arms again. Hard. Desperate. Neither of them spoke. There were no words big enough. Cruz kissed her forehead, her temple, her cheek, her jaw, frantic to convince herself this wasn’t a dream, that she hadn’t lost her. Aaliyah turned her face toward her, finding her mouth with a soft, searching kiss that quickly deepened.

It wasn’t frantic this time. It was hungry. Starved. Grieving the moments lost. Cruz backed Aaliyah up against the wall gently, pressing into her, needing to feel the solid weight of her body, the rapid beat of her heart. Aaliyah gripped Cruz’s jacket, pulling her closer, kissing her like she could pour all the words they didn’t have straight into her mouth.

Cruz groaned softly against her lips, threading her fingers into Aaliyah’s hair, angling her head to deepen the kiss. Their bodies fit together like puzzle pieces—familiar, aching, urgent. Aaliyah’s hands slipped under the hem of Cruz’s shirt, skimming over her stomach, feeling the shudder that ran through her at the simple, perfect contact.

Cruz broke the kiss only long enough to rest her forehead against Aaliyah’s, breathing her in. "I love you," she whispered, so raw it scraped the air between them. "I love you so much it fucking terrifies me."

Aaliyah made a soft, broken sound and kissed her again, fierce and sure. "I've never felt something so big before. I can't contain it, and I don't ever want to again." She inhaled, breathing in the moment. "I love you too," she whispered against her mouth. "I love you, Cruz."

They stayed like that—clinging, kissing, breathing each other in—until the pounding of footsteps outside the door signaled it was time to move again. Cruz pulled back just enough to cup Aaliyah’s face in both hands. Her thumbs brushed over damp cheeks. She kissed her once more, slow and lingering, memorizing the taste of her, the feel of her.

"Stay close to me," Cruz said fiercely. "I’m not letting you go."

Aaliyah nodded, chest heaving with emotion. "Never, my love," she said.

Cruz kissed her forehead again—one last grounding touch—then pulled open the door. Together, they stepped back into the fray. Together, they would survive whatever came next.

The night split open with the roar of engines. The convoy pulled away from the crumbling safehouse, heavy with bodies and tension. Cruz drove the lead truck with Two Cups riding shotgun, his rifle angled across his lap. Bobby and Joe followed close behind with Aaliyah and Imran in the back, cuffed, barely conscious, and hooded now, his body slumped against the cab wall, sullen and dangerous.
Randy and Tex brought up the rear, eyes peeled for shadows moving in the dark.

Cruz’s knuckles whitened on the wheel as she scanned the empty stretch of desert road. The stars were sharp above them, cold witnesses to the quiet, desperate flight. Time stretched thin. Every second they stayed out here was a second closer to discovery, to another ambush they might not survive.

Two Cups muttered into his radio. "Convoy rolling. Estimated twenty minutes to extraction."

A crackle of static. Then Tex’s voice: "Copy. Clear roads so far."

Cruz stole a glance into the rearview mirror. The second truck was tight on her tail. Through the windshield, she caught a glimpse of Aaliyah, crouched low but steady. Her heart squeezed painfully when their eyes met. Aaliyah mouthed I love you, and Cruz could feel that comforting gesture like an embrace.

They hit the first checkpoint without trouble. Abandoned. Signs of recent military occupation, but whoever had manned it was gone now, pulled to some other corner of the conflict. Cruz didn’t slow. Didn’t breathe.

The second checkpoint loomed ahead—an overpass barely standing, battered concrete pillars like broken teeth against the horizon. And that’s when she saw them. A flash of headlights tucked under the bridge. Movement. Too fast, too precise.

"Ambush," she barked into the comms. "Brace!"

Gunfire erupted a heartbeat later. Automatic fire raked the air, sparking off asphalt and metal. Bullets punched into the lead truck’s reinforced panels with dull, angry thuds. Two Cups returned fire out the passenger window, cool and efficient. Bobby’s truck swerved to avoid the hail of rounds, tires screeching against gravel. Tex’s voice snapped over the comms, low and savage: "Enemies at the overpass. Multiple hostiles, heavy weapons."

Cruz jerked the wheel hard, cutting the truck across the road in a defensive slide that threw dust and debris into the air. Her body moved on pure instinct, the math of survival hardwired into her bones. She needed to draw fire. Protect Aaliyah. Even if it killed her.

"Two Cups, smoke!" she ordered. The soldier yanked a grenade from his belt, pulled the pin, and hurled it out the window. Thick white smoke exploded across the road, cloaking the convoy in a blinding shroud.

Cruz slammed the accelerator down, trusting speed and chaos to punch through the kill zone. Bullets whizzed past them, closer now, so close Cruz could hear the snap of the air breaking around them. In the mirror, she saw Bobby’s truck dart into the smoke after her, shielded by the sudden cover. Tex and Randy laid down suppressive fire from the rear, engines screaming as they fought to stay mobile.

The world narrowed to noise, to vibration, to raw survival. They burst out of the smoke on the other side of the overpass, tires fishtailing. Cruz didn’t let up. She pushed the truck to its limits, heart hammering, lungs burning. Behind them, the ambush team scrambled to regroup. But they were already too far ahead. Alive. Still alive.

Two Cups let out a rough laugh, half relief, half adrenaline. "Holy shit, boss. That was some fucking driving." Cruz didn’t smile. Didn’t speak. Her whole body was locked tight, focused on one thing: Getting them out. Getting Aaliyah out.

"Extraction point’s close," Two Cups said after a long moment, checking his GPS. "About two klicks east. If we keep moving, we’re golden." Cruz nodded once, a sharp, brutal motion. No celebration yet. Not until Aaliyah was standing under the stars, safe, breathing, alive.

The road dipped, cutting through a shallow ravine that funneled them toward the extraction zone. The battered trucks groaned under the strain, engines overheating, shocks squealing. In the distance, under a thin stand of trees, a black helicopter waited. Rotors spinning lazily, blades carving the night into ribbons.

Tex’s voice cracked over the radio: "Eyes on bird. We're clear. Moving in hot."

Cruz pressed the pedal down harder. "Copy. Move fast."

Behind her, in the second truck, Aaliyah watched the helicopter loom closer. Her fists clenched against the door handle. She could feel Cruz in the lead truck, feel the energy radiating from her like a living thing. She wasn’t leaving her. Not now. Not ever.

The trucks barreled into the clearing, kicking up a storm of dust. Operators in black gear swarmed from the chopper, guns raised, creating a defensive perimeter. Tex was already jumping out of his truck, barking orders, waving them toward the bird. "Move! Move! We’re on the clock!"

Cruz skidded to a stop, throwing the truck into park in one savage movement. She was out the door in a flash, sprinting toward the second truck. Aaliyah leapt out, meeting her halfway. Their eyes locked across the chaos—pure, burning relief. Cruz didn’t slow. Didn’t think. She caught Aaliyah around the waist and hauled her into a crushing embrace, her face buried against her neck.

Cruz forced herself to release Aaliyah, cupping her face briefly, reverently, before grabbing her hand and hauling her toward the chopper.

Gunfire cracked in the distance—a reminder that they weren’t safe yet. Bobby and Randy manhandled Imran toward the helicopter, the man struggling weakly against their grip. No one cared about his protests. They weren’t leaving without him.

Cruz forced herself to release Aaliyah, cupping her face briefly, reverently, before grabbing her hand and hauling her toward the chopper. They climbed aboard, the world tilting violently as the helicopter lifted into the night sky. Aaliyah pressed close to Cruz as the earth fell away beneath them. She could feel the hard thud of Cruz’s heart against her back, the steady strength of her arm wrapped around her.

"You’re okay," Cruz whispered fiercely. "I've got you, baby."

Aaliyah clung to her just as tightly, trembling against the force of it. "We're okay, habibti," she whispered back. "I’ve got you, too, Cruz." They’d made it. Barely. But they were together.

And nothing—nothing—was ever going to tear them apart again.

Chapter 13: Enough, For Now

The helicopter thundered through the night, heavy and shuddering with every gust of wind. Inside, the cabin was a low-lit world of bruised faces, sweat-slick bodies, and weapons held close.

Cruz sat on the bench seat, her arm around Aaliyah’s shoulders, anchoring her. Aaliyah leaned into her without hesitation, their bodies fitting together in a way that felt inevitable, necessary. Her fingers curled into the front of Cruz’s shirt, clinging like she might fall if she let go.

Across from them, Bobby kept her weapon trained lazily on Imran, who sat cuffed and hooded between Tex and Randy. He was alive, but barely. Bruised, silent, broken in ways that mattered. The team said little. The exhaustion was a living thing, heavy in the stale air. Only the rotors spoke, their low thrum a dark lullaby.

Aaliyah turned her face into Cruz’s shoulder, breathing her in—blood, dust, the sharp clean tang of adrenaline. Her body still trembled slightly, delayed shock setting in now that they were safe. Cruz felt it and tightened her hold, pressing her lips to Aaliyah’s temple. A promise made in silence: You’re safe with me. I’ve got you. The moment stretched long and slow. Cruz’s thumb traced absent patterns along the edge of Aaliyah’s shoulder, the motion intentional and tender, something only Aaliyah seemed allowed to receive.

Joe caught the look between them from the far side of the cabin—a quiet, understanding smile flickering across her battered face before she respectfully turned away. The team didn’t need to see the rest. This was theirs.

Cruz bent her head until her mouth brushed Aaliyah’s ear, her voice so low it was almost lost in the engine’s roar. "You were so fucking brave back there," she murmured. "I'm so proud of you." Aaliyah squeezed her eyes shut against the rush of emotion that hit her. Her throat worked as she swallowed hard, forcing words out past the thick knot lodged there. "I wasn’t brave," she whispered. "I was so scared... for you, for me, for your team."

Cruz pulled back just enough to look at her. Her dark eyes were fierce and wet and aching with love. "You were brave," she said fiercely. "Being scared doesn’t erase that. You stayed with me. You kept your head. You didn’t give up at any point. We may have fired the shots, but you helped us get through this, too, you know?" Aaliyah’s lip trembled. She didn’t answer with words. She wasn't used to being praised for anything other than being beautiful. She loved how Cruz saw her. It emboldened her. She leaned in, pressing her mouth to Cruz’s in a kiss that was desperate, trembling, alive.

Cruz groaned softly into her, the kiss deepening with a hunger that hadn’t been dulled by exhaustion or danger—in fact, it had sharpened it. Need bled into every breath they shared, every tiny, broken sound. Cruz cupped Aaliyah’s jaw with a battered hand, angling her head to taste her deeper, her other hand fisting in the back of her shirt. For one long moment, the world shrank to nothing but the two of them—broken, bleeding, breathing life back into each other.

Someone coughed politely from the far end of the cabin. A sharp reminder that they weren’t truly alone. Reluctantly, Cruz pulled back, resting her forehead against Aaliyah’s. They breathed each other in, heart to heart, wordless, untouchable. "We’ll find a place," Cruz promised her in a rough whisper. "After this is done. Just us. I swear it." Aaliyah nodded against her, her whole body aching with how much she wanted that. How much she wanted her.

The helicopter banked hard, and the lights of a rendezvous point flickered into view—smaller, more remote, tucked into the folds of a rocky valley. The new hideout. A new beginning. Cruz kissed Aaliyah’s forehead tenderly and murmured, "Come on, my love. Let’s finish this."

They stayed together as the bird touched down, smoke and dust curling around the landing skids. Together, they stepped off into the unknown, hands brushing, hearts steady. Together, they walked toward the next fight. But this time, they wouldn’t be facing it alone.

The walked into a stone compound, squat and weathered, built into the side of a cliff. It was colder here, the air sharp enough to sting in their lungs. Minimal lights illuminated the perimeter. Inside, it was utilitarian—bare-bones necessities: water, food, weapons, clean clothes. No creature comforts. But it was secure. That was all that mattered.

The team moved with the wordless efficiency of exhaustion. Joe and Bobby swept the interior. Tex and Randy dragged Imran—still hooded and shackled—into a makeshift holding room reinforced with steel bars and concrete walls. A safe cage until they decided his fate.

Cruz didn’t wait to supervise. She trusted them. Her only focus was Aaliyah.

She caught her hand—deliberate, grounding—and pulled her toward a corridor that branched deeper into the heart of the compound. No one stopped them. No one even looked their way. The weight of the night, the flight, the blood and fear, the love they hadn’t been able to fully express, pressed down until it was a living thing between them. Cruz shouldered open the door to a small private room—a single cot, a metal chair, nothing more—and kicked it shut behind them. Locked it.

The second the lock clicked into place, Aaliyah was in her arms. There was no hesitation. No fear. They collided with a soft, desperate sound—hands tangling in hair and fabric, mouths crashing together with a need that had been building for too long. Cruz backed Aaliyah against the wall, one hand splaying across her hip to hold her steady. Aaliyah arched into her, gasping as Cruz kissed her like she couldn’t get enough—like breathing, thinking, surviving all depended on her.

Aaliyah’s fingers trembled as they traced the cut along Cruz’s cheekbone, the bruises still blooming across her ribs beneath the torn tactical shirt. A thousand wounds. A thousand pieces Cruz had given up for her. Tears blurred her vision, but she blinked them away and kissed Cruz harder, trying to say all the things words couldn’t. I’m here. I’m alive because of you. I love you.

Cruz pulled back an inch, panting, her forehead pressed to Aaliyah’s. Her hand cradled the side of Aaliyah’s face so gently it undid her. "This—" Cruz rasped. "This is real, Aaliyah. You and me. No missions. No lies. Just us."

Aaliyah nodded, too choked up to speak. Tears previously held, now flowing freely. She clutched Cruz’s tactical vest in both fists and pulled her closer, desperate to feel every inch of her body against hers. Cruz went willingly, bracing one hand against the wall beside Aaliyah’s head as she kissed her again—slow now, savoring, claiming.

The kiss deepened, grew hungrier. Cruz’s hand slipped beneath the hem of Aaliyah’s shirt, fingertips skimming bare skin. Aaliyah gasped and arched against her, her hands tangling in Cruz’s hair. Cruz pulled back long enough to rasp against her throat, "I know this isn't what we talked about. Tell me to stop if you want to. I mean it, Aaliyah."

Aaliyah stilled—heart hammering against her ribs—then gently cupped Cruz’s jaw in both hands. She pressed her forehead back to Cruz’s, eyes fluttering closed. “Let’s get you cleaned up first,” she whispered, voice thick with emotion and restraint. Her thumb stroked the cut high on Cruz’s cheekbone. “You’re still bleeding.”

Cruz let out a low, shuddering breath and nodded. Wordlessly, Aaliyah took her hand and led her across the small room to a narrow adjoining bathroom—a cracked basin, a rusted spigot, a battered tin tub half-filled with lukewarm water someone had left behind. It was barely enough. It was perfect.

Aaliyah emptied the tub, and turned on the tap to add more water. Cruz stood behind her, still and silent, her body a taut line of need and fatigue. When Aaliyah faced her again, their eyes locked. Aaliyah reached for Cruz’s tactical vest first, unfastening the heavy buckles with shaking hands. The gear dropped to the floor with a heavy thud. Cruz’s shirt clung to her bloodstained skin, torn at the ribs. Aaliyah swallowed hard and pulled it over her head, baring the bruises and bandages stretched across her strong, battered body.

Her fingers brushed Cruz’s skin as she worked—light, reverent touches that sent shivers coursing through them both. Cruz’s breath hitched but she didn’t move, letting Aaliyah undress her piece by piece—pants, boots, socks—until she stood before her in nothing but black cotton briefs and a sports bra, both soaked with sweat and blood. Aaliyah hesitated, her fingers hovering. Then, with agonizing tenderness, she stripped those away too.

Cruz was all sun-kissed skin and hard lines beneath her clothes, her body a map of survival. Every scar, every bruise, every trembling muscle told a story Aaliyah wanted to learn by heart. “You’re beautiful,” Aaliyah said hoarsely, her throat thick with emotion.

Cruz gave a ragged, almost broken laugh. “You’re blind,” she whispered, stepping closer.

Aaliyah shook her head and placed a hand over Cruz’s heart. “No. I see you.”

She guided Cruz carefully into the tub. The water was tepid, but Cruz sank into it without protest, eyes locked on Aaliyah’s. Aaliyah grabbed a small bar of soap and a battered tin cup from the sink. She knelt beside the tub, dipping the cup into the water and pouring it slowly over Cruz’s body, washing away the blood and grime with slow, deliberate strokes.

Cruz’s eyes fluttered closed as the water sluiced over her skin. She tilted her head back when Aaliyah cupped her face and poured water over her hair, soaking the strands. Aaliyah lathered the soap in her hands and massaged it gently into Cruz’s scalp, her fingers working through her hair with rhythmic care. Cruz made a low, aching sound—half sigh, half moan—and leaned into her touch. The intimacy of it—the trust—made Aaliyah’s chest ache.

She rinsed Cruz’s hair, the water running in rivulets down her temples, her neck, her collarbones. Her fingers followed, mapping each new line with reverence. Each unintentional brush of her thumb against Cruz’s bare skin drew soft gasps from both of them.

She worked her way down Cruz’s arms, her hands wrapping around scarred biceps and strong forearms, sliding across knuckles torn raw from fighting. Down over her ribs, her stomach, careful around the fresh bruises. Across her thighs, her calves, the arches of her feet. Cruz’s breathing grew heavier with every pass. Her chest heaved with each trembling inhale, her knuckles gripping the sides of the tub hard enough to turn white.

When Aaliyah’s hands slipped higher—over the smooth plane of Cruz’s inner thighs, lingering just a second too long—they both froze. The air between them cracked like a live wire. Aaliyah’s eyes snapped up to meet Cruz’s. Desperation and restraint warred in her gaze. In both of them.

Cruz’s jaw clenched. Her hands twitched at her sides. Neither moved. Neither spoke. The moment stretched razor-thin, teetering on the edge of something that would consume them whole. Aaliyah’s chest rose and fell in ragged pulls. Cruz’s pupils were blown wide with need.

Slowly, Aaliyah dragged her fingers back down, finishing the rinse. She leaned forward and pressed her forehead to Cruz’s, breathing hard. Their time would come. But not tonight. Not like this. They stayed there for a long time—Cruz trembling in the water, Aaliyah kneeling beside her—breathing each other in.

Moored. Alive. Together.

Eventually, Cruz’s trembling subsided enough for her to move. Wordlessly, Aaliyah stood and grabbed a thin, fraying towel from the hook on the wall. She held it open, offering her hand. Cruz rose from the water, muscles rippling under the dim light, water streaming down her battered body. She stepped carefully out of the tub, and Aaliyah wrapped the towel around her shoulders, drawing her in close.

The simple act of drying her off became another kind of intimacy. Aaliyah dragged the cloth slowly over Cruz’s arms, her chest, her back—catching drops of water, smoothing over scars and fresh bruises with aching care. Cruz didn’t look away. She watched her with something raw and unguarded in her eyes—something that left Aaliyah breathless.

Once she was mostly dry, Aaliyah helped her into a clean, loose t-shirt and boxers from the pile of scavenged supplies. The clothes hung on Cruz’s frame, making her look younger, vulnerable in a way Aaliyah had never seen. Aaliyah turned away briefly, giving herself a moment to breathe, to scrub the worst of the night off her own skin at the cracked sink. She didn’t want to leave Cruz’s side—not even for a second—but she knew the next part mattered too.

When she returned to her, Cruz was sitting cross-legged on the narrow mattress tucked in the corner of the safe house room, towel draped loosely around her shoulders, hair damp and a few strands adhered to her forehead. Aaliyah knelt in front of her with the first aid kit. “This might sting,” she murmured, voice thick with emotion she couldn’t quite swallow down.

