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vivwritesfics · 11 months ago

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Everybody Wants To Rule The World

Chapter Three - The Barracks

Oscar Piastri worked for a criminal organisation. It wasn't the life he wanted, wasn't the life he had chosen for himself. But, like those before him, he didn't have any other choice.

He was just a rookie in the Verstappen organisation. He got stuck with the shitty jobs, like watching over Verstappens latest intake, a petty criminal who makes stealing cars look hot.

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The room was a box. There was a bed and a wardrobe and little else. But Y/N could live in it if it meant not paying rent, she had bigger things to deal with.

"So, when do I get paid?" She asked before Oscar had a chance to leave the room.

Oscars had stilled on the doorknob. "I don't know," he said and went to close the door once again.

But it seemed she wasn't getting the hint. "Well, when do you get paid?"

This time, Oscar stared straight at her. "I don't get paid," he said stiffly and, again, went to leave the room.

And, again, he was halted by her talking. Well, this time she laughed, and then she talked. "Verstappen doesn't pay you? You poor poor sucker," she said and laid back on her new single bed, staring up at the ceiling. "I hope you at least asked to get paid. Wait, that would actually make it more sad."

Finally, Oscar shut the door.

Finally alone, she sat up and pulled her phone from her pocket. There were thirty texts from her father, all of them saying the same thing. We need beer.

Living here, in the compound, wasn't ideal, but she'd do anything if Verstappen was willing to pay her. But her father was at the apartment they shared, alone and unable to leave. She'd have to go back to the apartment at some point, back to collect her things. It was something she was dreading, facing her dad for the last time.

She didn't come out of her room for the rest of the night. Oscar was the only one to notice as he walked through the halls, getting his usual work done. He hadn't expected this from her; Oscar had thought her the type to be wandering the halls, exploring from the minute he left her alone.

Maybe she needed time to settle in. At least, that was how he justified it when he left her alone.

Half an hour after leaving her in her bedroom, Oscar was down in the dining hall, plate of food in his hands as he went to take a seat with Logan, his best friend.

Now, let me explain how the Verstappen compound works. There was the main building, where Verstappen had the offices of his men. Charles had his own office and Daniel had his own office. There were rooms full of files, rooms full of weapons and more. All of Verstappens men worked out of the offices, in varying rooms.

Connected to the office, the building Y/N had first been taken into, was the garage. It was run by Liam Lawson, who, as everybody else was eating dinner, was moving Verstappens prized car collection to the building next door.

That building was Verstappens house. It was the biggest house on the property, even though Versteppen only shared it with his two Persian cats. The property had two other houses that weren't shared by multiple people. Daniel Ricciardo's house and Charles Leclerc's house.

The biggest building on the property was nicknamed 'the barracks'. It was where most of Verstappens men lived. Most of them had nowhere else to go, so, like Oscar, Logan, Liam and now Y/N, they lived in 'the barracks'.

The basement of the barracks was where the dining hall was. Where Oscar currently was.

He looked around, searching for her not yet familiar face, but she was nowhere to be seen. "You okay?" Logan asked, digging into his own food. If anyone was going to notice that something was up with him, it was Logan.

Arthur Leclerc sat opposite the two of them. He lived in his brothers house but often ate in the barracks with the rest of the men, his way of socialising. "Is it true that there's a new girl?" He asked.

Nodding his head, Oscar stood up. He had only eaten maybe three bites of his food, but he didn't care as he walked up the stairs and out of the dining hall, heading towards the second floor.

He knocked on Y/N's door and pushed it open. When he walked in she was dressed in a jacket, looking like she was ready to go somewhere.

Oscar placed the food down on the end of her bed. "Where are you going?" He asked with a frown as he leaned against the doorframe.

Saying nothing, Y/N shovelled the food into her mouth and dropped the plate back onto her bed. She pushed past him and marched down the hall.

With no other choice, Oscar followed her. "Hey!" He shouted as she kept walking, down the stairs and out of the barracks. "Wait!" He shouted, stepping out into the cold, England air. Without a jacket a shiver ran down his spin, but he kept going. "You can't just leave!"

"Technically I'm working," she said as she walked into the garage.

Liam made a move to climb out of Verstappen's 1991 Aston Martin V8 Vantage, to stop Y/N from reaching into the tool box, but one look at Oscar trailing behind her and he stopped. Either Oscar was trying to pick up this girl, or she was Verstappen's newest employee (the latter of which being most likely).