Cruz smiled faintly, the kind of smile that split her bruised lip and made Aaliyah ache. “I trust you.”

Carefully, Aaliyah cleaned and bandaged every cut she could find—the ones on her arms, the graze across her ribs, the brutal scrape along her hipbone. Every touch lingered longer than necessary, fingers grazing heated skin, drawing sharp breaths from them both. Cruz didn’t flinch once. She watched Aaliyah the whole time, like she was memorizing her, threading every gentle stroke, every whispered apology into the fabric of who they were becoming.

When she was done, Aaliyah set the kit aside and sat back on her heels, suddenly unsure what came next. Cruz answered for her. She reached out, wrapping her fingers around Aaliyah’s wrist with infinite tenderness, and tugged her forward. Wordlessly, Aaliyah climbed onto the narrow bed with her, curling against her side, careful of her injuries. Cruz pulled her closer until there was no space left between them, until their bodies pressed together in desperate, aching relief.

They lay like that in the dark, tangled together in a fragile cocoon of battered limbs and unspoken promises. Aaliyah rested her head against Cruz’s shoulder, one hand splayed over her heartbeat, feeling it drum steady and strong beneath her palm. Cruz pressed a kiss to the top of her head—a whisper of a touch—and exhaled against her hair. Aaliyah’s fingers rested over her heart.

The silence was deafening. Everything they couldn’t say—everything too dangerous and beautiful and terrifying to voice—was already there, pulsing between them. It wasn’t sex. It wasn’t safety. It wasn’t even healing yet. It was survival. It was love, raw and bruised and unfinished, stitched together with trembling hands.

And it was enough. For now.

The knock shattered the stillness like a gunshot. Both of them jolted upright, instinct cutting through sleep and comfort like a blade. Cruz was on her feet first, ignoring the way her body protested, her hand automatically going to the weapon tucked beneath the thin mattress. Aaliyah followed, heart hammering, grabbing the nearest hoodie to throw over herself.

Another knock—sharper this time, two quick raps followed by a longer one. A pattern. Cruz's tense shoulders eased by a fraction. Friendly. She crossed the room in three strides and cracked the door open, gun still hidden behind her thigh.

Tex’s grizzled face peered in, framed by the dim gray light of dawn. "Sun's up," he murmured. "Time to move." Cruz nodded once. No questions. No hesitation. Whatever fragile peace they'd found here, it was already slipping away.

"Five minutes," she said. Tex gave a short, understanding nod and disappeared back down the hallway.

Cruz shut the door and leaned her forehead briefly against the battered wood. Breathing. Aaliyah stepped up behind her, sliding her arms around her waist, careful of the bruises but needing the contact—needing to anchor herself before they faced whatever waited outside that door.

Cruz turned in her arms and pressed a slow, deliberate kiss to her forehead. The kind that said everything without speaking: I’m still here. I’m not going anywhere. Aaliyah’s throat tightened, but she forced herself to be steady.

"Let's get out of here," she said quietly. Cruz’s eyes flashed with awe and pride. Strength recognizing strength. Together, they grabbed what little gear they had. The place was already half-dismantled—bags packed, loose ends tied.

In the back room, Imran sat shackled to a metal chair, hands cuffed, feet chained to the floor. He looked smaller somehow in the thin light, his arrogance stripped away, replaced with a cold, calculating stillness. Joe stood guard nearby, arms crossed, shotgun resting casually against her hip. Her eyes flicked to Cruz and Aaliyah as they entered.

"Car's ready," Joe said. "Two Cups is driving. Tucker’s covering the perimeter."

"And Bobby?" Cruz asked, voice all business now.

"Already cleared the back route. It's quiet." Cruz nodded once, sharp and decisive.

Aaliyah moved closer to Imran, meeting his gaze without flinching. He smirked—ugly and knowing—but she didn’t let it touch her. He was nothing. Just another obstacle in their path. A loose thread they would cut away in time.

Cruz leaned down to Imran’s level, her voice low and lethal. "You’re going to stand up nice and slow, and you’re going to walk out of here without making a sound. If you don't…" She smiled thinly. "I'll make you wish you had." Imran chuckled, but he obeyed. Chains rattled as he rose to his feet.

Joe secured a black hood over his head, muffling any chance of him seeing their next location. Aaliyah watched in silence, feeling the shift inside her—the final severing of whatever ties had once bound her to this man’s world. There was no going back. Only forward.

Cruz caught her eye across the room, a silent promise burning between them. We do this together. And for the first time in a long time, Aaliyah believed they were close to finishing this, and starting something new.

 

Two Cups was already behind the wheel of the lead vehicle, tapping an impatient rhythm against the steering wheel. Bobby and Tex loaded into the back seats, flanking a sullen, handcuffed Imran Amrohi, who muttered curses under his breath in Arabic. Joe pulled Aaliyah aside just before they climbed in.

"You stay between Cruz and me," Joe said firmly. "No hesitation, no wandering. You do exactly what I say, when I say it. Understood?"

"Understood," Aaliyah said without hesitation.

Joe studied her a second longer, then gave a short nod. "Good. Let's move."

The second SUV growled to life as Randy swung into the driver's seat. Cruz took shotgun, her weapon resting between her knees. Aaliyah slid into the seat behind her, close enough to feel the hum of Cruz’s tension.

They pulled out into the dead streets without headlights, engines low and rumbling. The city seemed to hold its breath around them. Every shadow looked deeper. Every broken window felt like the hollow eye of a sniper’s scope.

Aaliyah tightened her hands against her knees, forcing herself to breathe evenly. Cruz turned slightly in her seat, just enough to meet Aaliyah’s gaze through the gap. The look was brief but scorching—I’ve got you. Aaliyah nodded, pulse pounding.

The convoy wove through alleys, avoiding the main roads. Joe's voice crackled over the comms. "Keep tight. No deviations." Ahead, Two Cups took a sharp turn, the vehicle fishtailing slightly before righting itself. Moments later, headlights appeared two streets over—then three more.

"They're trying to box us in," Bobby reported.

"Stick to the plan," Joe snapped.

Gunfire cracked behind them. Randy cursed, slamming the SUV around a crumbling corner. Aaliyah ducked low, instincts screaming. Cruz twisted in her seat, covering their rear with grim focus. A narrow alley opened to their right. Two Cups gunned it, slamming through a half-collapsed gate into an abandoned industrial lot. Randy followed hard, bouncing across the uneven ground.

"Two minutes to exfil," Joe clipped out. "Kaitlyn’s team is inbound." Cruz glanced briefly at Joe. Kaitlyn Meade—Joe’s boss at Langley—had deployed a black-site custodial team to extract Imran and tie off the intelligence breach. As if summoned by name, Joe’s phone rang.

Joe answered the call, "We're en route..............WHAT?!.............Are you fucking kidding me?!?! I'm going to kill that motherfucker!!!..........Alright! I'm good. I'll keep you updated." She ended the call with a guttural roar.

Cruz gave her a moment, but needed to know if her call impacted the plan, "Joe, do we need to change course? Are we blown?"

Joe's look could kill, but it wasn't meant for Cruz. "Update from Kaitlyn: confirmation on the leak. It was fucking Kyle!" A beat of silence. Aaliyah felt Cruz stiffen. "He was just picked up," Joe continued grimly. "I don't know the extent of his involvement, but we know he was the fucking leak. Asset recovery underway. We're in the clear if we can get to the rendezvous."

Ahead, the extraction team’s truck loomed—camo-painted, reinforced, ugly but gloriously solid. Men and women in plain tactical gear spilled out, weapons drawn but angled low, identifying the convoy as friendlies. Two Cups skidded to a stop. Bobby and Tex jumped out, yanking Imran roughly from the backseat.

The extraction team’s leader—a woman in a plain ballcap and aviators—stepped forward. "Kaitlyn Meade sends her regards," she said crisply. "We'll take it from here." Imran spat something vile in Arabic. Tex silenced him with a none-too-gentle shove toward the waiting operatives. Joe leaned in close to the woman, murmuring a few terse words. The woman nodded and signaled her team.

In moments, Imran was loaded into a reinforced SUV, a bag pulled over his head for security. Aaliyah stood frozen for a moment, watching the man who had terrorized her family disappear into the night. Joe touched her shoulder lightly. "It’s over, Aaliyah. At least this part."

Aaliyah nodded shakily. Cruz stayed close at her side, her presence a solid, grounding force. As the extraction team peeled away with Imran, the rest of the convoy loaded back into their battered vehicles. They weren't done—not yet.

Inside the SUV, as Randy drove them toward a secondary safe house, Joe keyed the comm again. "Kaitlyn’s team has Imran secured. He's going black—no trials, no leaks. Just...gone."

"And Amrohi Oil?" Cruz asked sharply from the front seat. Joe hesitated.

"Our next stop is a military base, and then back to the states. Kaitlyn’s pushing for a solution. She knows Aaliyah's critical to stabilizing the region. She's willing to negotiate."

Cruz turned fully in her seat, fixing Joe with a hard look. "I want it in writing. Full U.S. citizenship for Aaliyah. Immediate protective custody, if needed. Full diplomatic shielding until transition of control is complete."

"You'll get it," Joe said firmly. "I'll personally make sure of it." Cruz nodded once but didn't relax.

Aaliyah’s heart thudded painfully. She met Cruz’s gaze across the seat—saw the ferocity there, the unspoken vow. Cruz would not let anyone take her from her again. No matter the cost. They drove on in tense silence, the city shrinking behind them. Toward whatever fragile future waited beyond this night.

Chapter 14: Langley Looms Large

The convoy pressed on through the night, bypassing checkpoints, slipping into the fortified perimeter of a military base under cover of darkness. The heavy gates clanged shut behind them. Aaliyah sat rigid beside Cruz, heart hammering in her chest as soldiers swarmed the vehicles. Their uniforms bore no insignia, their faces closed and professional.

Joe leaned out the window and flashed her credentials. A sharp nod, a wave forward. They were ushered into a hangar, floodlights harsh against the bruised night sky. Medics stood ready. Intelligence officers hovered nearby, clipboards in hand. A plane waited on the tarmac beyond, engines idling, ready to take them stateside at a moment’s notice.

"Where are we, habibti?" Aaliyah was sure this wasn't a US military base. Something seemed off about this.

Cruz, instinctively, grabbed her hand, intertwining their fingers as a sign of support. "This is the KAB - King Abdullah Air Base. It's not a US military base, but it's US friendly. Some trainings is done here... for Jordanian and US military. I've had a couple pitstops here during deployments to the area." Aaliyah nodded and squeezed her hand in response. "We won't be here long, okay," Cruz continued, "We just need to keep our heads down, be discreet, and then, we'll get the hell outta here."

Aaliyah gradually schooled her expression, almost fortifying herself for the last stop before the last leg of the trip, and meeting her eyes, "Let's get this over with." Cruz could see the mental and physical exhaustion carefully hidden beneath the surface, but she was proud of her resolve.

The vehicles parked abruptly. "Move," Joe barked. "No stops, no detours." Aaliyah followed numbly, Cruz shadowing her like a bodyguard with a loaded weapon. In the hangar, they were processed quickly—too quickly. Medical checks. They were separated. Brief questions. Fresh clothes shoved into their arms. All the while, Bobby never drifted more than two feet from Aaliyah’s side.

When Aaliyah started to hesitate, dizzy and lost, Bobby squeezed her elbow. "We're almost done," she promised under her breath. "You’re safe. I’m here. Cruz is right over there." Aaliyah swallowed thickly and nodded. Cruz caught the exchange. She gave Bobby a short, grateful look—but her eyes locked on Aaliyah like she was memorizing her.

When the order finally came to board the transport to D.C., Cruz reached for her instinctively. A brush of her fingers. A breathless, fleeting touch. 'Stay with me' Aaliyah wanted to say. But there were too many eyes. Too many guns. Too much unfinished business. She said nothing. She let the cold, formal machinery of exfiltration sweep her away.

She sat in the back with Bobby, while Cruz spent the entire flight in the front with Joe. There was silence, and some heated conversations. Aaliyah was sure that she was advocating for her, for both of them. She hoped they hadn't come this far just to come this far.

Bobby sensed her anxiety, "They'll figure this out. Until then, I'm not going anywhere." Aalilyah nodded, concern still in her eyes.

 

Langley was cold in a different way. Clinical. Brutal in its efficiency. As soon as the plane landed, they were split apart—debriefed, processed, scrubbed through security. Cruz didn’t even get a chance to say goodbye. One moment Aaliyah was at her side, dazed but breathing—and the next, she was swallowed by the corridors of the CIA. Bobby stayed glued to her, just like she promised. But Cruz—Cruz was alone.

They interrogated her separately. Hours of questions. Papers shoved in front of her. Psych evaluations. Medical tests. Debrief after debrief after debrief. At first, Cruz answered mechanically, efficiently. But her mind wasn’t in the room. It was wherever Aaliyah was.

Was she scared? Were they treating her like a suspect, like a pawn, like a goddamn bargaining chip? Was someone barking questions at her? Threatening her? Doubting her?

Cruz’s hands curled into fists more than once during her own debriefs. The walls closed in tighter each day. No information. No word. No glimpse of her. Only the clock ticking. Only the fear. Only the ache of her absence, pounding in Cruz’s blood until she could hardly think straight.

The overhead lights in the Langley conference room buzzed faintly, a steady hum that gnawed at Cruz’s fraying nerves. Day three. Three days of sterile walls, paper trails, cold questions, and colder eyes. She sat stiffly in the metal chair, the same way she had the day before. And the day before that. Same glass of untouched water. Same thick folder on the table with her name sharpied on the tab like a warning.

Across from her, another faceless suit—this one in his late fifties, silver hair and a mouth that hadn’t cracked a smile once in the ninety-minute session.

“Cruz Manuelos,” he said again, voice slow and deliberate. “You were activated to eliminate the Ace of Spades. Embedded undercover in the Amrohi family... It seems you time under was quite eventful. You successfully eliminated the Ace of Spades, but you also took out his soon-to-be son-in-law. Would that have anything to do with the full extent of the relationship you developed with the mark?”

Cruz's knuckles were white against the edge of the table. “Her name is Aaliyah.” She growled.

His gaze flicked to her. “Yes. The daughter of Asmar Amrohi, now the inheritor of a major international energy corporation tied to multiple destabilization plots. Given the similarity in age and her proximity to her father, it made sense for her to be the mark.”

“She’s not a mark anymore,” Cruz ground out. “She’s the reason there's an opportunity to stabilize the region after my success...following orders...destabilized it. She’s the reason we have Imran.”

“Yet you lied to her the entire time you were under as Zara Adid. Manipulated her. Slept in her bed under false pretenses. Would you call that love, Marine?”

Cruz’s chair scraped loudly as she shoved back from the table. “Tell me where she is.”

“That’s not relevant to your debrief—”

“I wasn’t asking.” Her voice cut sharp, deadly. “She’s in this building. You’ve had her under lock and key for three days. Is she eating? Sleeping? Is she being interrogated?”

The man didn’t flinch. “You’re in no position to demand anything.”

Cruz stood. “Then get someone in here who can tell me she’s okay. Or I swear to God—” Cruz approached methodically, like a predator sizing up its prey.

The door opened behind her. A second agent stepped in, folder in hand, clearly having heard the raised voices. “Enough,” he said quietly. “We’re done for now.”

Cruz retracted, but didn’t sit. She stalked out without being dismissed, boots echoing through the corridor like the pounding of her pulse. She couldn’t breathe in here. Not without knowing. Not without her.

----------------------------

The walls of the suite were plush, not concrete. The food was hot. The bed was soft. The guards were polite. It was still a prison. She had barely seen the sky in three days. Hadn’t touched Cruz’s hand since they stepped off the plane.

The questions had come fast and hard—about her father’s finances, her time in Riyadh, her knowledge of the oil deals, her relationship with Zara, and now—Cruz.

Aaliyah refused to play games. She answered novel questions, but the repetition with subtle differences, was infuriating. She answered them, and they expected her answers to change over time...as if her love for Cruz was a convenient ploy. She She answered the questions, but she gave them Cruz’s name every time. Falling in love with Cruz was the hardest, most dangerous, dismantling, reconstructive, and breathtaking thing she had ever experienced. They didn't and wouldn't understand.

She was tired of being studied like a volatile asset. Tired of pretending she wasn’t breaking, too. Only Bobby made it bearable. She sat with her through meals, joined her for walks through the courtyard they were allowed into once a day.

“She’s asking for you,” Bobby said the the third night, voice low as they stood near the window.

Aaliyah’s head jerked up. “You’ve seen her?!”

“Not directly. But word travels. She nearly clocked a handler yesterday demanding to know where you were.” Bobby smirked faintly. “Scared the shit out of the guy.”

Aaliyah's heart clenched. “I want to see her.”

“You will. It’s almost over. Kaitlyn’s flying in tomorrow. She’s been coordinating the custody of Imran and the fallout with D.C. After that, you’ll get answers. Both of you.”

Aaliyah swallowed hard. “Do you think they’ll let us go?”

Bobby looked at her. “Not without conditions. But I know she’s not leaving without you.”

Aaliyah responded in kind, “Neither am I.” Bobby smiled internally, anticipating Aaliyah's response.

-------------------------------------

Cruz was in her temporary quarters when the knock came. She snapped upright, heart slamming into her throat. The door cracked open—just enough to reveal a familiar face. Bobby.

“Grab your boots. She’s waiting.” Cruz moved in a fog. Afraid of what she would find when she finally saw her. Had she been hurt? Had she reconsidered being together after this. Maybe this was too much. Was there too much tragic history between them? Did she want a fresh start?

Bobby led Cruz to one of the interrogation rooms. Aaliyah was already there. Eyes locked on immediately. Bobby offered, "Kaitlyn is coming to meet with you, both of you. You have the room until she gets here. She just touched down." They both nodded, but never broke the gaze. The door clicked behind her.

Cruz didn’t move at first. She just stood there—exhausted, arms by her sides, bruises still in bloom, but starting to fade. She looked like hell. And she looked like home. Aaliyah crossed the space without hesitation.

“Jesus,” Cruz breathed, catching her in her arms before the weight of the moment could topple them both. Their bodies collided with a quiet thud, Cruz’s hands curling instinctively around Aaliyah’s ribs, her face burying into her neck like she hadn’t touched another human in years. “Are you okay?”

“I am now,” Aaliyah whispered, pulling back just enough to look her in the eye, then gripping her face between trembling hands. “They didn’t let me see you. I thought they were—God, I thought—”

“I know.” Cruz’s voice broke. “I kept asking. Every day. More times than I could count.” Aaliyah kissed her. Desperately. Fiercely. Not because it was the right time or the right place—but because her body couldn’t not. Cruz kissed her back like she was drowning and Aaliyah was air. It wasn’t perfect. Their mouths missed once. Teeth clashed. But it didn’t matter.

Cruz’s hand gripped the back of Aaliyah’s neck as they kissed, the other slipping around her waist to keep her close, hold her there, feel that she was real. When they finally parted, both of them breathless, neither stepped away.

Aaliyah rested her forehead to Cruz’s. “I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t eat. I was afraid they’d never let me see you again. Or worse.. I don't understand. I thought we were doing what they wanted.”

“Yea,” Cruz sighed. “They buried me in reports, at first. I didn't think anything of it. Reports are tedious, sure, but the debriefs were..." She trailed off, "Aggressive. I should've expected that, but I didn't. I think they were testing me...testing us. They tried to make me believe that this wasn't real. They said I was too close to you. That I’d compromised myself.”

“Did you?”

Cruz smiled softly. “Only...completely.” They both laughed, raw and half-cracked with emotion. Her face turned serious, "We need to talk about some things, Aaliyah. They said things, things I don't believe or don't want to, and I need to ask you."

Aaliyah matched her posture, looking directly in her eyes, "Ask."

Cruz took a deep breath and rushed out her question, "Did you know I was undercover before that night in Mallorca?"

Aaliyah's eyes went wide, and she didn't want to discern or sugarcoat the truth. She knew she needed to be transparent. "I suspected something," barely a whisper. Cruz stepped back. Her mind running wild with this information. How much did she know? Did she use me, too? Was this all an act?

Aaliyah stepped forward, reestablishing their previous proximity, holding each of Cruz's biceps, a familiar stance, assuredly, "I suspected that something was off," she continued closing the distance Cruz had created, "The bruises were the first thing and a car accident didn't seem to fit. I appreciate that you gave me some truth to that in the steam and since then, the whole truth, but that was the first thing. I don't know, just the way you didn't want to tell me much and I really wanted to know everything...I still do," she beamed.

"You looked over your shoulder so many times like you were afraid something was coming and you rarely relaxed unless it was just us... it made me wonder if there was more than what you told me." Cruz broke eye contact, lowering her gaze. Aaliyah gently cupped Cruz's jaw, bringing her into focus before continuing, "I didn't know you were undercover. I didn't think that you were military. I suspected you were in trouble or maybe you wanted or need to run. I guess I saw myself in that and was even more curious about you. Once you were gone in Mallorca, even then, I didn't think you were a trained operative or Marine, they eventually showed me the footage, but my first thought was that you were hurt or taken!"

She brought her eyes to the floor, shaking her head, "Taken three times in as many months would have to be a record." Cruz half-chuckled, half-sighed.

Aaliyah couldn't connect the dots, "Three times?"

Cruz's eyes met hers. She realized there were hard truths still to be shared. She instinctively took Aaliyah's hand. "I told you about SERE, and Joe having me snatched to test me." Aaliyah nodded.

"There's something you need to know about the night...at the Surf Lodge." Cruz wanted to proceed with caution, but didn't want to lie. Not again. About anything. "Let's sit." Aaliyah stiffened but didn't resist as Cruz led her to a chair.

Cruz held her hands rubbing soothing nondescript patterns before she continued, "I started recognizing my feelings for you that day. I told you. That moment in the water...it really meant something to me that you wanted to get away from the shore to tell me something important, to trust me with that. I just wanted to protect you." Aaliyah gave a small smile. "The problem was I didn't know what to do with those feelings. I was too focused on you. I was staring, fantasizing really, and I needed to distract myself. I worried that if I didn't your friends might notice where my attention was and you would have to send me away. That's the only reason I danced with that asshole."

Aaliyah was trying to put the pieces together, "The pasty guy at the bar?"

"Yea, pasty prick is more like it." She looked at the ceiling and sighed dramatically.

Aaliyah squeezed her hand, understanding she needed to express something difficult, "You can tell me anything, about Cruz and about Zara."

Cruz leaned her forehead against Aaliyah’s and closed her eyes. “I knew I wanted you that night." Aaliyah's breath hitched. "We danced for two and a half songs and everyone else disappeared. It was just us and the music. You held my hand and I got to twirl you around a bit. I was so lost in your eyes that I couldn't look away. I was lost in the way my body felt when I was touched by you...hoping you were feeling the same way. I just wanted to pull you close and dance with you without inhibitions, but I couldn't. We were right next to Kamal and Nala. I wasn't sure if my thoughts were obvious and I ran to the bar to get myself together."

"He asked me to dance with him, and I accepted because I couldn't dance with you...I wasn't supposed to want to and I needed to fit in." Aaliyah just waited, she knew there was more. "When we went back to the bar, he ordered us drinks and he put something in mine." Aaliyah's brows furrowed and she clinched her hands into fists. Cruz held her fists. "I remember seeing the fight break out, but I don't remember what happened after that. I only know what you told me and what my team told me about that night."

Aaliyah tried desperately to hold back tears, needing to be strong enough to listen; wanting to support Cruz, "Can you tell me what happened, habibti?"

Cruz shook out her hands. After a few moments, she nodded, "Joe was at the bar. The fight breaking out distracted her, and then she noticed I was gone. She knew immediately that I was snatched," Aaliyah flinched, "and she had the team track my devices. He took me into the woods behind the Surf Lodge, maybe 100 yards or so. Joe was chasing my signals on foot and the team caught up shortly after. They were in an SUV in the parking lot. When Joe got there, I was on the ground, unconscious, barely had a pulse, and he had just taken off my underwear."

Aaliyah gasped into a sob, getting Cruz's attention. Cruz had been looking at the floor, and didn't realized that Aaliyah was crying silently. Cruz wrapped her in a solid embrace, whispering in her ear, "They got to me in time...He didn't get any further." Aaliyah melted at the realization. "It was clear that this wasn't his first. No telling how many girls he hurt. Joe made rape pretty much impossible for him after that point though."

"I'm just so angry!" Aaliyah stood, and began to pace, shaking her head in disbelief. "I told them to go back; to find you. I knew something was wrong. I knew you wouldn't have just disappeared. No one fucking listened to me, but I felt it, Cruz!"

The door opened. Kaitlyn entered, "I almost pulled her out after that night…Good thing I didn't."

Chapter 15: Negotiations

Kaitlyn didn’t bother with pleasantries. She set a file down on the table between them—thick, frayed at the edges, dog-eared with notes. The weight of it made a dull thud. Cruz and Aaliyah both glanced at it.

“Inside this folder,” Kaitlyn began, “are the details of the lengths that we went to, to get you out of Riyadh.”

"The lengths WE went through to get you Imran Amrohi...” Cruz said coolly. “I've bled for this. More scars than I can count. Many you can't see. Who cares? Mission success. Even when she is in the crosshairs," pointing at Aaliyah. "You’ve kept me in limbo for four days! To be interrogated?!" She said incredulously, "Not debriefed, and with no access to the person I care about most in the world...the person we snatched from everything she's ever known! We’ve done enough. Answered enough. Now, we negotiate.”

Kaitlyn’s jaw twitched, but she said nothing.

Cruz looked over to Aaliyah. “You go first.”

Aaliyah met Kaitlyn’s eyes. “I will assume leadership of Amrohi Oil. Not directly—definitely not in Riyadh. I’ll manage operations from a distance, through proxies and allies, and through the Amrohi Trust. I will commit to leveraging its resources to stabilize the region and ensure U.S. energy interests are protected.”

Kaitlyn studied her. “And in exchange?”

“U.S. citizenship,” Aaliyah said without hesitation. “Full protection. And Cruz walks. No charges. No missions. No more deployments. No burn notice. She's honorably discharged. She’s free. She deserves a medal!”

Cruz smirked turning to Aaliyah, "Burn notice?"

Aaliyah whispered, "Covering my bases. I saw it in a tv show, and in a couple movies. Trust me..."

Kaitlyn turned to Cruz. “You’re risking national exposure for a private arrangement.”

“No,” Cruz said. “I’m preserving the only asset in that region with any real influence who’s not a warmonger, zealot, or puppet. By doing this, Aaliyah can save lives—she’s already proven that she's in. You want her to lead? You want her to cooperate? Then, she’s covered. Fully-protected. And I’m not a leash you get to yank for leverage.”

Silence hung thick for a moment. “You misjudged me, Manuelos,” Kaitlyn begins. “Your record—until this—was nearly clean. But your file now reads like a warning about emotional compromise.”

Cruz offered, cooly, “Maybe it does. You want operators who can make clinical calls and kill without pause? Fine. That's what I was. A machine. A weapon you could wield. You don’t expect them to build bridges or understand nuance, to be human. She unlocked that. It didn't ruin me the way you painted me in that bullshit file. You got mission success. That’s what I did. That’s what no one else could. No one had even gotten close! Then, after everything we deliver Imran to you. Not one, but two top-tier targets.”

Kaitlyn didn’t speak. She was assessing, and only stared for a few moments. “Agreed. Ace of Spades is gone and Imran Amrohi was captured. We appreciate your help in those endeavors. He’s still alive, somewhat compliant—But he’s not our biggest problem. Kyle McManus was the leak. We have a full audit confirming he rerouted classified communications to a third-party shell under Al Rashdi’s control. He’s also been picked up, but Kamal is still out there. We have some leads, but with the heat we put on, he's gone dark. The last ten days put relations in a tailspin.”

Cruz’s jaw clenched. “Then, you need Aaliyah more than ever.”

“I need loyalty,” Kaitlyn said. “Not conditions.”

“You’ll have both,” Aaliyah said quietly. “But only if we both walk out of here with what we asked for, together.”

Kaitlyn exits into the hallway where Joe is waiting. She gives her a sharp nod, “You were right. They’re a package deal.”

Joe doesn’t gloat. Just says, “Then let’s get moving before the next fire breaks out.”

The room is stark, lit by overhead fluorescents. Cruz and Aaliyah sit side by side, their expressions a mix of exhaustion and anticipation. The door opens, and Joe enters, carrying a slim folder, placing the folder on the table in front of Aaliyah. "Your documentation. Aaliyah, including your U.S. passport." Aaliyah looks up in disbelief. "Cruz, your honorable discharge."

Cruz raises an eyebrow, exchanging a glance with Aaliyah, "That was fast."

"It was always the plan. We've been working on it stateside for days. Kaitlyn had no doubt you'd get Aaliyah here in one piece, and we anticipated this would be one of your conditions."

Aaliyah opens the folder, scanning the documents. Cruz leans back, arms crossed, "So, what's next?"

"You'll be moved to a safe house. Initially, at least. The team will serve as your private security."

Aaliyah sighs, and Cruz's jaw tightens. "Another safe house?"

Cruz echoes, "We're over safe houses."

"I understand. But this one is different. There's some comforts I think you'll like. Definitely more privacy. There's a guest house for most of the team. Bobby, Tucker, and I will stay downstairs in the main house. The rest will be in the guest house. You'll have the entire second floor."

Cruz and Aaliyah exchange a look, the tension easing slightly. Aaliyah reaches for Cruz's hand under the table, "Alright. Let's see it."

-----------------------

A convoy of black SUVs pulls up to a modern, sprawling estate; the SUV's tires crunched over the gravel driveway, the sound muffled by the dense canopy of trees that surrounded the secluded property. As their vehicle came to a halt, Cruz and Aaliyah exchanged glances, a mixture of relief and anticipation flickering in their eyes, taking in the view. The moonlight reflecting off the ocean beyond. The main house is sleek, with floor-to-ceiling windows. A separate guest house sits nearby.

Joe stepped out first, her boots making soft thuds against the stone path. She opened the rear door, offering a hand to Aaliyah, who accepted it with a grateful smile, "I could get used to this."

Cruz smirked, "Not bad for a safe house."

Joe motioned toward the house, keys in hand. "Welcome home. For now." Joe led them up the driveway. Aaliyah just behind. Cruz followed closely, her gaze scanning the perimeter instinctively, years of training making it second nature.

The house before them was a modern marvel—sleek lines, expansive glass windows, and a minimalist design that blended seamlessly with the natural surroundings. Beyond the house, the glint of the ocean hinted at the private beach Joe had mentioned. Inside, the team was already in motion. Bobby and Tucker were discussing surveillance camera placements, while Tex and Randy coordinated communication protocols. Two Cups was unpacking equipment, his usual jovial demeanor replaced with focused efficiency.

Joe gathered everyone in the spacious living room, the floor-to-ceiling windows offering a panoramic view of the ocean. "Alright, listen up," Joe began, her voice commanding attention. "This is our new base of operations. Bobby, Tucker, and I will be stationed in the main house. Tex, Randy, and Two Cups, you'll take the guest house. We'll rotate shifts to ensure 24/7 security coverage."

She turned to Cruz and Aaliyah. "Your safety is our top priority. We've set up a secure perimeter, and all communication lines are encrypted. If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask."

Cruz nodded appreciatively, her eyes meeting Joe's. "Thanks, Joe. Thank you all, for everything."

Aaliyah offered a soft smile. "Yes, thank you. It's more than we could have hoped for."

With the briefing concluded, the team dispersed to their respective tasks, leaving Cruz and Aaliyah to explore their new sanctuary.

The master bedroom was a haven of tranquility. A king-sized bed dominated the space, its crisp white linens contrasting with the warm wooden accents. Sunlight filtered through the sheer curtains, casting gentle patterns on the floor.

On the bed, several sets of clothes were neatly laid out—comfortable loungewear, sleepwear, and casual attire in their respective sizes. A note rested atop the garments: "Welcome home."

Cruz picked up the note, a gratuitous smirk tugging at her lips. "They think of everything."

Aaliyah chuckled softly. "After all we've been through. Although cheesy, it's... comforting."

Their eyes met, a shared understanding passing between them. The weight of recent events, the adrenaline, the fear—it all began to melt away in the warmth of this newfound refuge. Cruz reached out, brushing a strand of hair from Aaliyah's face. "How about a shower? Wash away the past few days."

Aaliyah's eyes sparkled. "Together?" A nod was all the affirmation needed.

The bathroom was a spa-like oasis, complete with natural stone tiles that exuded warmth. Cruz left to turn get the shower started. It was a large enough to fit four people, at least. Plenty of nooks and niches for cradling bath products. There were a few things already in place; plenty of towels, a couple of bottles in the large niche—body wash and 2-in-1 shampoo and conditioner. Cruz quickly noted she needed to send someone out for the products that Aaliyah preferred, wanting her to be comfortable and wanting to bask in her usual scent. After storing the thought, she refocused on the task at hand; hanging towels on hooks near the shower, turning the water on, and getting it up to temperature.

Aaliyah entered quietly, leaning in the doorway, content to watch Cruz move with stealth and focus, as she realizes she did with most tasks. She saw Cruz taking in the bottled bath products, reading the front and back labels with a furrowed brow. Hanging towels on the hooks outside the shower, and turning on the water. She remained unnoticed until Cruz remembered she wanted an additional towel, bringing her attention to Aaliyah's direction.

Cruz could only describe the journey her eyes took across Aaliyah's body as breathtaking. Her lips parting and her gaze hungry, as she took in the sight of this woman who she desperately yearned for. "Aaliyah," barely a whisper, and at least two octaves below her normal tone.

"I had no idea you were so into bath products," unable to hide her smirk, and approaching Cruz slowly.

"Just how long were you watching me?" Aaliyah shrugged in response. Cruz looked down, but tried to focus on her explanation and not the proximity of Aaliyah's naked breasts. "I... I was..."

"You were..." Aaliyah cupped her chin with a subtle lift, regaining eye contact.

"Sorry...I was just seeing what we had to work with." Aaliyah scoffed.

"Not your boobs, the bath stuff!" Cruz rolled her eyes and smiled. "I know you're used to having your things and, you know, the good stuff. I just hope this won't irritate your skin. You've been using random soaps and hard water for weeks now. If you write down what you need, we can send someone to get it. We can check out the closet, too! There's stuff to get us started on the bed, but we'll need to get you clothes you prefer. We can probably order some things from Mendel's to get you started. I can—"

Aaliyah put two fingers over her lips in gentle interruption. "First, don't be sorry for looking at me." She winked, and brought her lips to Cruz's, a quick and playful kiss. "I love the way you look at me. You make me feel things I've never felt before. You're the only person I want to look at me that way." Cruz's arms wrapped her waist wanting her closer. "Second, thank you for caring about my comfort, but all I've been concerned with is our safety. I appreciate that you notice the little things and want this to be seamless for me, but I'm not looking for the life I had before. I don't expect you to recreate that. I want something new...with you." Cruz took a deep breath in and out, and only nodded in response. "You ready to shower?"

"Almost." Cruz released Aaliyah momentarily to grab a towel to be a makeshift bath mat; placing it outside the shower door. She reached for the hem of her shirt.

"Wait." Aaliyah reached out and held Cruz's wrists. "Let me."

"Okay." Releasing the garment.

Aaliyah replaced Cruz's hands with her own, lifting the shirt over her head. She unbuttoned her black cargo pants, slowly pulling them to the floor. The fabric gently rusting against her body during its descent causing Cruz to shiver in response. Aaliyah took her in. She was left in a sports bra and boy shorts, and Aaliyah wanted one final confirmation before removing the final layers. Intertwining their fingers with one hand, and gently burrowing her index finger beneath one of Cruz's bra straps, Aaliyah softened the hunger in her gaze. Her eyes shining with the question before she gave voice to it, "May, I?"

Cruz didn't respond verbally... she didn't even nod. She was lost in Aaliyah's eyes. Too far gone, and ready to drown in their depths, but she knew she needed to answer. Aaliyah was waiting. So, Cruz covered her hand on the bra strap and brought it to the hem of her bra and raised her arms. Aaliyah didn't hesitate. Keeping her eyes locked on Cruz's beautiful brown eyes, she was entranced, herself. She pulled it up and over her arms, freeing her breasts; bouncing lightly from their sudden release and her hard nipples were incredibly distracting.

Aaliyah found focus on the last garment. She placed her fingertips at the waistband, rubbing and massaging her hips, pulling sighs from Cruz who also closed her eyes momentarily; watching and feeling her relax under her fingertips. Aaliyah watched Cruz watching her as she pulled the last piece of clothing between them to the floor, as she helped Cruz step out of them. While rising and alternating sides, she placed loving open mouth kisses on Cruz's shins, calves, knees, thighs, pausing briefly to place two kisses where her thighs met her torso.

Cruz was burning from the inside, and could feel her arousal growing. The heat between her legs and the proximity of Aaliyah's lips to where she needed her most caused her legs to wobble. Aaliyah felt the shift, and captured each of Cruz's hips to give her stability. She continued her trail to her abdomen on either side of her belly button, the underside of each breast before her tongue trailed the valley between them, pecked her collarbone, and nuzzled her neck; nibbling her earlobe while embracing her. At the shell of her ear, "You ready?"

"Mmmhmm," was all Cruz could manage; willing her eyes to open. Allowing herself to be led by Aaliyah into the steaming shower.

Aaliyah directed Cruz under the water, first, watching her shoulders relax; listening to the low moans she released from the heat and pulse of the spray. Aaliyah notices the second set of dials and then the rain shower head above. She turns it on and squeals . Cruz's eyes widen in alarm and her arms immediately reach out for Aaliyah's waist, pulling them chest-to-chest. Aaliyah's laughter fills the space and Cruz's chuckles give way to belly laughter once she realizes what happened. The initial cold water was shocking, but quickly got warmer. Steam continues to fill the space as the water cascades down, enveloping them in a cocoon of heat.

After moments of holding each other under the spray, lost in eye contact and gentle caresses, Aaliyah reaches past Cruz to grab the shampoo. "Turnaround…Let me." Cruz leaned her head back under the spray. Aaliyah poured the shampoo into her hands and began massaging her scalp. The sounds that came from Cruz were involuntary, but Aaliyah was elated for the verbal confirmation that her ministrations were well-received.

She took her time, washing and rinsing her hair twice, paying close attention to the way that Cruz reacted to her touch at the base of her scalp and behind her ears. After the last rinse, she kissed the base of Cruz's neck. Aaliyah turned Cruz and was startled by the sight. Her eyes were puffy and although difficult to discern in the shower, she was sure that her cheeks were streaked with tears.

Aaliyah shifted them to a space where their faces weren't directly under the shower heads, pulling Cruz into her as she wrapped her arms around her neck. "What's wrong, habibti?" Cruz shook her head, and responded by burrowing her face into Aaliyah’s neck and wrapping her arms tightly around her waist. The tightness of the embrace was bordering uncomfortable, but telling in the manner that Cruz needed to be as close as possible.