Y/N pocketed the tools she needed and left the garage, leaving the compound through the main building. "Give it a rest for the night," Oscar said, the night air biting as he followed out of the main building.

He watched as she surveyed all of the cars on the street outside of the compound. "Most of these belong to us," he said, gesturing back at the compound.

"Okay then," Y/N answered and began walking up the street, not caring of Oscar was following.

She walked up a couple of streets before she found her victim. The streetlight was busted and she couldn't see any cameras on the car. Y/N easily broke into it, Oscar climbing into the passenger seat. He didn't care when she took him, as long as they ended up back at the compound.

Before they drove off, Y/N sorted the music. She attached her phone to the aux cord and pressed shuffle on a playlist labelled Car Jams.

At first, Oscar heard nothing. But then the piano started. It wasn't a song Oscar recognised, but Y/N sang along to every word, tapping the steering wheel with her palms.

"I've got the old man's car," she sang with a grin. "I've got a jazz guitar."

Oscar just listened, head pressed against the window.

They weren't driving for very long before they arrived at their destination. Y/N pulled up outside of an apartment complex, killed the engine and turned her attention to Oscar. "If the police come, run," she said and climbed out of the car.

But Oscar climbed out too. "The police aren't going to arrest me," he said, following her towards the building. "Besides, you're not going in there on your own."

"Well you're not coming with me."

"Yes, I am."

"This is private, so piss off," she said, resisting the urge to push him. Her resolve was lessening moment by moment.

Oscar didn't care. His face of stone said that much. "Fine! Fine, but once we're up at the apartment, wait outside."

There was a silent please on the end of that sentence, one she couldn't bring herself to say. But Oscar heard it. He nodded his head, agreeing, and followed her inside of the building.

If he thought the barracks were bad, this was another level. The light in the lobby flickered as they made their way up to the stairwell. The stairwell which had damn walls and wet stairs. Where the water was coming from, Oscar couldn't tell. But he followed Y/N up several flights until she got to the third floor corridor.

At the first door they got to once they left the stairwell, she turned to him. "Stay here," she said as she pushed a key into the lock and twisted.

Oscar didn't even get a glimpse into the apartment when she went inside. He leaned against the door, listening as Y/N did what she needed to do inside.

The apartment was dark when Y/N walked inside. But it always was. She let out a sigh as she flicked on the light and walked towards her bedroom.

The man sleeping on the sofa didn't even know she was there.

She hummed Fleetwood Mac as she grabbed a bag from her wardrobe and began packing her things away. There wasn't a lot she could fit in her bag to take with her, but she made do.

Once her bag was packed, she made her way to the kitchen and pulled what she needed from fridge and the cupboard, making a quick sandwich. Once she was finished, she let the knife clatter against the plate, waking the man sleeping on the shoulder.

He snorted, his eyes flying open. Grabbing the bat from beneath the sofa, he jumped to his feet and moved towards Y/N. But, as soon as he realised who it was, he stopped. "Shit, you scared me," he said, holding his head.

"Yeah, well I didn't want you starving to death and it being my fault," she replied, somewhat bitterly as she passed him the plate.

He took it from her, biting into the sandwich as he looked at the bag slung over her back. "You going somewhere?" He asked through a mouthful of food.

Y/N nodded her head. "I've found somewhere that's going to pay me to do what I'm good at, what you taught me to do," she replied, arms folded over her chest as she leaned against the counter. "This way I can pay Hamilton back. You just can't let him know, okay?"

"Why not? What're you doing, working for his rival?" He asked through a scoff. When Y/N didn't smile, laugh or deny it, his face dropped. And then he started laughing. "Jesus, kid. You must be suicidal or something."

"Fuck off, dad," she muttered under her breath and held onto the strap of her bag. "I just wanted to tell you that I'm not gonna be here and you're gonna have to take care of yourself, okay?"

He held up his free hand. "Okay, whatever. Just don't get yourself killed."

Saying nothing, Y/N walked out of the apartment, leaving him standing there while he still laughed to himself.

No music played as Y/N drove herself and Oscar back to the compound. Maybe it was because she needed directions, or maybe it was because, whatever had happened in the apartment, it had put her in a bad mood. But Oscar didn't push as he directed her on where to go.