Aaliyah stood there unsure of what to do, not wanting to push, but needing to soothe and offer comfort. She began massaging her scalp going back to the places that Cruz reacted to when she washed her hair. She stimulated the base of her scalp for a few moments before moving to behind her ear and alternated sides before returning to the base of her scalp.

Cruz relaxed in her arms after a few rotations. "I've never had this before." Barely audible above the sounds of the shower. Cruz spoke into the curve of Aaliyah's neck. "I've never had someone care for me this way, Aaliyah. I just, it's overwhelming. I don't know how to explain it."

Aaliyah pulled her head back to look into Cruz's eyes, but they were shut. She rubbed Cruz's cheek with her thumb in a back-and-forth motion, to coax her eyes open. "Do you remember when we had that spa day?" Cruz nodded. "You told me that you had so many firsts with me: fanciest dinner, flying on a private jet, riding in a FUCKING range rover..." Aaliyah tries her best Cruz imitation and smirks at the memory and Cruz responds with her own chuckle. "I told you, then, you deserved all those things. You deserve to be cared for and treated well, Cruz. It infuriates me that you haven't had that before, but we can add this to a list of firsts that we're having together. Okay?"

Cruz just stared at her. Studying her face and lost in her eyes. She found nothing but truth and sincerity there. This wasn’t just care. It was love. It was devotion. At the core it was choice. She was choosing Cruz, and Cruz wanted to be chosen. She wanted to choose Aaliyah in every way. Coming out of her haze, she nodded. Then, she leaned in and kissed her. It wasn't heat or lust. It was vulnerability and recognition. Aaliyah saw Cruz in a way no one had before, breadth and depth. Aaliyah sought complete comprehension in everything that pertained to Cruz.

More than that, she knew it was reciprocated. So they kissed and kissed and kissed. Changing angles, massaging tongues, and maintaining contact. Once breathing became necessary, they separated abruptly, gasping for air. Cruz kissed her temple, and then gently turned her; mirroring her prior action, washing her hair, and rubbing her scalp. They took turns washing each other, hands moving with reverence and care. Each touch was a silent affirmation, a testament to the bond forged through shared trials and unwavering trust. As the water flowed over them, cleansing not just their bodies but the lingering shadows of their past, fingers gently traced the contours of familiar terrain, rediscovering and reaffirming.

After turning off the water, Cruz reached out for towels while Aaliyah rung out the lengths of her hair. Cruz wrapped her in a towel before she exited the shower, and then, wrapped herself up. "Let's brush our teeth." Aaliyah beamed excitedly.

Chapter 16: To Infinity

Cruz looked through the drawers for toiletries, handing Aaliyah a toothbrush and toothpaste. They exchanged glanced in the mirror, reveling in the domesticity of it all, brushing and giggling. Feeling a semblance of normalcy and freedom.

Aaliyah found a hair dryer and began to dry her hair. She didn't need it bone straight, but dry enough to go to bed. Cruz towel-dried her hair with a hand towel, watching from the other side of the bathroom. Seeing Aaliyah smile freely, and feel relaxed did something for her soul. She wondered if this was what peace felt like. She hoped it was a feeling that would last forever.

She looked through the drawers again and noticed there wasn't any lotion. "Hey babe... there's no lotion." She said it louder than normal to be heard over the dryer.

Aaliyah turned to the sound of her voice. She saw her bending to look through the cabinet under the sink. She wasn't sure if she was blushing from being called 'babe' or the view. Cruz's legs were endless and she could see the hint of her cheeks under the hem of the towel. "It's okay!" She matched her volume level to overcome the noise, and return her focus to the task. Aaliyah was on the last section anyway, and she turned it off the dryer. "We'll add it to your list of things we need," she continued. Rising from the chair to unplug the hair dryer, and wrapping up the cord.

Cruz turned to her as she was putting her hair in a loose bun. Aaliyah sighed after one adjustment of the bun, bringing her hand to Cruz's shoulder before asking, "All done?"

"Almost. I'll meet you in there. I'm gonna pull out the rest of these provisions and we can jot down what else need in the morning."

Aaliyah's thumb stayed in motion while she listened. She squeezed when Cruz finished her thought. "Okay. Don't keep me waiting too long, Cruz." Stealing a quick kiss before leaving the bathroom.

Cruz watched her leave. Shook her head in search of focus. She started pulling everything out, and then heard something hit the floor. Aaliyah's towel. Based on the way it slid into the doorway, it was definitely tossed. 'This can wait,' she thought.

"Took you long enough," Aaliyah quipped. Cruz wasn't ready for the what she saw as she crossed the threshold of the bathroom. Aaliyah stood in the middle of the room wearing nothing but a knowing smile. Her eyes were dark and magnetic, but Cruz was frozen in place, but not for long. "Come here."

Cruz's mind flashes to the dressing room, the look in Aaliyah's eyes, how her heart raced as she crossed the room. The air grew thick with anticipation, the unspoken desire simmering just beneath the surface. Aaliyah's gaze locked onto Cruz's, vulnerability and longing mirrored in their depths. Aaliyah looked at her with the same hunger and desire now. Her pulse was out of control, but she wouldn't have it any other way. Cruz knew this was the unique effect that Aaliyah had on her. She was hers, undoubtedly. Four long strides later, they stood face-to-face. Aaliyah reached for Cruz's towel and peeled it apart. Letting it drop to the floor at their feet.

Aaliyah takes half a step back. Her eyes moved methodically from the towel at their feet, up Cruz's shins, thighs, pausing at her pelvis, before continuing her journey up her abdomen, chest and collarbone. Then, she reaches her face. Her beauty was a captivating blend of light and shadow, strength and softness. She encloses her face with both hands on her cheeks, closing the distance, "You are absolutely stunning, my love."

Cruz leaned into her right palm briefly closing her eyes; relishing her touch and her praise. Eyes opened, Cruz took her by the waist ridding them any chance of her separation, and she quickly leaned down to kiss her. Aaliyah was propelled by Cruz's sudden hunger and met it with the same energy. Leaving no doubt how much she wanted her. She wrestled Cruz's lips, seeking control of the kiss. She bit Cruz's bottom lip and drug her tongue across it. Cruz sighed and gave entry.

Aaliyah's tongue was electric. She was mapping her mouth, massaging Cruz's tongue, then sucking it briefly. Cruz's hands flinched, then squeezed Aaliyah's ass with intention. She grabbed her cheeks, pulling Aaliyah to her toes, and enjoyed the moan that she felt against her lips. That was her cue. She broke the kiss abruptly, bending down and putting a hand behind each of Aaliyah's thighs and lifted her. Aaliyah gasped, "Fuck, Cruz." She crossed her ankles behind Cruz's back, then continued peppering kisses and nips on her neck and earlobe. She kept one arm around her neck and that hand tangled in the hairs at the base of her scalp.

Cruz walked a few strides to the bed, laying them down smoothly, but breaking their kiss. She peered down at Aaliyah, noticing the flush in her cheeks and the determination in her gaze. "You are so fucking beautiful, Aali." She leaned in for a passionate kiss, lips in control, her tongue demanding entry. The sigh and moans that she pulled from Aaliyah confirms she's on the right track. Aaliyah keeps her hands moving from Cruz's neck to her waist, before bringing them forward, up her abdomen toward her chest.

Cruz breaks the kiss, grabs her wrists and holds each one above her head against the mattress. Cruz searches her eyes for discomfort and finds only arousal. "Keep these here...Don't move." Cruz kisses her collarbone, moving toward the valley between her breasts with openmouthed kisses. Aaliyah stared at the ceiling trying to catch her breath. The power move more arousing than she anticipated, and something she hadn't experienced with Zara. Cruz moves to her left, taking Aaliyah's right nipple between her lips. Aaliyah's back arches and she sighs. Her hands instinctually moving to the back of Cruz's head. Cruz stops and takes Aaliyah's wrists, placing them back in their previous position. "La tataharaki, Aali..." (Don't move). Aaliyah’s eyes jumped to meet hers. The change in language and/or the nickname seemed to grab her attention. "Let me take care of you."

Aaliyah nodded after a moment, and Cruz picks up where she left off. Her mouth going back to the nipple to her left. She felt the bud somehow getting harder as she sucked and swirled around it. Aaliyah writhed in the bed. Moving to her right, Cruz wanted to provide the same treatment to Aaliyah's left nipple. She nipped it, and sucked it firmly. Aaliyah moaned and thrust her pelvis upward seeking some relief. Cruz kept her distance, alternating one more round before descending to her toned abdomen. "So soft," she uttered between openmouthed kisses. She let her teeth scrape just below her belly button.

The anticipation and the imposed restraints were driving Aaliyah wild. Each hand gripping the pillow behind her with intensity. "Shit baby, keep going." Cruz had no plans of stopping, but having Aaliyah fucking Amrohi beg for her was something else. Once she reached her pubic bone, Aaliyah's hips were relentless. Cruz held her in place, kissing her inner thighs on either side, nibbling them briefly. Aaliyah's breathing was more like a pant with moans interspersed at this point, but relief was imminent. Cruz kissed her clit, and Aaliyah gasped but the moan that followed was almost sinful. "Cruuuuuuuz... please."

A new wave of arousal flooded between her thighs. "My God, Aali! You're dripping for me." Cruz tasted the arousal she released and licked from her entrance to her clit, just missing it by a millimeter. Another moan and another. Aaliyah's hips leapt off of the bed. She desperately needed more contact. Cruz licked and kissed each of her folds, enjoying her taste and her responses.

"It's all...for you, Cruz." Aaliyah looked down and found eye contact, then. She saw nothing but adoration and desire in those beautiful brown eyes.

"Ana Bahebik, Aaliyah" (I love you). Cruz moved directly to her entrance, circling it with her tongue. Aaliyah's head fell back, trying to contain the emotion that brimmed from her words, and stay in this moment; feeling everything. The sounds Cruz drew from Aaliyah only grew louder, but she could care less. She wanted to give her everything. They needn't hold back now. Once she entered with her tongue, the gasp and shout that Aaliyah made echoed in the room.

Aaliyah directed and begged from then on out. "Right there..." "Don't stop..." "You feel soooooooo good..." "Please don't stop, Cruz..." Cruz loosened her grip enough for Aaliyah to move. Aaliyah rocked upward repeatedly, wanting more of Cruz's tongue, clenching it with her walls; wanting to pull her deeper. "Shit bae, I'm close...I'm so close." Her clit was so hard and swollen. "Pleeeease...habibti..." Cruz pulled her clit between her lips and sucked.

Aaliyah's hands flew to her head to keep her there, and her verbal reactions were equally unrestrained. "Yes, baby!!!!" "Oh fuck!!!" Cruz didn't admonish her for moving. She just smiled and kept going. "Don't fucking stop, Cruz." Cruz didn't, she maintained that suction and circled her clit with her tongue, while also circling her entrance with her finger. That took her over the edge. She gripped Cruz's hair, and released a scream that definitely permeated the walls, before releasing her and falling back to the mattress.

"Sooo fucking beautiful." Cruz released her clit, as she felt the tremors and heard the whimpers from Aaliyah's orgasm come crashing down. She moved to her entrance, lapping up every drop as Aaliyah came down from her peak. She kissed her lower lips, massaged her thighs and nuzzled there until she felt a hand caress the top of her head.

"Come here." Despite the sated look in her eyes, and the desire evident in her tone. Cruz would always obey that command. She crawled up, laying next to her with one leg over hers. Aaliyah took her face in her hands and kissed her, tongue entering without hesitation, tasting herself, and moaning into the kiss. Tilting her head this way and that, she was overwhelmed by the love in Cruz's eyes, her actions, and her words. She fell back into the moment she uttered I love you in Arabic. The flood of emotion came back and her tears began to fall, their angle bringing one directly to Cruz's lips.

Cruz broke the kiss, brushing tears from her cheeks. "Tell me what's wrong." Aaliyah didn't immediately answer. Her eyes seemed to look past Cruz, and Cruz kissed her temple before shifting them; drawing Aaliyah into her chest. As they lay entwined, breaths mingling and heart rates slowing, a serene calm settled over them. The world outside ceased to exist; in this moment, they were each other's universe. Aaliyah traced lazy circles on Cruz's abdomen, mirroring the caresses she was receiving on her back from Cruz, her voice a soft murmur. "I've never felt this... complete."

"Neither have I."

Aaliyah lifted her head, eyes shining. "I didn't realize it until you said it."

"What did I say?"

She laid her head back on Cruz's chest, then exhaled, "Ana Bahebik."

Cruz was a bit confused. "But we've said 'I love you' before. Were you unsure of it until now?"

Aaliyah's head sprung up. That was the last thing she wanted Cruz to question. "No, my love, I haven't questioned that. I just...hearing it from you today was different."

"How, so?"

"When you said it in Arabic, which I loved by the way, it felt so foreign to me. I couldn't think of the last time I heard 'Ana Bahebik' outside of a movie or a television show." Aaliyah lowered her gaze to Cruz's chest. "I can't recall someone saying that to me, Cruz. It hurt to realize that. I never looked for it. So, finding it with you and feeling everything you make me feel is overwhelming." She restored eye contact, and Cruz kissed her temple.

Cruz cupped her cheek, "So, maybe we add this to our list of firsts together. I want you to always know how much I love you, without question or expectations."

Aaliyah nodded, "I know you love me, Cruz...so much…"

"INFINITELY!" Cruz interrupted with a shout. Her wide smile leading Aaliyah to follow suit.

"To infinity and beyond." Aaliyah responded. Cruz gave her a blank look. "Cruz... Buzz Lightyear? Woody? Tell me you've heard of them." Aaliyah's hands were all over the place. Cruz guessed this was another movie reference.

"I'm lost babe." Cruz shook her head.

Aaliyah pinched the bridge of her nose, and chuckled. "We have got to institute a movie night and add popcorn to our need list. We might need two or three nights per week!" She nudged Cruz.

Cruz loved the idea. "Sounds like a plan, we can watch that one and any others you want."

"There's actually 4. Well, technically 5, because Buzz has his own solo movie now, and I think there's another one coming. Maybe we'll binge them." Aaliyah beamed.

"I'd love to."

"And I love you." Aaliyah winked before pressing a tender, lingering kiss to her chest, at the edge of her areola. Her placement precise.

Cruz sighed and shifted toward Aaliyah in an attempt to bring her lips closer to the target. Aaliyah obliged. She wanted it just as much, but needed to test the waters after their conversation. She hoped the mood wasn't ruined, and based on Cruz's reaction, it surely was not.

Aaliyah loved kissing Cruz, but the focus she had on Cruz's nipples was investigation-level. Who could blame her? Their previous encounters always felt like stolen time; rushed and full of worry that they would be discovered. It wasn't the thrill often associated with semi-public sex, but the fear of someone being killed for simply making love. This wasn't that. She relished taking her time with Cruz—building her up, and watching her squirm. Knowing she probably never received this kind of attention to her pleasure...the focus on making her feel good, but, again, she deserved all those things. Aaliyah would spend the rest of her life showing her that in every way if Cruz wanted.

Aaliyah lingered at Cruz’s chest, lips tracing the soft curve of her breast with a reverence that bordered on worship. Her fingers spread along Cruz’s ribcage, grounding them both. She kissed softly at first, then let her tongue circle the peak she’d just grazed. She drew it into her mouth with gentle suction, her eyes lifting to gauge the effect. Cruz’s breath hitched. The muscles in her abdomen clenched beneath Aaliyah’s forearm. She smiled and sucked again—slightly deeper this time—tugging at the nipple with a low hum vibrating from her throat.

Cruz exhaled harshly, her hips shifting involuntarily. "Aali…" she rasped, half-warning, half-plea. But Aaliyah wasn’t about to rush. Not now. Not when she had all this time, all this space to love her the way she’d always wanted to. Her tongue flicked the bud, then soothed it with kisses, alternating the rhythm until Cruz whimpered. That sound—the vulnerable edge to it—made Aaliyah feel like she could tear down the world and rebuild it with just her hands if Cruz asked her to.

She moved to the other breast, lavishing the same attention there, letting her fingertips wander—dragging up and down Cruz’s sides, across the soft curve of her hip, down to her thigh. Her other hand anchored around Cruz’s back, keeping her close. When Cruz shifted again, Aaliyah glanced up, their eyes locking.

"You good?" she whispered, lips brushing against her skin.

"Better than good," Cruz murmured, her voice low and husky. “I just... don’t know how to hold all this.”

Aaliyah kissed her sternum. “You don’t have to. Let me.”

She slid lower, her lips making a slow descent over Cruz’s ribs, her stomach. She kissed every inch, every freckle, every scar like it was sacred. Cruz’s breathing turned shallow, her fingers curling tightly into the comforter as anticipation mounted.

When Aaliyah reached the band of Cruz’s thighs, she paused, sitting back on her heels. She looked over Cruz’s body with something like awe. “You are divine,” she said, more to herself than anything. Her hand stroked Cruz’s hip, then coaxed her thighs apart. Cruz’s breath stuttered again.

“I want to make you feel what you made me feel,” Aaliyah said softly. “But more. I want to make you forget the world outside that door.” Then she leaned down and began her worship.

She started with kisses—light, teasing, placed deliberately along Cruz’s inner thighs, biting gently at the sensitive flesh there. She licked where Cruz’s thigh met her pelvis, purposefully ignoring where her body was already begging for attention. Cruz groaned, her hips canting upward, but Aaliyah pinned her gently with a palm to the belly.

“Patience,” she murmured, glancing up with a wicked grin. “I’m just getting started.”

And then finally, mercifully, her tongue parted Cruz’s folds. Cruz’s whole body jumped. “Oh—God—Aaliyah—” Her voice fractured into a gasp as Aaliyah flicked her tongue over her clit, firm and deliberate, then circled it slowly before descending again. The pleasure was immediate and intense, a jolt that spread down to Cruz’s toes and back again.

Aaliyah moaned against her, as if the taste alone was enough to undo her. Her tongue moved with slow certainty, parting Cruz with ease, lapping her up like nectar. She took her time, varying pressure and pace, watching, feeling, and hearing every reaction with focused hunger. Her own arousal pulsing between her legs from the way Cruz melted beneath her touch—arching, trembling, whispering her name like it was the only word that still mattered.

When Aaliyah slid a finger inside, Cruz gripped her shoulder with a strength that surprised them both. Her body clamped down, eager and greedy, making Aaliyah groan low and deep in her throat. “That’s it, baby,” she whispered. “Let me feel you.”

She added a second finger, pumping slow and steady while her tongue lavished attention to Cruz’s clit again—flicking, circling, then sucking it just hard enough to make her cry out. Her cries built to whimpers, then curses, then incoherent gasps. Her hips rolled up to meet Aaliyah’s mouth, chasing the rhythm, the pressure, the sweet unraveling. Her head thrashed on the pillow. Her body trembled.

“Aali, I’m—fuck—I’m close—don’t stop—please—don’t—”

Aaliyah sealed her lips around her clit and sucked. Hard.

Cruz shattered.

Her cry was hoarse and unfiltered, body arching clear off the bed as waves of pleasure crashed over her in relentless succession. Aaliyah didn’t stop—didn’t let up until Cruz collapsed back to the mattress, breathless, boneless, tears welling unbidden at the corners of her eyes. Her limbs twitched with aftershocks, her chest rising and falling like she’d run a marathon.

Only when Cruz whimpered did Aaliyah ease her touch, licking gently to soothe, easing her fingers out with care. She kissed her thigh, her hip, her belly, slowly making her way back up until she was eye-level again. She brushed the damp strands of hair from Cruz’s temple and kissed the tip of her nose.

“You with me?” she asked.

Cruz nodded faintly, eyes dazed. “That was… that was everything.”

“You are everything.”

———

Laughter echoed from the guest house, a mix of amusement and embarrassment. The team, ever professional, couldn't ignore the passionate sounds emanating from the main house.

Bobby chuckled, shaking his head. "Well, at least we know they're settling in."

Two Cups grinned. "Guess our security detail includes earplugs now."

———

Back in the master bedroom, Cruz and Aaliyah lay wrapped in each other's arms, the aftermath of their union leaving them sated and content.

"Think they heard us?" Aaliyah mused, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

Cruz smirked. "Hmmm…….Definitely." A resounding belly laugh from both echoed into the room, ricocheting off the other as they continued to hold each other. They lay like that, tangled and quiet, for a long while. Fingers playing absentmindedly in each other’s hair. No need for barriers or pretending. No haste in their movements. Just them, raw and vulnerable and finally safe enough to just be.

Eventually, Cruz pulled Aaliyah in tighter, pressing their foreheads together. “This is gonna change everything, isn’t it?”

Aaliyah smiled faintly. “It already has.”

“I won’t let this fall apart, Aali. I won’t lose you…to Kamal or anyone else.”

“I won’t lose you either, and don’t you forget it, Cruz.” Aaliyah kissed her again, slow and unhurried. “But even if we only get this night, I’ll still know love and know that I loved you fully…that I felt it fully”

Cruz swallowed thickly, emotion catching in her throat. “Baby, I want more. I want to LIIIIIVE it fully. I want every night with you. All of them. I want mornings too. Lazy ones with coffee and pastries. Loud ones where we’re running late because someone forgot to set the alarm. The nights where we argue over which movie to stream.”

“And the ones where we fall asleep with popcorn in the sheets?” Aaliyah grinned.

Cruz feigns annoyance, “Exactly those.”

“Then let’s survive this. Together.”

“Together,” Cruz echoed, sealing the vow with a kiss that tasted like salt and sugar and everything she’d never known she needed until now. Outside the window, the night held its breath. But inside that room, for just a little while longer, time stood still.

Chapter 17: And Beyond

Cruz stirred first. Light filtered through the gauzy linen curtains in long, honeyed slants, soft against the walls. Somewhere in the distance, the ocean whispered—low, rhythmic—and for the first time in days, her body wasn’t in high alert. No cold metal. No fluorescents. No guards. No chains of obligation tugging at her wrist. Just warmth.

And Aaliyah.

She didn’t open her eyes immediately. Instead, she let herself drift for a breath or two longer, clinging to the scent of sea salt and jasmine—Aaliyah’s hair tangled across her collarbone, their legs impossibly intertwined, like even in sleep they refused to be parted.

Cruz smiled against the top of Aaliyah’s head. Her arm was pinned under her, blood long gone numb, but she didn’t dare move. Not yet.

Aaliyah had always looked regal in her presence—regal even in chaos, poised in interrogation rooms, in boardrooms, beneath veils and pressure and violence. But now? Now, she looked human. Peaceful. The arch of her brow soft. Lips parted with slow, even breath. Hair wild across her cheek and throat, eyelashes fluttering faintly as she dreamed.

Cruz had never known what it meant to feel full. Not like this. She kissed her shoulder, slow. Reverent. And that’s when Aaliyah stirred.

The first thing Aaliyah registered was heat. Radiant, steady, solid. Cruz. She woke slowly, not with the jolt of nightmares or the tension of duty, but with the disorienting calm of safety. Her body ached in the most delicious ways—like every nerve ending had been pulled taut the night before, every piece of her claimed and worshipped and opened.

She blinked her eyes open lazily. Cruz was watching her. Her dark hair was mussed. The tan of her skin gilded by the morning light, half-shadowed by the lines of the blinds. Her expression was unreadable, but her hand was still on Aaliyah’s waist, thumb absently stroking the dip of her back like she had no intention of ever letting go.

Aaliyah smiled. “You’re staring,” she whispered.

Cruz’s lips quirked. “I earned it.”

Aaliyah stretched slightly, groaning as the soreness of everything they’d done found her all over again. “You really did.” She leaned in and pressed a kiss to Cruz’s jaw, then let her nose trail over her cheek, breathing her in. “Is it morning?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Do we have to leave this bed?”

Cruz chuckled low in her throat. “Only if the house catches fire.”

“Even then,” Aaliyah murmured, “we might consider dying in each other’s arms.”

"Or making s'mores and feeding each other," Cruz quipped. Aaliyah smiled wide and the laughter that erupted was infectious. Cruz joined in with a belly laugh of her own and she knew she wanted this—this joy, this love... forever.

They lay like that for a while—limbs tangled, lips brushing occasionally, whispers passed between them like currency. Eventually, the soft clink of a pan from downstairs reminded Cruz they weren’t alone in the house.

“They're up,” she muttered.

Aaliyah groaned. “Of course.”

“I give it five more minutes before Two Cups says something through the vent.”

“You seriously think he heard us… from the guest house???”

“Oh, I'm sure they all did.” They burst out laughing—quiet, breathless, ridiculous laughter that curled around their bodies like silk. Still, Cruz knew they couldn’t ignore the world forever. She ran her hand along Aaliyah’s side, gentle. “We should shower. Face the day. See what the plan is.”

Aaliyah looked at her with those dark, luminous eyes. “Together?”

Cruz nodded. “Always.”

Aaliyah padded barefoot across the tile, pausing in front of the double vanity as she caught her reflection. Hair tousled. Lips still swollen. Bruises—gentle, blooming—along her collarbone and thighs, some from desperation, some from love. Her mouth quirked into a soft smile.

Behind her, Cruz stepped into view, her gaze catching Aaliyah’s in the mirror. “You look wrecked,” Cruz said, voice raspy and fond.

“You look like the one who did it,” Aaliyah replied with a knowing smile. They held eye contact. No coyness left. Just certainty.

Aaliyah turned and reached for Cruz’s hand, leading her into the shower. As the water warmed and steam began to rise, they stepped inside the glass enclosure, flesh meeting flesh again—but this time, slower. Unrushed. The adrenaline of last night had faded. What remained was reverence.

Aaliyah hummed. “Wash me.” So Cruz did. Not with hunger, but with intent. Cruz reached for the soap first, lathering it between her palms, then running her hands slowly over Aaliyah’s shoulders, down her back. She knelt to glide the soap over Aaliyah’s legs, her calves, then up her stomach, between her breasts, finally to her neck and arms. She was deliberate in every movement.

Aaliyah leaned into it, eyes closed, lips parted slightly as water sluiced through her hair and down her chest. The tension in her shoulders eased with every pass of Cruz’s fingers. Then it was her turn. She took the soap, gently pushed Cruz to turn, and started at her neck, pressing kisses between slow circles of her palm. Cruz leaned into the touch, her eyes half-lidded, breath shallow.

“You’re so tense here,” Aaliyah said, digging into the knots at her shoulders.

“I’m always tense there.”

“I’ll learn to undo it. Every time.”

The water streamed down her face, and Cruz thought she might cry—not from sadness or fear, but from the staggering, fragile reality that she was safe. Loved. Seen. It hadn’t been a dream. Aaliyah was here. They’d made it. No backdoors, no exits needed. No disguise between them.

When Aaliyah’s hands drifted lower, over her hips, and pressed into the backs of her thighs, Cruz turned to face her. Water ran in rivulets down Aaliyah’s face. They stood barely a breath apart. Aaliyah leaned in, forehead pressed to hers. “I don’t want to be anywhere else,” she whispered.

“You won’t have to be,” Cruz said. They kissed then. Soft. Lingering. Wet mouths and quiet sighs. Not hungry. Just tethered. By the time they stepped out of the shower, wrapped in oversized towels and dripping with contentment, the world outside their bedroom no longer felt like a threat.

They were grounded in each other.

By the time they made it downstairs, the team was mid-breakfast. Randy stood over the stove flipping something that smelled suspiciously like pancakes, while Bobby scrolled through a tablet and Two Cups and Tucker argued quietly over a crossword.

As soon as Aaliyah and Cruz walked in, silence swept the room. Tucker cleared his throat. Loudly.

Bobby didn’t look up. “Y’all could’ve given us a little warning.”

Two Cups smirked. “Didn’t know someone could yell-whisper that loud. ‘Oh my God, Cruz, yes, right there—’”

Aaliyah turned crimson. Cruz just raised a brow. “Glad you’re still alive to joke about it,” she said, stepping past them to pour coffee.

Joe looked over her shoulder. “How’s the water pressure upstairs?”

“Perfect,” Cruz said with a faint smile.

Joe winked, sliding a plate her way. “We figured you two needed the morning.”

Aaliyah leaned against the island, amused. “Are we on lockdown today?”

“Not lockdown,” Joe replied. “But we’re holding position. The press hasn’t broken the news yet about your return or Amrohi Oil’s transition plan. We’re buying you time.”

“And security rotations?” Cruz asked.

Bobby finally looked up. “I’ve got main perimeter.”

“Tucker and I are on split internal,” Joe added. “Tex and Randy will be in the guest house covering rear angles and tech. Two Cups—”

“I’m on ear duty,” he said proudly. “All chatter, all devices, all lines go through me.”

Cruz nodded, satisfied.

Aaliyah glanced toward the wide windows at the back of the kitchen. Beyond them, the horizon shimmered. Pale turquoise water stretched endlessly toward the sky. “I want to walk down to the beach,” she said softly.

“I’ll sweep the path first,” Bobby replied, already standing. "We have a few more things to set up, but this afternoon, we should be clear for exit."

Cruz watched Aaliyah with a look that held galaxies. They were settled. But they weren’t done. Not by a long shot.

 

The sun hung low, casting long golden fingers across the tide as it rolled in slow and steady. The sky had shifted to that hushed watercolor between day and dusk—soft orange blooming into pink, streaked lavender overhead. The air was warm, salted, quiet. Aaliyah walked barefoot beside Cruz, the cool sand kissing her feet, her fingers threaded loosely with Cruz’s as if the contact alone steadied her heartbeat.

They had left the safe house through the sliding doors that faced the ocean. No security detail trailed them. Not visibly, anyway. Cruz had assured her—They’re near, watching, always. But we get this moment. So Aaliyah took it. Took her hand. Took the stretch of sun-drenched beach that belonged only to them, at least for now.

Cruz exhaled beside her, not a sigh of exhaustion but of gratitude. Of release. The sound made Aaliyah glance over, and what she saw undid her a little: Cruz barefoot in rolled-up jeans, the wind teasing her dark hair, face turned to the sea like it might answer something. She looked younger in the light. Softer. A version of herself rarely seen, even by those closest.

“Do you believe it yet?” Cruz asked, voice low.

“That we’re safe?” Aaliyah replied and Cruz nodded. “I want to. I think I do. But I keep waiting for something to collapse.”

Cruz sighed. “I know that feeling.” They walked a few paces more in silence before Cruz’s thumb gently brushed over Aaliyah’s knuckles. “But this,” she said. “You. Me. Walking here without a tail or a target. It’s the closest thing to real I’ve felt in years.”

Aaliyah’s throat tightened. She turned toward the water, its rhythm slow and soothing. “I used to dream about the ocean. Riyadh was all sand and silence. I think that's why I always enjoyed beaches and made such a point to steer us toward them whenever I could. I’d dream of waves when I couldn't see them. Of escape. But the dream was always solitary. Until now.”

Cruz stopped walking and tugged Aaliyah to a pause, gently turning her to face her. “I don’t want your dreams to be solitary anymore,” Cruz said, her voice rough with sincerity. “Not ever again.”

Aaliyah leaned into her, foreheads touching. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about, before we were interrupted,” she whispered. “After this is all over… where do we go? I mean really go?”

Cruz smiled softly. “I’ve been thinking about that.” They started walking again, slowly, arms brushing.

“We find somewhere neither of us has a history with,” Cruz said. “A place we both fall in love with for the first time. No ghosts. No missions. Just mornings and books and shitty coffee, popcorn fights and movie nights.”

Aaliyah laughed. “Maybe we could find a good coffee shop.”

“With good pastries.” Cruz licked her lips imagining something delicious.

“That I can get on board with.” Aaliyah pointed and laughed fully. Cruz was undone. That genuine laughter and the love behind it that Aaliyah exuded…despite everything…was something that broke down every wall Cruz had ever built.

Cruz grinned. “My sweetheart has a sweet tooth.” They walked another few paces in warm quiet. Then Cruz added, more serious now, “But yes. A place. Somewhere we plant roots. You’ll build Amrohi into something righteous and I’ll… I don’t know, maybe teach kids to box or run security drills for bored millionaires.”

“You’d hate that,” Aaliyah said, smirking.

“I would probably hate the latter. The former might not be so bad. Either way I’d be in my element…at least in a way. Plus, if it means staying close to you while you make the world a little less broken, I’d do it.”

Aaliyah’s heart swelled and she almost said it—Let’s go now. Let’s find that place. But the moment, tender and tentative, was splintered by the sharp buzz of Cruz’s comm clipped to her waistband.

Cruz stopped and answered it, her posture shifting. “Yeah.” Aaliyah watched her face tighten, the edges of safety folding back in on themselves. “What kind of signal?” Cruz asked. A pause. “From which grid? When?” Her jaw flexed. “Okay. I’m heading back now. Hold position, keep eyes sharp. No engagement.”

She ended the call and turned to Aaliyah, her voice now steady but guarded. “That was Bobby. The perimeter motion sensors picked up something irregular just past the east dune. Could be a false alarm. Could be a drone or some wildlife. But we don’t take chances.”

Aaliyah inhaled, her calm hardening. “Let’s go.” They turned together, the sea forgotten. The footprints they'd left behind were already fading with the tide.

Chapter 18: Ocean Dreams

By the time they crested the dunes, the wind had sharpened. The house glowed warm against the rising blue of evening, floodlights flicking on with motion and soft amber from the kitchen spilling onto the back deck. The transition was swift—like stepping back into an ecosystem wired for tension. Cruz’s arm stayed around Aaliyah as they approached, eyes darting with muscle memory: corners, roofline, the tree line beyond the fenceline.

Two shadows emerged from the edge of the patio—Tucker and Tex, rifles slung low, postures calm but alert.

“Nothing visual yet,” Tex said. “Motion sensors picked up irregular movement east of the greenhouse, grid C9. Could’ve been a bird, could’ve been a test run.”

“We’ve got Two Cups watching thermal signatures on the second floor,” Tucker added. “No anomalies so far. Joe’s doing a sweep with Bobby.”

Cruz nodded once, then turned slightly toward Aaliyah, her voice low but firm. “Inside. Now.”

Aaliyah didn’t argue. As much as her instincts recoiled at being handled, something about the way Cruz moved—coiled, restrained, protective—made her lean into it. Inside, the temperature was several degrees warmer, the silence broken only by the distant murmur of radio chatter and the whir of the surveillance system near the den.

The team had shifted naturally into their roles. Randy was near the kitchen island, eyes on a tablet monitoring feeds. Two Cups was pacing the length of the hallway upstairs, whispering into his comm. Joe’s absence was notable—commanding even when unseen.

Aaliyah hovered near the glass doors, her breath catching briefly as she looked back at the ocean. That moment on the beach—so close to peace—was gone now, suspended like every other dream she hadn’t dared to finish.

Cruz touched her back gently. “We’ll get it back.” Aaliyah nodded but said nothing. Her gaze met Cruz’s and held, something unspoken settling between them: We’ll always be one call away from this.

Joe came in through the side entrance a moment later, brushing wind from her jacket. She looked directly at Cruz, then at Aaliyah. Her voice was even. “Ground check’s clear. No breach, no footprints, no drone remains. It might’ve been something natural, but the pacing felt deliberate.”

Cruz stiffened. “Dry run?”

“Possibly. A probe. Maybe even a warning.”

Joe stepped forward, glancing toward the rest of the team now watching from their respective posts. “New protocol until further notice. Two-man shifts, rotating every three hours. Randy and Tex cover perimeter until 2300. Bobby and Tucker relieve them. Two Cups stays on thermal. Cruz—”

“I’m staying upstairs,” Cruz said before she could finish.

Joe nodded once. “Aaliyah’s security is our singular priority. We all get that.”

A moment passed before anyone moved. Then Cruz touched Aaliyah’s hand again, quieter now. “Come on. Let’s go upstairs. We won’t get caught off guard again.”

They climbed the stairs together. The hallway lights dimmed automatically behind them, and when Cruz opened the door to the master bedroom, Aaliyah walked in first this time—still barefoot, still flushed from the beach but quieter now, her body strung like wire beneath soft skin. She paused just inside the doorway. “That’s twice now,” Aaliyah murmured, half to herself. “Twice we’ve been ready to talk about what comes next, and something tears it away.”

Cruz followed, “We’ll talk when it’s time. But we don’t have to put our life on hold just because the world still turns like this.”

Aaliyah turned to her, eyes shining with frustration and longing all at once. “You’re right,” she said, voice trembling just slightly. “And I’m tired of waiting for perfect moments.”

Cruz stepped into her space and pulled her close, forehead to forehead. “Then let’s make one,” she whispered.

Aaliyah’s breath hitched at the words. Her eyes searched Cruz’s face—not for hesitation, but for confirmation, for the fire she’d seen simmering just beneath the surface for days. What she found stole her breath: the raw need, the reverence, the hunger laced with something quieter—something holy. The light in the room caught her face like a painting—every contour of tension and hope. The door clicked shut behind them, and the quiet of the master suite wrapped around them, thick with tension neither of them wanted to diffuse—only ignite.

Cruz hadn’t let go of Aaliyah’s hand since they left the beach, and now, with her fingers still curled around Aaliyah’s palm, she guided them further into the room. The bed was expansive, king-sized and dressed in cream linens with subtle stitching that caught the last hints of daylight filtering in through the glass doors leading to the deck. Beyond them, the horizon blushed with the sun’s descent, casting golden-orange light across the hardwood floor. The light kissed the furniture, spilled over their skin, and made everything feel softer, more sacred.

They reached the foot of the bed and paused. Neither of them rushed. This wasn’t desperation. This wasn’t lust on borrowed time. This was something else entirely. This was them choosing each other, fully, without the weight of the world pressing in. The freedom made it more dangerous, more electrifying. They had space to breathe now. And every breath was filled with the other’s scent.

Aaliyah stepped forward first. Her fingers came to the hem of Cruz’s shirt, tentative only for a moment before she tugged it upward. Cruz raised her arms to help, and the fabric slipped away, revealing the toned expanse of her torso—marked with faded scars and fresh reminders of all she’d survived. Aaliyah’s hands trailed up her ribs as she lifted the shirt, and she pressed her lips just above Cruz’s navel once it was gone. A kiss. A thank you. A claim.

Then Cruz turned the favor, hands finding the tie at the back of Aaliyah’s halter dress, fingers untying the knot with patient reverence. The fabric slipped down Aaliyah’s body like water, pooling at her feet. She stood there in nothing but lace and sunlight, and Cruz exhaled like she’d been punched.

“You’re unreal,” Cruz whispered, stepping forward until their bodies brushed.

Aaliyah hooked a hand behind Cruz’s neck, thumb brushing the edge of her jaw. “No more waiting.”

And Cruz answered her—not with words, but with her mouth.

Their lips met like they’d been pulled by gravitational force, like the moment had been building since New York, since Riyadh, since the black site and all the miles between. There was nothing tentative in their kiss—just aching, layered years of longing unfurling all at once. Cruz kissed like she had something to prove. Aaliyah kissed like she had something to surrender. And together, they tasted freedom.