She parked the car in the now empty garage, put the tools she had used to break in and to hotwire it back in the toolbox and marched back to the barracks, bag still on her back.

"I like her," Liam said to Oscar as they watched her go. Oscar said nothing in return as he followed her back to the barracks.

TAGLIST (OPEN): @biancathecool @graciewrote @measimp @sbella13 @sam-is-lost @topguncultleader @formulaal @ibanstro @kassieesworld @smexysarah @queenofmanydreams @celesteblack08 @aexitizen-ln4 @mclastri @golden-flora @hollie911 @rewmuslupin @prettiest-at-the-party @minkyungseokie @venisvendetta @avg-golden-retriever @alionova @milliealt @ashies-ln4op81aa23

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nomie-11 · 1 month ago

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Chapter 18 - The Scrutiny of a Sorrengail

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Flying for short distances, for Genevieve, is enjoyable. The feeling of the wind in her hair and the bite of the air is a comforting feeling. Flight maneuvers—if she's flying alone or with Xaden—are even more enjoyable.

The dips and dives that come with combat formations are a rush of adrenaline that never fails to send Genevieve into a state of exhilaration. The weightlessness, the sharp turns, and the roar of the wind in her ears make her feel alive in ways that nothing else can. It’s the closest she comes to forgetting everything.

But flying for long distances is a brutal reminder for everything going wrong for Genevieve.

The six hour flight for their prize for winning the Squad Battles might just kill her. The weeklong tour of the most out of the way outpost ever known to man would be fine, but the flight there and back would be the death of her.

“I’m pretty sure I’m dying.” Nadine bends over, bracing her hands on her knees.

“I feel that.” Violet says, every vertebra in her spine screaming as she stretches, and that hands that were freezing from flight only moments ago begin to sweat in her gloves.

Genevieve cracks her neck, trying to shake off the tension that’s settled into her bones from the extended flight. Her body aches in ways that are almost too familiar—the bite of cold in her extremities, the stiffness in her muscles, the gnawing exhaustion that feels like it’s leeching away her strength. The cold settles deep, despite being early april, reminding her of the toll her last burnout took, leaving her vulnerable in ways she hates to admit.

“You’re not dying,” she says to Nadine, though her voice lacks the usual bite. “But if you were, I’d say it’s a fitting prize for us winning Squad Battle.”

Nadine shoots her a half-hearted glare before turning to stretch out her back. Violet isn’t faring much better, Liam holds her hands as if he can channel his own body warmth into hers.

Gods, Genevieve groans. I miss Xaden.

“Welcome, cadets,” the commander says with a professional smile, interrupting Genevieve’s brooding. He folds his arms across the chest of his lightweight leathers, and he has the gaunt, tired rider look that any rider gets when they’ve been stationed at the border for too long. “I’m sure you’d all like to get settled and into something a little more appropriate for the climate. Then we’ll show you around Montserrat.”

Genevieve huffs, shifting her weight from one sore leg to another. It definitely is hotter here than it is at Basgiath, but she’s sure she’s not the only one still reeling from the cold winds above.

Rhiannon inhales sharply from beside her, her gaze sweeping over the mountains.

“You all right?” Violet asks, and Genevieve nods, her eyes asking Rhiannon the same question.

She nods as well. “Later.”

Later arrives in twelve minutes, where a still slightly cold Genevieve and a two very hot Rhiannon and Violet sit in the triple-occupancy barrack rooms. They’re sparsely furnished, only three beds, three wardrobes, and a single desk sit in the room.

Rhiannon is quiet the entire time they make their way through the bathing chamber, washing off the ride, and alarmingly silent as they dress in their summer leathers. It may only be April in Montserrat, but it feels like June.

“Are you going to tell us what’s up?” Genevieve asks, stowing her pack beneath the bed before making sure all of her daggers are safely sheathed at her hips and thighs.

Rhiannon’s hands tremble with what looks like nervous energy as she straps her swords to her back. “Do you know where we are?”

Violet mentally brings up a map. “We’re about two hundred miles from the coast–”

“My village is less than an hour away on foot.” Her eyes flicker between Genevieve and Violet with an unspoken plea,the emotion swirling in their dark-brown depths clogs Violet’s throat, and Genevieve’s eyes are solid with resolve.

“Ok, so we’re going.” Genevieve said firmly, her eyes meeting Violet’s with a strong gaze.

Violet blinks once, surprise evident on her features.

“What?” Genevieve asks, her own surprise at the soft disagreement now painted on her features. “You’re telling me that if you had a happy family, safe and waiting for you, an hour away, you wouldn’t go?”

“Ok,” She says, quickly agreeing. “Don’t tell anyone,” she whispers, even though it's just the three of them in the tiny room. “We have six days to figure it out and we will.”

“Let’s go, Second Squad!” Dain’s voice booms through the door, and the girls filter out, joining the others and Major Quade as they get a tour of the outpost.

The fortress itself is just four massive walls, filled with barracks and various chambers, turrets on each corner and a large, arched entrance that boasts a spiked portcullis that looks like it might fall at any second. On one end of the courtyard, there’s a stable with a blacksmith and armory for their company of infantry, and on the other is the dining hall.

“As you can see,” Major Quade tells them as they stand in the middle of the muddy courtyard. “We’re built for siege. In the event of an attack, we can feed and house everyone for an adequate amount of time.”

Ridoc mouths something at Violet that Genevieve misses, but she doesn’t miss the death glare Dain shoots at Violet afterwards. Awkward…

“As one of the eastern outposts, we have a full twelve riders stationed here. Three are out on patrol now, three wait, standing by in case they’re needed, and the other six are in various stages of rest,” Quade continues. The distinct roar of a dragon echoes off the stone walls. “That should be one of our patrols returning now,” Quade says, smiling like he wants the cadets to believe him, but can’t find the energy.

“So,” he says, clapping his hands together. “We’ll get you riders fed and put to bed, and then we’ll work on who you’ll be shadowing while you’re here.”

“Will we get to participate in any active scenarios?” Heaton asks, practically vibrating with excitement.

“Absolutely not!” Devera snaps.

“If you see combat, then I’ve failed as this being the safest place on the border to send you,” Quade answers. “But you get bonus points for enthusiasm. Third-year?” Heaton nods.

Quade turns slightly, and smiles at the three indistinct figures in rider black as they walk under the portcullis. “There they are now. Why don’t you three come and meet—”

“Violet?”

Genevieve freezes, she knows that voice.

In an instant, Violet is no longer beside her, but running full force at the familiar girl, who sweeps Violet up and hugs her like she’s never before.

“Mira,” Violet whispers, burying her face against her shoulder, and her eyes burn as she rests her hand on top of Violet’s braid as if committing every detail of her sister into her mind.

Mira pulls back just long enough to look Violet over, as if she’s checking for damage. “You’re all right.” She nods, her teeth digging into her bottom lip. “You’re all right, aren’t you?”

Violet nods, and it’s true, she is alright. But just because she’s alive doesn’t mean she’s the same person Mira had left at the base of the turret. They both know it.

“Yeah,” she whispers, pulling back Violet into another hug. “You’re all right, Violet. You’re all right.”

“Are you?” Violet says, jerking back to study her. “Gods, Mira.”

“I’m fine,” she promises, then grins. “You didn’t die!”

Irrational, giddy laughter bubbles up from Violet. “I didn’t die, you’re not an only child!”

“Sorrengails are weird,” Genevieve states, drawing a bemused look from Liam who stands next to her, arms crossed over his chest.

“You have no idea,” Dain says in response, his lips curved into a small smile that makes Genevieve want to hurl.

“Shut up, Aetos!” Mira barks, throwing her arm over Violet’s shoulder. “Catch me up on everything, Violet.”

—--------------------------------------

It’s early evening two days later, just after dinner, when Violet, Genevieve and Rhiannon sneak out of their first-story window and drop to the ground. Mira’s out on patrol, and Genevieve knows this is their only chance.

“We’re on our way.” Genevieve calls out to Tairn, giving him a warning.

“Don’t get caught,” He warns in response.

“That’s the plan.” the three girls sneak along the battlement wall, turning the corner toward the field—

Genevieve runs so hard right into Mira that she bounces backwards.

“Shit!” Rhiannon hisses as she catches her.

“Of course you would be sneaking out,” Mira says, her voice pointed at Genevieve. “When I saw you with Violet I knew you were a bad influence on her,” then she turned to Violet. “You should be staying away from people like her. You know better.”

“Me?” Genevieve asked, her jaw nearly on the ground. “You’re the one who stuck an innocent nineteen year old girl into a dungeon! You were the last face I saw!”