They stumbled backward toward the bed. Cruz’s hands found Aaliyah’s waist, and Aaliyah moaned softly against her lips, the sound vibrating through Cruz’s chest and down her spine. She backed Aaliyah to the edge of the mattress and guided her down, hovering over her as they kissed again, slower this time, deeper.

Clothing was removed in pieces, in pauses. Cruz’s jeans first. Aaliyah’s bra next. Cruz’s briefs. Aaliyah’s last scrap of lace. Every piece shed was a shedding of something else, too: guilt, fear, delay. By the time they were bare, the air between them felt sacred. Holy.

Then Cruz crawled up over her, and nothing else existed. They met in the center of the bed, lips and skin, fingers tracing lines that memorized and rediscovered at once. There was no choreography. No roadmap. Just instinct and the desperate pulse of need. Their legs tangled. Aaliyah’s thigh pressed between Cruz’s, and Cruz rocked against it once—unthinking—and gasped into her mouth.

It became primal after that. Hands slipping down, seeking. Cruz kissed a trail along Aaliyah’s jaw, down her throat, along the curve of her collarbone. Aaliyah arched under her touch, head thrown back, mouth parted as her breath turned ragged. Cruz’s hand slipped lower, fingers sliding through wetness that made her groan.

“You’re already so—” Cruz started, but the words caught.

Aaliyah’s fingers threaded into her hair. “Don’t stop.”

So Cruz didn’t. She touched her with purpose, coaxing her higher, until Aaliyah was clawing at the sheets and biting down on Cruz’s shoulder to stay grounded. Her release came like a wave—a stuttered gasp and then a cry as she shattered in Cruz’s arms, trembling with the force of it.

Before her body could stop shaking, she pushed Cruz onto her back, urgency reigniting like a match to dry grass. “My turn,” she breathed. Cruz didn’t argue. She never could with Aaliyah.

Aaliyah kissed her way down—slow, reverent, devout. Her mouth moved across Cruz’s breasts, teasing, worshiping. Her hands gripped Cruz’s thighs, spreading her open with a purpose that left Cruz breathless. And when her tongue slid through her folds, Cruz gasped, back arching, eyes slamming shut—

“Look at me,” Aaliyah said, pulling back just enough. Cruz forced her eyes open. And Aaliyah held her gaze as she descended again.

It was the most intimate thing Cruz had ever experienced. Aaliyah, looking at her like that. Like she was the center of every universe that had ever mattered. Like this wasn’t about release, but about connection—about gratitude, about reverence.

Cruz came with a cry, her hands fisting the sheets as Aaliyah held her through it, never looking away. And when it passed, when Cruz’s breath slowed and the trembling stopped, she pulled Aaliyah up to kiss her again—salty and slow and full of awe.

But she wasn’t done. “Lie back,” Cruz said, voice wrecked and raw. Aaliyah obeyed, and Cruz took her time.

She explored her like she had all night. She made Aaliyah beg with nothing but her hands. She memorized every shiver, every gasp, every arch and moan and whimper. She brought her to the edge and stopped, eyes locked with hers. “Can I try something?”

Aaliyah was panting. “Anything. Yes. Just—please.”

Cruz smiled and repositioned her gently. Aaliyah on her back, knees bent toward her chest. Cruz straddled her thighs, positioned them close—so close—and then pressed forward until their centers aligned.

The first contact was electric. “Oh my God,” Aaliyah whispered.

Cruz rocked forward, slow and deliberate, and they both cried out. It was too much and not enough, too intense and somehow perfect. The pressure, the friction, the way their bodies knew exactly how to move, how to find rhythm.

Aaliyah clutched at her hips. “Don’t stop, habibti. Stay right there.” Cruz obliged. She rocked and pressed, every nerve ending alight. Aaliyah’s voice broke on a moan that turned into something helpless, desperate.

When she came, it was explosive—her entire body tensing, crying out Cruz’s name like a mantra. Cruz followed, falling apart above her with a shuddering breath.

Downstairs, the team exchanged glances.

Bobby raised an eyebrow. “Was that—?”

Tucker nodded. “Yeah.”

Tex grinned. “I give it a ten.”

Randy tilted his head. “They’ve earned it.”

Two Cups looked mildly traumatized. “Do we…do we clap?”

They didn’t. They just turned the volume on the TV up louder.

But upstairs, in the master bedroom, none of that mattered. Cruz and Aaliyah were tangled in each other, sweaty and breathless and laughing softly in the aftermath. They hadn’t just made love. They’d made a beginning. Cemented that there would be a future.

The ceiling fan hummed above them, blades slow and steady in the afterglow haze. Moonlight had spilled into the room, cool and silver, painting soft lines across their skin. The salt-slick heat of their bodies had finally ebbed into something gentler, the air heavy with the scent of sex and the ocean breeze drifting through the cracked door to the terrace.

They hadn’t spoken in several minutes. But it wasn’t silence. It was reverence. It was presence. Aaliyah lay on her side, cheek pressed to Cruz’s bare shoulder, her fingers lazily tracing the scar that curved beneath her collarbone. Cruz's hand rested over Aaliyah’s hip, her thumb moving in lazy circles against her skin.

“You feel like home,” Aaliyah said, voice barely above a whisper. The words unspooled slowly, not rushed, not dramatic. Just truth. They lingered in the space between their bodies, impossible to ignore.

Cruz didn’t respond right away. Her throat was thick. Her heart beat so hard she was sure Aaliyah could feel it against her cheek. She turned her face just enough to press a kiss to Aaliyah’s hair. “I’ve never had much of one,” she murmured. “A home.”

Aaliyah lifted her head slightly, her fingers pausing. “Not even growing up?”

Cruz shook her head once. “Not the kind that mattered. Not the kind you carry with you.”

Aaliyah studied her face for a long moment. Then, with the quietest conviction, said: “I know what you mean. My family had a lot of houses, but they were always cold and impersonal. They never felt like home. So, maybe we build our own. Together.”

Cruz let out a long breath, the kind that carried the weight of years, of wounds that had never had time to heal. She didn’t cry—but her hand curled more tightly around Aaliyah’s side, like she couldn’t bear the thought of her slipping away. They didn’t need more words after that. Just the warmth of skin against skin, the press of bare legs tangled in sheets, the soft rhythm of two hearts syncing closer to the same pace. They drifted to sleep not with urgency or fear, but with the strange, perfect peace of people who had stopped running.

Chapter 19: Chatter

The light came slow and golden, spilling in through the sheer curtains like honey—thick, warm, and patient. Aaliyah stirred first. Her body hummed, the kind of ache that felt like memory more than pain, as if her skin still remembered the shape of Cruz’s hands from the night before. Muscles she didn’t know she had ached in gentle protest as she stretched beneath the sheets, every inch of her deliciously heavy and content.

She blinked the sleep from her eyes. Then smiled.

Cruz was still asleep, flat on her back, her features softened in a way Aaliyah rarely got to see. One arm flung above her head, fingers curled loosely, the other resting across Aaliyah’s waist like it had found its home there. She was bare beneath the linens, the light brushing her skin like reverence. Her dark lashes cast long shadows, her lips slightly parted with each breath, chest rising and falling in a slow, rhythmic tide.

Aaliyah didn’t move. Not at first. She just watched.

Here was the woman who had once haunted her dreams as Zara. Then shattered them as Cruz. Who’d broken orders and protocol just to keep her safe. Who’d kissed her like salvation and held her like something sacred. Who’d said yes to love even while war still circled them like wolves. Aaliyah leaned in, heart full and steady, and kissed her shoulder. A silent benediction. Then, unable to resist, curled into the curve of her body—claiming the warmth they’d built together.

Cruz stirred with a soft groan, stretching. Then blinked open her eyes. A slow, sleepy smile curved her lips the second she saw Aaliyah nestled there.

“Morning,” she rasped, voice still husky from sleep and sex and silence.

Aaliyah’s smile was gentle. “Morning.” She leaned in to kiss her again. Slow. Warm. Lazy.

Cruz sighed into the kiss, then groaned as she relaxed back into the bed. “That’s one hell of a wake-up call.”

Aaliyah grinned against her lips. “I could make it a habit.”

“Please do.”

They stayed like that for a while. Skin against skin, tangled in warmth and covers that still smelled like them. Cruz’s fingers played in Aaliyah’s curls, twisting them idly. Aaliyah’s hand traced light, mindless patterns over Cruz’s stomach—over scars, smooth skin, the faint rise and fall of breath.

Then Cruz tilted her head. “You sore?”

Aaliyah’s lips twitched. “Are you?”

“I think I pulled something in my hip.”

Aaliyah laughed. “You were a little… enthusiastic.”

“No regrets.”

“I’ll remind you of that next time you try to toss me around.”

“Oh, don’t worry.” Cruz smirked, “I’ll still toss you. Might just grunt louder doing it.”

They both laughed, the kind of quiet, content laughter that came after war. After surviving. After choosing each other again and again.

Then Cruz’s voice dropped. “You meant it last night. About building a home.”

Aaliyah stilled. Then nodded, slowly. “I did.”

Cruz turned fully to face her, eyes serious now. “Then let’s find it. Not somewhere we’re sent. Somewhere we choose. Somewhere safe.”

Their eyes locked. The promise between them was quiet but potent.

“I want that too,” Aaliyah whispered, voice catching slightly.

And just as she said it, just as the fragile, sacred thread of hope was beginning to form between them—there was a sharp knock on the door.

“Hey!” Bobby’s voice rang clear. “We’ve got chatter on the ground line. Joe needs both of you downstairs in ten.”

Cruz groaned, face immediately pressed to Aaliyah’s neck.

Aaliyah sighed into the pillow. “I will throw something at her,” Cruz muttered.

“You’ll miss,” Aaliyah mumbled.

But they were already moving. Sheets sliding down flushed skin, bodies pulling reluctantly apart. They dressed slowly—stealing kisses between layers, touches lingering longer than necessary. There was no rush now. But there was gravity. The moment had changed.

They didn’t look like a mark and an asset. Didn’t look like a ghost operative and a fugitive heiress.

They looked like two women deeply in love, stepping back into the storm together.

The house was quiet, but it wasn’t peaceful.

The hallway was sound-dampened, but as they descended the wide, curved staircase into the main level, the shift was immediate. The air was charged—alert and serious. No sleepy haze. No lingering glow.

Joe stood near the kitchen island, coffee in hand, jaw tight and eyes sharp. Bobby and Tucker were already stationed near the windows, scanning the perimeter. Two Cups tapped steadily at his laptop while Randy paced near the door, speaking low into a secure line.

The briefing monitors in the den were already on. Aaliyah and Cruz exchanged a look. The mood had turned.

“What happened?” Cruz asked.

Joe didn’t hesitate. “Let’s sit. It’s better in there.”

They moved to the den—leather couches, a low table, and the screens glowing faintly. Aaliyah dropped beside Cruz again, barefoot, her hand brushing Cruz’s thigh in silent solidarity.

Joe took a sip of coffee, then set it down. “NSA picked up a brief but encrypted traffic burst this morning—bounced through one of the ghost networks we flagged back after Jeddah. Low power. Short window. But it was directed at an inactive Amrohi relay in the Maldives.”

Aaliyah’s brows furrowed. “That relay was decommissioned after we shifted power to the European grid. It shouldn’t even be operational.”

“Exactly,” Joe said. “But someone accessed it. Six seconds. That’s not a test. That’s a code. A signal.”

Cruz leaned in, voice hardening. “And we think it was meant for us?”

Joe’s nod was tight. “Or someone watching us. Either way, it was intentional.”

Bobby cut in. “There’s more. A shell corp tied to Amrohi Oil logistics filed for flight clearance out of Dubai—cargo jet. Same window as the relay ping.”

“Coordinated,” Cruz muttered.

“Too many overlaps,” Tucker added. “They’re moving.”

Joe turned the screen toward Aaliyah. “You told us Ehsan had contingency assets. Off-books, off-grid. Places even the board didn’t know about.”

Aaliyah nodded. “Safe houses. Redundant caches. But I issued the shutdown on all of them after his death. Red key deactivation. Biometric locks revoked.”

“What if he overrode those orders?” Cruz asked.

Joe let the silence answer.

Then she dropped a photo on the table. A satellite composite of an island chain—tropical, dense foliage, and a faint heat signature flaring in the center.

“Here,” she said. “We think someone’s staging something here. Not confirmed, but the pattern fits.”

Cruz stared at it. “This is retaliation.”

“Or escape,” Joe added. “They’re making a move. We don’t know if it’s extraction or a false flag, but either way, we need to hold position.”

“What does that mean for us?” Aaliyah asked quietly.

Joe’s voice was steady. “We switch to active hold. Nobody leaves the perimeter unaccompanied. We rotate watch, tighten comms, double our scans.”

Aaliyah’s jaw tightened. “So we’re trapped.”

Joe shook her head. “You’re protected. This isn’t a prison. But we’re not pretending the world isn’t watching. Especially now.”

Cruz glanced down at Aaliyah’s hand on hers. “How long?”

Joe’s gaze lingered between them. “As long as it takes.”

Three days passed.

The air outside had shifted—still warm, still sweet, but with a tension braided into the wind. Inside, routines had changed. The team moved quieter now. Meals were staggered. Patrols tighter. Cruz had taken to walking the perimeter with Tex. Aaliyah had kept her eyes on the feeds, monitoring the few Amrohi-linked systems still pinging.

They hadn’t slept apart since that morning.

That evening, the glass doors were open to the breeze. Cruz and Aaliyah stepped into the kitchen together, fingers interlaced, bodies close. A shared hum between them—exhaustion, relief, something more.

Joe stood at the counter. She looked up. Said nothing at first. Then, just a knowing smile. “You two good?”

Aaliyah gave a small nod. Cruz squeezed her hand. “We are.”

“Good. Because I need your heads on straight.”

She pulled a folder from behind her and dropped it with a soft thud. “We’ve got a situation.”

And just like that, the warmth shifted again. Business. Threat. Focus.

Everyone gathered. Coffee table cleared. Monitor on. Cruz stood near the fireplace. Aaliyah sat beside her, in Cruz’s hoodie again, damp curls pulled into a loose twist. The others fell into place—quiet, competent, ready.

Joe clicked through a folder. A satellite overlay lit up. “Langley flagged activity off one of our old backchannels. Amrohi logistics server. Compromised node, but familiar pattern.”

Bobby frowned. “Familiar how?”

“Because we’ve seen this signature before,” Joe said. “It’s Kamal.”

Cruz stilled. “What’s he doing?”

“Making noise,” Joe replied.

Tucker crossed his arms. “That fast?”

Aaliyah’s voice was steel. “He doesn’t operate blindly. If he’s moving, he knows I’m alive. And he knows where I’d go.”

Joe switched slides. Encrypted logs appeared. One line, in red:

She’ll run to her. She always wanted her.

Silence fell.

Cruz muttered. “Son of a—”

Joe held up a hand. “Don’t take the bait. This is provocation. He wants a reaction.”

Aaliyah straightened. “He’s not wrong. I did go to her. I always will.”

Cruz looked down at her. “And I’ll always be there.”

Joe let the moment pass, then spoke again. “We’re reinforcing protocol. Surveillance drones every 45 minutes. All movement logged with Tex or me. No solo activity. No unverified calls. We lock this down.”

“Expecting heat?” Randy asked.

“Not yet,” Joe said. “But he’s coiling. When he strikes, it’ll be fast.”

Aaliyah’s eyes burned. “Then we draw him out.”

Cruz nodded. “But not tonight.”

Joe looked at them both. “And tomorrow?”

Cruz’s voice was unwavering. “Tomorrow, we plan.”

Chapter 20: Sideways

The house was quiet, save for the low hum of electronics and the occasional shifting of boots against hardwood floors downstairs. Cruz sat at the far end of the dining table that had been hastily repurposed into a command center—laptops open, maps splayed, phones lined up like soldiers. The ocean beyond the glass walls was an invisible presence, waves thrumming in a rhythm too slow and vast to register at a tactical level, but it pulsed nonetheless—like the threat they were circling.

Aaliyah entered quietly, slipping into the seat beside Cruz. Her fingers brushed the back of Cruz’s hand under the table and Cruz responded without looking, her pinky curling around Aaliyah’s in a private anchor. Joe stood at the head of the table, flanked by Bobby and Tucker, who were still suited in tac gear from their perimeter sweep.

"Alright, eyes up," Joe began, her voice carrying the weight of something more than routine. "We just pulled down a major data dump from a secure channel we’ve been monitoring—one Kamal used before, albeit through a couple new proxies. It’s him. He’s coordinating something. The chatter’s fragmented but urgent. He’s not retreating—he’s pivoting."

Tucker clicked his laptop and the screen cast a bluish glow as files and overlays populated. "These signals are encrypted but traceable. They hit four nodes before bouncing through the Emirates. That last one? It’s a burner cell that pinged three miles from the Al Noor compound the day it burned."

Aaliyah leaned forward, eyes scanning. “So he wasn’t caught in the fire.”

“No,” Bobby confirmed grimly. “He was watching it burn.”

Joe continued. “We believe he’s shifting his strategy from containment to retaliation. This wasn’t just about cleaning house. Kamal’s looking to re-establish power—possibly through another front. We’re seeing signs of movement near Marseille and Naples. His reach is still long.”

Cruz clenched her jaw. “And he knows we’re alive.”

“More than that,” Joe said. “He knows Aaliyah’s alive and that she’s been moved. We have reason to believe he’s attempting to either track her or draw her out.”

“Draw us out,” Aaliyah corrected, steady as steel.

Tucker looked between them. “Which means our timeline’s accelerated. We can’t stay reactive.”

“No,” Cruz said. “We plan. We go on the offensive—but smart. Surgical. We don’t just take him out. We dismantle what he’s trying to rebuild.”

Joe nodded. “Agreed. But for tonight, rotations stay tight. You two stay put. We’ll coordinate options for next steps with Kaitlyn first light. Right now, you need rest. Focus. You’ve both earned it.”

The room began to clear in slow waves. Bobby and Tucker stepped out first; their radios crackling faintly. Joe lingered a beat longer, giving Cruz and Aaliyah a look that managed to be both commander and friend.

“He doesn’t win,” she said simply. Then turned, boots silent against the tile as she exited.

 

The darkness had softened around the edges of the house, the earliest promise of dawn graying the skies outside the tall windows. Cruz stood near the glass doors, shoulders loose for the first time in hours, shirt hanging untucked, her arms crossed. She could feel the pulse of her own thoughts trying to quiet.

Behind her, the rustle of sheets. Aaliyah sat up in the bed, wrapped in the blanket they'd tangled in hours earlier, hair tumbling over her shoulders, still wild from the way Cruz had held her, kissed her, clung to her.

“We’re not going to get much sleep,” Aaliyah said gently, stretching her legs beneath the covers.

Cruz turned, eyes landing on her with a gravity that never seemed to waver. “Don’t need sleep. Just time. And this—” she stepped closer, reaching for Aaliyah’s hand “—this feels like something we reclaim, even if just for a few hours.”

Aaliyah squeezed her fingers. “Even if it’s borrowed.”

They sat in silence for a few moments, the hush between them laced with unspoken things. Fear. Gratitude. Want. Love.

“I meant what I said earlier,” Aaliyah murmured, voice hushed in the tender pre-dawn stillness. “About finding a place. Somewhere we can fall in love with, together. Somewhere we choose.”

Cruz knelt beside the bed, resting her arms on Aaliyah’s legs. “Yeah?” she asked, her voice thick with all the things she hadn’t said yet.