Mira’s face freezes, her eyes narrowing as she stares at Genevieve. “I had no choice. You were a prisoner of war, Genevieve.”

Genevieve’s jaw tightens, anger flaring in her chest, but Violet steps between them, her voice low. “Mira, this isn’t the time. We’re just—”

“Just sneaking out,” Mira cuts her off, eyes still locked on genevieve. “And dragging my sister along for whatever you’re planning. What is it, revenge? A mission? Are you planning to kill Violet while you’re off in the villages?”

“If I wanted to kill your sister I would have done it ages ago,” Genevieve bites, her pulse quickening at the accusation, her jaw clenching so hard it aches. “I don’t know if you heard, but I basically taught your sister how to fight and I protected her in situations I could’ve stayed far away from. But because I don’t care about family names, unlike you, I saw Violet for who she was past being a Sorrengail and protected her.”

Mira’s eyes flash, her lips pressing into a tight line. “Don’t you dare act like you’re doing her some favor. You’re still the daughter of a traitor. You’ve always had your own motives.”

“I was a kid!” Genevieve snaps, fists clenched at her sides, her entire body trembling with the effort to hold back as vines creep up her legs. “I didn’t choose this! I didn’t choose any of it!”

The tension between them is thick, and Violet shifts uneasily, her eyes darting between the two women as if trying to diffuse the situation.

“Mira, please,” Violet pleads, stepping closer to her sister. “We’re not doing anything dangerous. Rhiannon just wants to check on her family. That’s all.”

Mira doesn’t seem convinced. Her gaze hardens as she turns back to Genevieve, her voice as cold as the wind that had chilled Genevieve to the bone earlier. “And what do you get out of it, Hale? You always have an angle.”

Genevieve’s heart pounds, fury and frustration swirling inside of her. She meets Mira’s gaze without flinching. “Maybe I just want to help someone. Ever think of that? You don’t know me.”

There’s a flicker in Mira’s eyes, something that could be doubt, or maybe regret. It’s brief, and then she hardens again.

“I don’t trust you,” Mira says flatly.

“And I don’t care,” Genevieve shoots back. “I’m not doing this to prove anything to you, Sorrengail. I’m doing it for Rhiannon, and for her family. Because some of us still care about things like that.”

“I’m coming with you.”

“Fuck me!” Genevieve exclaimed to Tairn, exasperatedly.

“Isn’t that what the wingleader is for?” He chuffs in response, laughing at her.

Mira cast a sidewards glare at Genevieve. “If you tell anyone about this, I’ll make you regret it for the rest of your natural life.”

“She means it,” Violet whispers.

“I believe it,” Rhiannon responds.

“You’re here two days and already breaking the rules,” Mira mutters. “Come this way, it’s quicker to cut down this path.”

An hour later, Mira and Violet are stretched out on the cushioned benches that flank both sides of Rhiannon’s sister Reagan’s house, watching Rhiannon rock her nephew by the fireplace, lost in conversation with her sister as he parents and brother-in-law look on from the nearby couch.

Genevieve sits alone on a chair, her body tense with what looks like… awkwardness. Violet has to stifle a laugh, and Mira knows that watching them reunite is worth everything.

Genevieve feels the warmth of the fire on her skin, but it does little to thaw the icy knot in her chest. Watching Rhiannon cradle her nephew stirs a deep, aching void she hasn’t allowed herself to dwell on in years. The joy on Rhiannon’s face, the way her sister embraces her with such ease and love—it reminds Genevieve of everything she’s lost, everything she can never get back.

Even Violet is sitting with her sister, laughing about something with her as if they were never separated. Genevieve is alone.

Her mind drifts to her mother. She could almost hear her voice, soft and comforting as she tucked Genevieve into bed on the cold winter nights in the mountains of Aretia. She used to hum lullabies when she thought Genevieve was asleep, a melody she’d give anything to hear again. A melody she hasn’t heard since the rebellion ended in flames, and her mother disappeared into the darkness.

And Quinn. Bright, caring Quinn who used to hold little Genevieve’s hand as they ran through the fields of flowers and forests, laughing as the wind whipped through their hair. She had said nothing would happen to her, that she would always be there. But she was gone, her death haunting Genevieve’s mind like a plague.

Her grandmother, though… everywhere Genevieve turned she saw her watching. The woman who raised her when her mother left and her father died. The one who knew every story, every song. Genevieve remembers the clear feeling of her strong hands braiding her hair, or rubbing in burn cream when her pale skin suffered the bite of the sun. But the sight of her face was slowly but surely disappearing from Genevieve's mind.

A lump rises in her throat, her chest tightening as she blinks back tears. More than anything, she wishes that she could be back with them again. Back in her grandma’s manor, feeling her mother’s embrace, hearing her sister’s laugh, smelling her grandmother’s floral perfume. But that world is gone, buried beneath rubble and blood.

Suddenly, Rhiannon is right in front of her.

“Do you want to hold him?”

Genevieve looks up, startled. Rhiannon is standing there with her nephew nestled securely in her arms, his tiny face soft and peaceful. For a moment, Genevieve’s heart stutters in her chest, the innocent warmth radiating from the baby pulling at the carefully constructed walls she built over the years. She opens her mouth, but no words come out.

“I don’t know if I should,” She finally manages, her voice hoarse, almost unfamiliar.

Rhiannon’s eyes soften, as if she can see right through Genevieve’s hesitance. “It’s okay. You’re in control now, you won’t break him.” She steps closer, her tone gentle but insistent.

Genevieve swallows hard, feeling everything crumble beneath her as her hands hover awkwardly in front of her before she relents, nodding slightly.

Rhiannon carefully transfers the sleeping baby into Genevieve’s arms, guiding her hands into position. The little bundle is light but warm, and the weight of him against her chest feels foreign, almost unreal. Genevieve stares down at the tiny face, the soft rise and fall of his chest as he sleeps, fully trusting that Genevieve will do no harm.

Everything fades. All she can see is the fragile life cradled in her arms. Something shifts inside her, a flicker of something long buried, something she thought was gone.

“Don’t even think about it,” Train’s voice booms in a familiar manner. “I’m too young to be a grandfather.”

Genevieve snorts, glancing at the baby in her arms and then shaking her head ever so slightly at Tairn’s comment. “Always so dramatic. I don’t even want kids,” she responds, but the humor fades quickly, replaced by the sudden rush of emotions that holding the child has stirred in her.

“Genevieve?” Rhiannon’s voice brings her back to the present. “Are you alright?”

Genevieve forces a nod, though her throat feels tight. She’s not alright. This moment—the warmth, the innocence, the tenderness—it’s all too much and not enough at the same time. She misses her family, but above all, being apart from Xaden for three days now has started to be painful over her dragon’s bond.

She can feel all the tension Tairn is carrying, being apart from Sgaeyl has been hard on him. She misses Xaden, too.

Rhiannon notices the shift in Genevieve’s expression, the fleeting vulnerability she rarely allows herself to show. “You can hand him back if you want,” Rhiannon offers, her voice understanding.

Geneiveve quickly nods, handing the baby back to Rhiannon.

Her thoughts drift again—back to Xaden. The bond between the two of them had been growing steadily stronger with every intimate moment they shared, every word they exchanged, and the bond between their dragons was infinitely stronger. Being apart from him now, even for just a few days, was harder than she anticipated.

“I need some air,” She muttered, quickly exciting the house past Mira and Violet, who looked on in confusion.

The cool night air hits Genevieve’s face as she steps outside, leaning heavily against the rough wooden door. The warmth of the fireplace and the emotions swirling inside had been too much. She couldn’t breathe in there.

A shiver runs down her spine. Scanning the dimly lit fields beyond the house, her heart skips a beat. Of course he’s come to find her. There, in the shadows by the edge of the tree line, stands a figure. Tall, broad-shouldered, with dark hair nearly falling into his eyes. Xaden.

He strides forward, closing the space between them in long, purposeful steps. His presence is magnetic, pulling her closer even before he reaches her. When he does, the air around them seems to shift, growing heavier with the unsaid.

“Xaden,” she breathes, her voice barely above a whisper. The knot in her chest has loosened just from the sight of him.

He doesn’t speak, not at first. Instead, he reaches out, his hand slipping around her wrist, pulling her toward him in one smooth motion until she’s pressed against him, her head resting against his chest. His heartbeat is steady beneath her ear, a grounding rhythm, that calms the raging storm inside her.