Aaliyah nodded. “Maybe a place where the air smells like sea salt. Or desert rain. Somewhere quiet. Honest.”

“I’ll follow you,” Cruz said, not as a vow, but as fact. “Wherever we land, I’ll know it’s right if it’s with you.”

The words filled the space between them, heavy and light all at once.

Cruz climbed back into bed. Aaliyah opened the blanket to welcome her inside, and they curled around each other, bodies familiar and reverent. Not in hunger now—but in belonging. The kind that didn't need proving anymore. The kind that simply existed, like gravity.

Outside, the sky continued its slow bleed from violet to indigo. And inside, wrapped around each other, they let the coming light wait.

 

The coastal wind had shifted, cooler now as spring edged toward summer. The sun dipped low across the water, casting long shadows across the deck where Cruz leaned against the railing, watching the security team drill below. Bobby was barking commands. Two Cups and Tex were running close-quarters exercises while Randy worked a drone console nearby. A new rhythm had emerged, one forged from repetition and the hardening edge of readiness.

They were no longer waiting. They were preparing.

Behind her, the soft glide of the glass door. Aaliyah stepped out barefoot, a tablet tucked under her arm. She wore one of Cruz’s shirts—sleeves rolled, collar loose—and Cruz didn’t even try to pretend she wasn’t distracted.

“We got the last of the Marseille files decrypted,” Aaliyah said, brushing her hair back with her free hand. “There’s a logistics hub Kamal’s people have been using—sloppy shell companies, but the pattern is there. Fuel, personnel, shipping manifests. It’s a front.”

Cruz turned fully to face her. “You think he’s staging something maritime?”

“Or preparing an exfiltration route. Could be both. Joe’s waiting for a sat pass before we make a move.”

Cruz took the tablet from her and scanned the screen. “This could be the opening. One strike, clean. We cut his arm off before he finishes rebuilding.”

Aaliyah leaned against the railing beside her. “It’s not just strategy anymore, is it?”

“No.” Cruz reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind Aaliyah’s ear. “It’s personal. Honestly, it always was.” A moment passed—quiet, loaded.

Aaliyah turned toward the house, nodding toward the study. “Come on. We need to get ready to go back to Langley. Kaitlyn wants to greenlight the next move tonight.”

Cruz let her hand brush Aaliyah’s back as they walked in. “How’s your head?”

“Clear,” Aaliyah said, glancing sideways with a soft smile. “Focused. But I’d kill for a real space to just be with you after this. One that doesn’t require a full team, although they've grown on me.”

Cruz smirked. “I know a place. Has a view. And the only alarm is seagulls.”

“Are you trying to seduce me with peace and domesticity?”

“Is it working?”

Aaliyah bumped her shoulder gently. “Always.”

They entered the house, shadows long across the floor, dusk closing in around them. The war wasn’t over—but they were moving. Together. Stronger. Smarter. And ready.

 

The low hum of fluorescent lights did nothing to soften the tension in the room. Screens glowed with satellite overlays, infrared heat signatures, live intel feeds, and a tactical map of a compound carved into the remote hills of northern Pakistan. Kamal’s suspected stronghold.

Kaitlyn stood at the head of the conference table, her eyes moving between digital projections and hard copies as if she’d conjured every detail from memory. Joe flanked her right side, arms crossed, eyes sharp. Bobby, Tex, and Tucker lingered near the table’s edge, already half-suited in tactical black.

Cruz and Aaliyah entered last. Together, as always now.

Kaitlyn didn’t bother with pleasantries. “Kamal has been moving between safehouses every 36 to 48 hours. But we think he’s hunkered down. The local chatter’s gone quiet—too quiet. That suggests consolidation, not retreat.”

Cruz leaned forward. “You said ‘we think.’ Not ‘we know.’”

Kaitlyn didn’t flinch. “We’ve got an asset on the ground. Embedded. Sent word that Kamal’s planning something big. Bigger than Riyadh. Target unknown. Timeframe unknown. But the asset confirmed Kamal’s location.”

Joe added, “If we don’t move now, we lose the window. And we lose him.”

Aaliyah scanned the data on the screens. “What’s the layout of the compound?”

Bobby tapped a tablet, casting a blueprint into the air. “Two floors above ground. One sub-level. Reinforced doors. At least ten guards on shift. Likely more if Kamal’s there. Entry through the east ridge is our best bet. Less coverage. But it’s a climb.”

Tex smirked. “We’ve done worse hungover.”

Cruz cracked her neck. “We go in, we get him, we get out. Anyone shoots at us—”

“—We shoot back harder,” Tucker finished.

But Kaitlyn’s eyes hadn’t moved from Aaliyah. “You’re staying behind.”

Aaliyah’s gaze was steely. “I’m not a target. I’m an asset. You said it yourself. I can help.”

“This isn’t your fight,” Kaitlyn countered. “You’ve already done more than enough.”

Aaliyah stepped forward. “I go. End of discussion.” Cruz felt it immediately. The weight of Aaliyah's presence and the desperation to make it out of this unscathed.

A beat passed. Then another.

Kaitlyn exhaled. She looked pleased with herself. “Fine. But you follow Cruz’s lead. You don’t break formation. You don’t improvise.” Cruz's head snapped up. Kaitlyn didn't care if she made it out. At least not in the way Cruz did. For all she knew, Aaliyah might be going into this as bait.

Aaliyah responded, coolly, “I understand.”

Joe clapped a hand on the table. “Then we go wheels up at 0400. Final check at 0300. Everyone gets one last night to breathe. Make it count.”

Cruz’s fingers brushed against Aaliyah’s as they turned to leave. A silent promise shared in a glance: Tonight is ours.

 

The night was thick with silence—no breeze, no birdsong, just the soft hush of surf breaking against a distant cliffside. Above them, the sky held its breath, moonlight filtered through the fractured canopy of clouds as if nature itself conspired to dim the world for what was about to unfold.

They moved like ghosts.

Joe led the team through the dense brush, night-vision goggles casting the world in eerie shades of green. Cruz was right behind her, focused, breath measured, body taut with discipline and adrenaline. Every footfall was calculated. Every movement, silent.

Behind them, Two Cups scanned their rear, while Tucker, Bobby, and Tex fanned out to the flanks, keeping eyes on the perimeter. Aaliyah—positioned between Cruz and Tex—wore a low-profile tactical suit, unfamiliar yet snug. Her steps were cautious but composed. She had trained for this in the weeks leading up to the mission, but now, in the shadows of real danger, she carried herself like a woman who understood the weight of her place in it.

Their objective lay ahead: a compound perched on the edge of a ravine—discreet, fortified, and silent. A communications relay tower stood like a watchful sentinel, blinking red against the black. Somewhere inside, according to the intercepted intel, Kamal’s men were stockpiling materials, staging cyber attacks, laundering funds through shell companies tied to arms dealers. And worse—they had hostages. One of them potentially a diplomat.

As they closed in, Cruz reached back, her hand brushing Aaliyah’s lightly.

“You okay?” she whispered, not turning her head.

Aaliyah’s voice was low. “I will be.”

Cruz nodded once and squeezed her hand gently before slipping forward.

Joe’s voice crackled over their comms: “Eyes on. Entry point northwest quadrant. Window open for thirty minutes. Let’s be art.”

They reached the security blind spot near the generator shack. Tex rigged the small EMP device, and within seconds, the cameras dropped into static. Bobby and Two Cups moved in with magnetic climbing gear, scaling the wall in eerie synchrony. They secured ropes and gave the all-clear.

Cruz turned to Aaliyah, pressed her close. “Once we’re in, stick to me or Joe. You’re not expendable, got it?”

“I wasn’t planning on being heroic,” Aaliyah whispered. “Just useful.”

Cruz smirked, fierce with admiration. “You’re both.”

They breached.

Once inside, the air changed. Cold and recycled, buzzing with distant electronic hums. The halls were narrow and dimly lit. Joe held up two fingers—split. Cruz led Aaliyah and Tex down one corridor. Joe took Tucker and Bobby toward the eastern wing.

They reached a data center—secured, locked with biometric access. Cruz pulled out the replica fingerprint casing—lifted off a known operative—and fitted it to the reader. Green light. Door opened.

The room hissed with cold air and blinking servers. Cruz moved quickly, pulling the drive Kaitlyn had given her and plugging it into the access terminal. As data began copying, she glanced at Aaliyah.

“Keep eyes on the door.” Aaliyah nodded and took position, her back to the wall, pistol in hand—her first live op. Cruz’s eyes lingered on her a beat longer than she meant to.

“Don’t worry about me,” Aaliyah said, steady. “Just do your part.”

Cruz’s smile was sharp. “Yes ma’am.”

Suddenly—gunfire. Not near, but not far either. Joe’s voice snapped over comms: “Contact east wing. Multiple. Bobby’s down—nonfatal. Engage and redirect.”

“Copy,” Cruz barked, yanking the drive.

Then everything went to hell. From the hall, shouts erupted. A door burst open. Cruz fired, taking out the first man clean through the collarbone. Tex handled another with ruthless precision.

“Aaliyah, fall back!” Cruz shouted, turning—But Aaliyah was gone. A scream echoed faintly down the hall.

“AALIYAH!”

Chapter 21: AALIYAH!

The hallway was empty. Only the echo of the scream remained.

The scream wasn’t loud.

It wasn’t even prolonged.

But it carved through the hall like a blade, sharp and final, echoing in Cruz’s ears like a gunshot. She was already moving before her brain had time to fully register the sound.

“Aaliyah!” she barked into the comms. “Do you have eyes?”

Nothing. Static.

Tex surged forward, rifle up. “I’ve got the corridor left—two doors, one open.”

Cruz was already there, rounding the corner, heart hammering. Her weapon led the way. Cruz didn’t feel her feet hit the floor—only the fury, the roar of blood in her ears. Her world had narrowed to a single word, a single name.

“AALIYAH!”

The room beyond was a storage space—empty except for overturned crates, a broken light flickering overhead. No blood. No signs of a struggle. But no Aaliyah either.

“Son of a—” Cruz clenched her jaw so hard her teeth ached. “Joe, Aaliyah’s gone. I repeat, she’s been taken.”

“Shit,” Joe hissed. “Team two—converge on Cruz’s position. Priority is asset recovery.”

Cruz tore through another corridor, boots pounding on concrete. Tex was behind her, weapon raised, shouting something she couldn’t hear. Cruz’s breath came in sharp, serrated bursts. The air in the compound reeked now—of gunpowder, blood, and cold metal.

The hallway buzzed with sudden movement. They pushed through, clearing rooms one by one. Storage bays. Server closets. Empty quarters. Too many places for someone to disappear.

Too many places to hide her.

You were ten feet away.
You told her you’d keep her safe.

Cruz pivoted toward Tex. “She wouldn’t have left without a fight.”

“She didn’t,” Tex said, pointing to the far door swinging on its hinge. “Look.”

A streak of blood—small, fresh—smudged the doorframe.

Not enough for a fatal wound. Enough to mark the path of someone dragged. Enough to make Cruz see red.

Her comm hissed to life. Joe was looking for surveillance.

Then, she heard it again…Aaliyah’s scream…More faint, and it had come from the lower level. Cruz didn't think. She moved.

The stairwell loomed. She didn’t take it quietly. No time. She exploded down the steps two at a time, sidearm out, heart slamming against her ribcage.

Joe: “Visuals coming online from interior surveillance—looped feed was wiped. Reversing. Hold for intel.”

Cruz stopped at a fork in the hallway, breathing hard, every instinct screaming for direction.

Joe again, voice tighter now. “Playback confirms—one hostile breached from the sub-level stairwell. Came up during the breach. Grabbed Aaliyah while you were engaged. Stun baton. She’s out cold.”

Tex swore under his breath.

Joe added, “He’s still in the sub-level, northeast side of the building. We’ve got thirty seconds of usable footage before the system loops again. Cruz, that’s your route.”

Static cracked back at her, then Joe’s voice: “Tucker’s en route. Secure her. Do not wait.”

“I’m not,” Cruz growled. “Tex, circle to the other end topside, and box ‘em in. If I go dark, bring this whole fucking place down.”

She didn’t wait for agreement. She surged toward the east side of the building and barreled through the hallway.

Dim red emergency lights cast the hall in a hellish glow. Shadows danced along the walls. Her every instinct screamed—trap, ambush—but she didn’t hesitate.

Halfway down, she saw a door slam shut.

Cruz moved silently but quickly, her gun raised, each footfall deliberate. The temperature dropped the further she went. The hallway at the bottom was unmarked—concrete and steel, unfinished. The smell of damp and copper and something darker hit her all at once.

Then—voices. Low. Urgent.

She flattened against the wall, listening.

“…move her now. Kamal said not here. Not this soon.”

“She wasn’t supposed to come. This changes the plan.”

“She’s leverage now. You want your money, we get her out clean.”

She didn’t call out this time. She didn’t waste air on hope. She pressed herself flat to the wall beside the door, listening.

Cruz peeked around the corner. Voices inside. Male. Laughing. Two men. Armed. One dragging Aaliyah—limp, unconscious, zip-tied at the wrists, her head lolling forward. Cruz’s vision tunneled. She couldn’t breathe.
Not until she acted.

Cruz’s jaw clenched. She checked the mag. One full clip. No time to wait for backup. She was going in.

Her boot hit the door. It cracked under her weight, rebounded, then flew open on the second kick.

Gun up. Eyes scanning.

Three men. She missed one.

One adjacent to the door—armed. The door hit the 3rd man on her second kick. She took the shot clean and he folded to the floor. The other two she saw were farther in, one of them dragging Aaliyah toward a door.

“Don’t touch her!” Cruz shouted, and shot.

The second man ducked behind a desk, returning fire. The third took Aaliyah behind a cabinet drawing his weapon. Cruz returned fire, quickly, to the second guy. One to the man’s shoulder, dropping him like a stone. The next second, he shot wildly, firing blind. Bullet whizzed past her ribs. She ducked and fired again. This time his leg. Then again. And again.

The room went still.

The third man shouted from behind the cabinet, “Careful! You wouldn’t want to accidentally hit this bitch, would you?!” He snarled, “I need her alive, you know.”

Cruz’s brow somehow furrowed another inch, and she breathed, “You can die fast or die slow…but she’s not going anywhere.”

The calm with which she said it, and the confidence behind it made his breath hitch. She heard it.

It would seem they were in a standoff. Cruz was planning. Aaliyah was still unconscious and may be hurt not just out. She couldn’t afford to prolong this. If she saw an opportunity and she was going to take it, as long as Aaliyah wasn’t at risk.

Behind the cabinet, the guy didn’t have a visual on her and he was smart enough not to poke his head out, giving Cruz a kill shot.

She used his hiding to her advantage. Her plan was to flank him from his blind side. She moved in silence to his left, and saw the opening. She lunged at him, holding his armed hand in both of hers, ensuring Aaliyah wouldn’t be shot in the fray.

He used that opening to knee her in the ribs. She wouldn’t let go. She found his gaze and smirked in a way that made his blood run cold. That millisecond of doubt was all Cruz needed. She drew a blade and aimed for his femoral artery, to start. His scream pulsed through the walls. She continued with three more strategic placements, ensuring immobility and eventual death.

Still alive. But only barely.

Cruz was already moving, her gun discarded as she rushed to Aaliyah, dropping to her knees. “Hey,” she whispered, ripping open her vest pocket for a med stim. “Hey, baby, come on.”

She pressed the injector to Aaliyah’s thigh. Counted.

Aaliyah twitched. Then coughed. Eyes fluttered open—confused, unfocused. Then, it all seemed to come back at once. Aaliyah was shaking—Cruz could see her palms scraped, lip split, eyes wide now but locked on Cruz.

“Hey. Hey, baby. It’s me.” Cruz cupped her face. “You’re okay.”

“Cruz?”

“I’ve got you.” Cruz’s voice cracked. “You’re safe.”

Aaliyah groaned. “They—he said Kamal wanted—”

“I know,” Cruz said, cutting the restraints. “But he doesn’t get to have you.”

Aaliyah nodded, the smallest tremor of a gesture, but it was there. “I knew you’d come.”

Cruz slowly wrapped her arms around her, pulling her in tightly, protectively. “I always will.”

Behind them, the door burst open again—Tucker and Tex sweeping in, weapons raised.

“Clear!” Tucker called out, lowering his gun. “Holy shit.”

Cruz stood slowly, eyes still on Aaliyah.

“We need to get you checked out. Are you hurt?”

Aaliyah shook her head. “No… No. Just—shaken. My legs feel numb.”

Joe’s voice crackled over the comms: “We’ve locked down the east side. Extraction point at the southern wall. ETA five minutes. Are you secure?”

Cruz hit her earpiece. “We have her. She’s safe.”

“Good. Move.”

Cruz lifted Aaliyah into her arms, ignoring the ache in her shoulder from the firefight. She was light, but it was the weight of what she meant that almost buckled her knees.

They exited quickly, Cruz keeping Aaliyah tucked close, her body a living shield until they reached the corridor again.

When they finally breached the south exit, the night hit them like a balm—cool, clean, and open. Aaliyah climbed in first. Cruz followed, never letting go of her hand.

The doors shut. Silence.

They didn’t breathe easy until the compound was a smoldering dot in the drone’s rear feed, the team lifted into the clouds aboard a stealth evac chopper, the night behind them roaring with fire and fury.

Aaliyah leaned against Cruz in the fuselage, blanket draped over her shoulders, IV taped to her arm.

Cruz’s hand never left her thigh. “You okay?” she asked, voice low in the roar of the engine.

Aaliyah gave the ghost of a smile. “I will be.”

Cruz nodded once, then leaned in, pressing her lips to Aaliyah’s temple like a prayer.

Then Aaliyah turned toward Cruz in the dark interior, reached out, touched her cheek.

“You saved me,” she whispered.

“You saved yourself,” Cruz said kissing her knuckles. “These defensive wounds tell the story of how you fought. I just got to kill the bastards who tried to take you. You fighting is the only reason I had enough time.”

Aaliyah leaned in, forehead resting against Cruz’s. “You and Bobby taught me, yes, but then you found me.”

“I’ll always find you.”

They’d made it out. For now.

But the war wasn’t done.

And Kamal was still out there.

Waiting.

 

Chapter 22: The Reckoning

Summary:

Sooooo... Shit is about to hit the fan. I'm just going to duck over here.

The SUV’s tires crunched over gravel, the sound sharp in the quiet aftermath of gunfire and chaos. The safehouse loomed ahead, its sleek silhouette rising against the night sky—glass and steel softened by the whisper of waves in the distance. The security lights along the perimeter cast long, pale shadows, bathing the property in a muted glow that spoke of vigilance rather than comfort.

Inside the SUV, Cruz’s hand never left Aaliyah’s. Their fingers were laced tightly together, knuckles pressed white, their connection less a gesture of affection and more a lifeline neither could afford to let go of. Aaliyah sat still, her breathing shallow but steady, her gaze fixed on the dark horizon as if anchoring herself there.

The gate opened. Bobby and Tucker stood on either side of the entrance, rifles slung but ready. Both nodded once, grim approval in their faces, but said nothing as the vehicle rolled past. Tonight wasn’t a night for words.

Cruz helped Aaliyah out, her arm a steadying force around her waist. Every step Aaliyah took felt deliberate—like she was forcing herself to reclaim her ground, even if the weight of what had happened still clung to her. Cruz shadowed her every move, her body coiled, ready to catch her at the faintest tremor.

Inside, the house was quiet. Too quiet. The usual hum of equipment and muted conversation from the team was subdued, replaced with something heavier: the hush of a collective exhale. The scent of salt air bled faintly through the ventilation system, grounding the space with the reminder that beyond these walls, the sea still moved, indifferent and eternal.

Cruz guided Aaliyah upstairs to the master bedroom—their refuge, their single claim of normalcy in a world built on surveillance and danger. The bed, neatly made, looked almost out of place. Too soft. Too ordinary for the blood, grit, and terror still fresh on their skin.

Aaliyah sat on the edge of the mattress, her hands curling into the blanket beneath her as if to keep from shaking. Cruz knelt in front of her, cupping her face with rough, tender hands. A damp strand of hair clung to Aaliyah’s cheek, and Cruz brushed it back with the kind of care that was almost reverent.

“You’re safe,” Cruz murmured, her voice a rasp edged with something fierce. “We’re together. Hearts beating. Lungs breathing. Just…breathe with me.”

And they did. Breath after breath, Aaliyah held Cruz’s gaze and mimicked her breathing cadence. She held Cruz’s wrists, and Cruz continued to cradle her face. Aaliyah knew this wouldn’t be easy, but nothing prepares you for these moments—moments when you face losing the love of your life or know the love of your life might lose you.

Aaliyah’s lips parted, trembling with unshed words. “You came for me,” she whispered. “It means everything to me that you came for me.”

Mallorca. A decision that has haunted her ever since. She knew how hurt Aaliyah was by her deception, but even more so, by the abandonment. Cruz’s tired smile was small but unshakable. “I’ll never choose anything else again.” Cruz would endeavor to show her and reassure that she wouldn’t leave her again for as long as it took to heal that wound she created.

For a long moment, silence was their only language. The world shrank to the warm circle of Cruz’s hands against Aaliyah’s skin, the weight of her gaze steady and unflinching. No operatives, no missions, no ghosts of blood and betrayal—just them.

And then Aaliyah kissed her.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t tentative. It was raw, hungry, a clash of teeth and breath that came from the hollowed-out center of fear and relief and the desperate knowledge that they were still here. Cruz pulled her closer, one hand sliding into her hair, the other curling around her waist until there was no space left between them.

Every touch was a promise. Every gasp, a confession.

They moved together like they’d been holding their breath for weeks. Cruz guided her to the shower, steam billowing around them as warm water sluiced away the grime and blood, leaving only skin—bare and honest. Cruz’s hands were slow, almost trembling, as she washed Aaliyah’s shoulders, her back, down her arms. Aaliyah mirrored her, fingertips gliding over bruises with such care it felt like prayer.

When Cruz’s fingers lingered on a bruise near Aaliyah’s ribs, Aaliyah caught her wrist. “Don’t,” she whispered, eyes burning. “Not tonight.”

Cruz nodded and kissed her instead, water streaming down their faces, washing away the taste of gunpowder and fear.

Later, wrapped in towels, they tumbled onto the bed, damp hair tangling in the sheets. The first kiss was slow this time, deep and lingering, as if they were relearning each other in the quiet aftermath of survival. Then the dam broke, and restraint dissolved into pure, aching need. They kissed until there was nothing but heat, until the ache in Cruz’s chest eased into something else—something whole.

Their lovemaking was both desperate and reverent, a reclaiming of something Kamal could never touch. Cruz’s hands mapped Aaliyah’s body like familiar terrain. Aaliyah held her face between her palms like she was holding something holy.
When Aaliyah’s breath hitched and her body arched into Cruz’s, it was more than desire—it was survival, proof that they were still here, still theirs.

And then, peace.

But peace was fragile. For a heartbeat, it felt like it might last.

Until the burner rang, a sharp pulse of noise slicing through the quiet.

“Status report,” Kaitlyn's voice was tense, clipped. No pleasantries needed or expected.

Cruz’s shoulders tensed, “Safe. She’s safe.”

“Good,” Kaitlyn replied. “But the target isn’t done.”

Aaliyah’s head snapped up, eyes wide.

Kaitlyn’s voice dropped lower. “He'll regroup. We need to be ready, and hopefully a few steps ahead when the time comes. We need to debrief on the intel that you pulled on the drive. Maybe we can figure out their next move—my guess is it's something big, something close. We need to move fast.”

Cruz’s jaw clenched.

Kaitlyn continued, “We'll get you back stateside in the interim. We’re prepping now. Joe will fill you in. Get ready.”

Cruz growled low in her throat and responded, “Understood,” before ending the call.

Aaliyah reached for Cruz’s hand, weaving their fingers together again. Her voice was quiet but steady. “Together.”

Cruz nodded, voice steady and calmer. “Always.”

The night swallowed them once more as the team sprang into action, the calm before the storm broken, but their resolve unshaken.

 

The next morning, the safehouse breathed like it had finally exhaled.

The ocean breeze swept through open balcony doors, ruffling the gauzy curtains of the master bedroom, and carrying the scent of salt and sunrise. Downstairs, Bobby’s laughter mixed with Tex’s dry commentary as the team moved with rare ease—cooking, cleaning, resetting their rotations. It was a fragile kind of domesticity, but for a moment, it was theirs.

Cruz closed the door, returning from the kitchen with a toast and fruit, and sat with Aaliyah on the edge of their bed, their legs tangled, silence warm and easy. “Tex said you’re going to have to come down if you want the good stuff babe,” Cruz smiled.

Aaliyah, now used to these antics, smiled, “He shouldn’t have let you come back, then. He should know by now you’re all I need.”

Cruz blushed and ducked her head. They each took bites of toast, chasing them with pieces of fruit. They knew they had about 5 hours until the transport would be ready.

Cruz’s thumb stroked slow circles over Aaliyah’s wrist while the world outside softened from blood and steel into rose-gold light.

They could still faintly hear Bobby's muffled voice coming from downstairs, joking with Tex over meal prep. Laughter. Knives on cutting boards. Normal things. For once, it all felt normal.

“This feels… different,” Aaliyah murmured.

Cruz glanced at her. “How?”

“Like…” Aaliyah searched for the words, then smiled faintly. “Like it’s real. More real than anything else has been.”

Cruz kissed her temple. “That’s because it is.”

Aaliyah leaned into Cruz’s shoulder and whispered, “Is it weird that this feels more normal than anything else we’ve done?”

“No,” Cruz said softly. “It feels like what we never got to have. Being with each other. No judgment. No pretense. Just being us.”

The perimeter was secured. Checked, double-checked. But the perimeter was only as safe as the trust they placed in systems—and the systems were corrupted. A silence crept up the west side of the house. One motion sensor blinked off. Then another. The camera looped a still feed—Bobby’s tech glitching for the first time in weeks.

Aaliyah tilted her face to Cruz’s. Their lips barely brushed—They didn’t hear the click.

BOOM.

The explosion shattered the window behind them, ripping through the east side of the house. Wood, glass, and drywall exploded into the room. Cruz was already moving, tackling Aaliyah off the bed, and pulling her to the floor… her legs and one arm a cage around her as plaster and smoke rained down. Cruz used her other arm to cradle her head as the air turned to dust and fire.

Downstairs, the house erupted into chaos.

“Breach!” Bobby’s voice was a roar over comms. “Multiple contacts—east wall!” Bobby continued shouting into comms. “Move, move, move!”

Gunfire erupted. Sharp, controlled bursts. The team was responding fast. But they weren’t fast enough to stop the second explosion that tore through the garage and adjacent hallway—cutting off the master bedroom from the stairs.

“He’s herding us,” Joe barked into comms.

Cruz got to her feet. Grabbing three weapons from her kit. Blood ran down the side of her face from a graze to her temple, but her focus was razor sharp. She grabbed Aaliyah, tucking one in the back of her jeans, while pulling her toward the balcony. “We move! Now!”

Aaliyah stumbled, but Cruz’s grip never faltered.

Tex radioed in. “Contact on the north stairs—two down. Randy’s hit, but stable.”

“Where’s Kamal?!” Cruz barked.

“Unconfirmed,” Bobby said. “We’ve got thermal on six, but they’re jamming the grid. It’s a fucking ghost signal.”

“Go out the balcony!” Cruz ordered. “Drop down to the guesthouse roof! I’ll cover you—”

“No!” Aaliyah said, grabbing Cruz’s face. “We go together. No time to argue.”

Cruz kissed her fast, hard. Then they were moving. They vaulted over the railing, landing on the guesthouse roof just as another burst of gunfire chewed through the bedroom they’d left seconds earlier.

“Go!” Cruz yelled, catching her waist and yanking her down hard. They tumbled across the rooftop together as bullets splintered the tile where Aaliyah’s foot had been.

Kamal wasn’t trying to destroy the house. He was trying to funnel them somewhere. Cruz was running on instinct. She could only hope she wasn’t heading into a trap, and if she was, that her team was intact enough to get them out of it. Either way, she wasn’t going down without a fight. Through the swirling smoke and gunfire, silhouettes advanced—black-clad, masked, silent.

Inside the guesthouse, Tucker was holding the line. “East window! I got two—where the hell are they coming from?!”

More shots rang out, and seemed to silence everything for a breath.

And then Aaliyah gasped—a sharp, pained sound that cut through everything.

Cruz turned, blood draining from her face as she saw it—Aaliyah had stumbled, hand clutching her side. Her shirt slowly turned red, although maybe it was fast. Everything slowed in Cruz's perception.

“No,” Cruz rasped, catching her before she fell. “Stay with me. You hear me? Stay with me.”

But Kamal was already closing in.

Cruz’s grip on Aaliyah tightened as the world around them erupted in gunfire. Smoke curled through the fractured night air, acrid and heavy. The guesthouse roof beneath them felt suddenly fragile, a temporary perch above a battlefield that had come to their doorstep.

“No.” Cruz whispered unaware of the tears streaking her face. Tears Aaliyah would have kissed away if she saw them falling. She had to refocus. Time was not on their side. “Aaliyah—look at me!” Cruz ordered, her voice sharp but trembling beneath the surface. Aaliyah’s gaze met hers, pained but steady, holding on as Cruz checked the wound. Wounded on both sides—blood pooling from what looked to be a through and through, but she knew she needed to get checked out asap. A modicum of relief cut through Cruz like oxygen. “You’re good. You’re still good. Stay with me.”

Aaliyah managed a shaky nod, fingers curling into Cruz’s shoulder. “I’m fine,” she lied through her teeth. It hurt like hell. “I can move.” She was in exponentially more pain than she had ever felt before. She didn’t know how to focus on anything else, but the desperation in Cruz’s voice and those soft dark brown eyes buoyed her. The pain would have to wait. Their chances of survival were more slim the more of a liability she was. Aaliyah knew their only chance was if she could be strong enough to keep moving. If anyone could protect them, it would be Cruz.

Cruz didn’t believe her, but she didn’t have time to argue. Aaliyah could see the wheels turning in Cruz’s eyes. She needed to reassure her, so Cruz would focus more on the threat and less on her injuries. “Habibti, I’m not going anywhere.” She tried to be convincing.

“Damn right you’re not,” Cruz said. She hauled her up, keeping one arm braced around her waist while firing a clean burst at the advancing shadows below. One figure dropped. Another stumbled back.

Joe’s voice cut through the comms: “Contact on the north perimeter! Kamal’s men are breaching in pairs—Tucker’s pinning them down but we need to move now.”

Bobby’s voice followed, gruff and urgent. “Extraction point is hot but clear! Get your asses down here!”

“Copy,” Cruz snapped, then to Aaliyah: “We move. Hold onto me.”

Aaliyah, pale but unflinching, gave a fierce little smirk. “Like I’d do anything else.”

They dropped from the roof onto the sand below, Cruz landing hard but steady, absorbing the shock so Aaliyah didn’t have to. Tucker appeared from the treeline, rifle slung, laying down covering fire. “Go!” he bellowed, his jaw tight, every movement crisp and economical.

Joe had eyes on the security grid. “He’s in,” she growled. “Bobby, breach in the south corridor—he’s heading for them.”

“He wants them alive,” Tex said. “Or he’d have leveled the whole house.”

“He doesn’t get the chance!” Joe snapped. “Let’s move!”

They sprinted.

The world narrowed to the pounding of Cruz’s boots against the sand, Aaliyah’s weight tucked into her side, the sharp crack of gunfire behind them, and the crash of the ocean’s waves like a relentless drumbeat. Adrenaline burned through her veins until everything was pure instinct.

Kamal was close. She could feel it. The air had changed. He wasn’t sending people anymore—he was coming himself.

Aaliyah staggered but stayed on her feet. They ran across the sand toward the treeline, where the emergency extraction was already being prepped. If they could get to the SUV, they could circle back around, regroup, set the trap instead of being in one.

But Kamal had planned too well. He stepped from the shadows like a ghost. Not more than ten yards ahead. He emerged calm amidst the storm, his dark coat billowing faintly in the breeze. His smile was razor-sharp, cold as a drawn blade. In his left hand—a detonator. In his right, a suppressed pistol aimed casually at them.

“Going somewhere?” he called, voice carrying over the chaos. He looked directly at Aaliyah when he spoke, and Cruz felt her entire body coil like a wire about to snap.

Cruz raised her gun. Aaliyah pulled the pistol Cruz put in her waist, though her hand trembled. Cruz shifted Aaliyah behind her, sights locked squarely on Kamal’s chest. “You’re done.”

“Am I?” Kamal’s smirk widened, his finger flexing over the detonator’s trigger. “I could end this house. End all of you. Or…” his gaze flicked to Aaliyah again. “We could negotiate. Trade, even.”

“Try it,” Cruz snarled, stepping forward, “and I’ll put you in the ground before you blink… You’re not getting another chance,” Cruz said, voice cold.

Kamal looked amused. “Neither are you.” He tilted his head, studying her like he could peel her open. “Always so certain. That’s your flaw, Zaaaaara. You act like the world bends to you, but it doesn’t. It breaks.”
And then he lifted a detonator.

Before Kamal could respond, a sharp crack split the air.

A shot. Clean. Precise.

Bobby.

The bullet tore into Kamal’s shoulder, staggering him. Cruz didn’t hesitate. She fired three times—two shots to his chest, another to his head. Kamal crumpled into the sand, the detonator clattering harmlessly beside him.

For a moment, the world stilled. No gunfire. No shouting. Just the sound of the surf and Cruz’s ragged breathing.

Joe’s voice came through comms, clipped but steady: “Target down. Repeat: target is down. Secure the package. Get Aaliyah inside.”

Cruz turned immediately, her focus snapping back to the only thing that mattered. Aaliyah.

She was still standing, but swaying, one hand pressed to her side, blood soaking through her shirt. Cruz was there before she could stumble, catching her, holding her tight.

“You’re okay,” Cruz whispered fiercely, her forehead pressed to Aaliyah’s. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you, baby. We're gonna fix it.”

Aaliyah’s lips curved in a faint, defiant smile. “Told you… I wasn’t going anywhere.”

Cruz let out a rough, broken laugh and kissed her—fast, desperate—because she could. Because she hadn’t lost her. "Eyes on me. Only on me."

 

The world outside was still, unnaturally so, like the quiet that followed a thunderclap. Smoke clung to the rafters and the air burned with the metallic tang of gunfire and sweat. Inside the safehouse, the team moved like shadows—sweeping the perimeter, exchanging clipped confirmations. Joe coordinated with Kaitlyn over scrambled comms. But Cruz heard none of it. Her entire world was reduced to the woman in her arms.

Cruz carried Aaliyah into the guesthouse, refusing help from anyone. Aaliyah’s blood was warm on her hands. In the bedroom, Cruz eased Aaliyah down, hands steady even as her heart raced. “Stay with me,” Cruz murmured, crouched on the ground, cradling

Aaliyah’s head against her thigh. Her voice was low, almost too calm, too controlled. But her jaw trembled. “You're okay, baby. I know it hurts, but you’re going to be okay…”

Aaliyah blinked slowly, pain flickering behind her lashes. “I’m right here,” she whispered, her breath shallow.

Tucker arrived with the med kit, unrolling it with brisk precision. He dropped to his knees beside them, slicing through the sides of Aaliyah’s torn blouse, already soaked through with blood. “It’s clean,” Tucker said after inspecting the wound. “Through and through, clean exit. Painful as hell, but she’ll live.”

Cruz let out a breath like her lungs had been holding it for hours. She kissed Aaliyah’s temple and breathed in the scent of her hair—smoke and jasmine, copper and sweat. “You scared the shit out of me,” she whispered.

Aaliyah let out a shaky breath. “My turn I guess. Now you know how it feels...”

Tucker smirked and continued, “She’ll need some PT once we get stateside, but she’s going to be fine. Right now, she needs fluids. Sterile bandages. Some stitches, for sure.” Tucker worked quickly. “But it missed the artery... thankfully.”

Cruz felt the weight of everything that happened lifting, “Thanks Tuck.”

Tucker didn’t flinch, “She’s family, too, Marine.”

Cruz nodded and exhaled, tension bleeding from her in waves. She brushed damp curls from Aaliyah’s forehead. “You hear that? You’re going to be fine. You’re stuck with me.”

Aaliyah smiled faintly, fingers curling in Cruz’s shirt. “Guess I could do worse.”

Cruz closed her eyes, shaking her head. “She's already giving me shit.”

Tucker mused, "She took a bullet for you, Cruz. She can give you shit indefinitely."

Cruz huffed out a laugh that sounded almost like a sob.

Downstairs, Kaitlyn’s voice carried faintly from a war room across the world as Joe briefed her: “Kamal’s dead. No secondary threats confirmed yet, but we’re sweeping for any contingencies. We need to start prep for Aaliyah’s public transition. The world’s going to know she survived this—and that she’s stepping up.”

“Do it,” Kaitlyn ordered, her voice cold steel through the comms. “And make it airtight.”

The adrenaline had faded. The team moved on autopilot—securing Kamal’s body, recovering equipment, communicating with Langley through scrambled lines. But Cruz hadn’t let go of Aaliyah for more than a minute. They relocated, and Cruz's only priority was Aaliyah. She helped her wash up, wincing as Aaliyah flinched while in her care. Cruz’s hands were slow and gentle, cleansing her skin like she might break her otherwise. Aaliyah leaned into the contact. Her body ached, but her heart beat steady in her chest.

They crawled into bed after that, still damp, wrapped in towels and each other.

“I thought we were safe,” Aaliyah whispered.

“We were. We will be again.”

“I’m so tired of running.”

“I know, baby. I know.”

Silence stretched between them, warm and thick like honey. Then Aaliyah lifted her head slightly, eyes serious.

“What happens now?”

Cruz exhaled, thumb tracing the edge of Aaliyah’s brow. “Now, we deal with the fallout. Kaitlyn’s going to want to spin this. Amrohi Oil has to go public with your transition soon.”

Aaliyah nodded. “I’m ready. Not because I want it—but because I have to be.”

“I’ll be right there.”

“I know,” she said, voice thick. “But I need to be the one to stand in front of it. To say his name. To show them I survived him. That I’m not afraid of what comes next.”

Cruz leaned in, pressing a kiss to her lips, soft and grounding. “Then, we do it your way.”

 

Downstairs, the rest of the team was already gathered around the dining room table—maps spread out, digital feeds casting a pale glow. Joe was speaking into a secure line. Bobby met Cruz’s eyes across the room and nodded once.

Kaitlyn was on her way. The media would be briefed within twenty-four hours. Aaliyah’s survival would be public knowledge, and with it, the unveiling of her new role.

The truth was coming.

And so was the world.

Chapter 23: The Announcement

Notes:

Last chapter! See notes at the end...

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.

Notes:

So what do we think, do we need an epilogue or a full part 3? It was my plan to end it here originally, but there are some really interesting options for continuing this AU.

I'm torn!!! :)

Thanks for reading!

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 2 of Lioness: Ashes and Embers