“I missed you,” he finally says, his voice low and rough, as if the separation had been just as hard on him. She can’t find the words to explain how much she missed him, how the past few days without him had left her feeling raw and unsteady. So, instead of speaking, she leans up and kisses him, soft at first, then deeper, pouring all the emotions she couldn’t voice into the kiss.

He responds immediately, his hands tightening around her waist, pulling her even closer. The intensity of their bond flares between them, the connection humming with the energy of their dragons, of the unspoken feelings they both kept buried.

When they finally part, both breathing heavily, Xaden’s eyes darken. “Three days. We couldn’t make three days,” he mutters, his voice laced with frustration and need.

Genevieve sighs faintly, her fingers brushing his jaw. “No,” she agrees, her voice soft. “We can’t.”

They stand there for a moment longer, wrapped up in each other, the world fading into the background.

“Mira’s going to be so pissed,” Genevieve says softly, her voice lighter than before now that she’s back in his arms.

“I don’t care.”

Neither does she, as she pulls him down again, kissing him deeper and deeper against the darkness.

—----------------------------------------

Genevieve was right. Mira was not happy to find her little sister’s best friend, who happened to be the daughter of a disgraced traitor, kissing the son of the man who killed her older brother. Nor was she happy to have him on base with her, but that was not Genevieve’s issue.

“So all we do is wait for something to happen?” Ridoc asks as the group all sit around a table that runs the length of the briefing room. He’s leaning back in his chair and putting his boots on the end of the table, and Genevieve can practically see the fire in Mira’s eyes as she watches.

“Yes,” Mira says from the head of the table, then flicks her wrist and sends Ridoc flying backwards. “And keep your feet off the table.”

One of the Montserrat riders laughs, changing the markers on the large map that consumes the only stone wall in the curved, windowed room. They all sit in this room, in the highest turret in the outpost, offering unmatched views of the Esben mountain range around them.

Second Squad plus Xaden was split into two groups for the day. Rhiannon, Sawyer, Cianna, Nadine, and Heaton spent the morning with Devera in this room, studying the previous battles at the outpost, and are now out on patrol.

Dain, Ridoc, Liam, Quinn, Emery, Violet, and Genevieve spent the morning on a two-hour flight around the surrounding area, with one extra tagalong—Xaden. He’s been the worst kind of distraction since arriving last night. Dain won’t stop glaring, Mira keeps watch on his every move.

All Genevieve wants is one moment of peace with this man before he’s ripped away from her again. But Mira doesn’t trust her yet, so every second she spends awake, Mira spends watching her, and once Xaden joins them, her eyes are split between the two of them. The two traitors.

“Whatever Violet said to get Mira off of Liam’s ass she needs to say about me next.” Genevieve huffed, glancing over at Liam, who was holding Violet’s hand comfortably. Then she glanced at her own hand and then at Xaden’s hand, before bringing her’s into her lap. She was not ready to be public like that.

“Consider this your Battle Brief,” Mira continues, side-eyeing Ridoc as he scrambles back into his chair. “This morning was about a quarter of the patrol we’d normally fly, so regularly we’d just be getting back about now and reporting our findings to the commander. But for the sake of killing time, since we’re in this room as the reaction flight for this afternoon, let’s pretend we’d come across a newly fortified enemy outpost crossing our border” —she turns to the map and pins a small crimson flag near one of the peaks about two miles from the Cygnisen borderline— “here.”

“We’re supposed to pretend it just popped up overnight?” Emery asks, openly skeptical.

“For the sake of argument, third-year.” Mira narrows her eyes on him, and he sits up a little straighter.

“What would our objective be?” Mira glances around the table, noticeably skipping Xaden and glaring at Genevieve. Last night, she’d taken one look at the rebellion relic on his arm and walked by without saying a word. And she hadn’t spoken to Genevieve since she left Rhiannon’s house in a flurry. “Aetos?”

Dain startles from where he was glowering across the table at Xaden and turns to face the map. “What type of fortifications are there? Are we talking about a haphazard wooden structure? Or something more substantial?”

“Like they had time to build a fortress overnight,” Ridoc mutters. “It has to be wooden, right?”

“You are all so fucking literal,” Genevieve groans, rubbing her thumbs on her temples. This has all been headache inducing. “Just say that they occupied a keep that’s already established. Stone and all.”

“Thank you, Hale,” Mira says, although it sounds physically painful for the name and the gratitude to be leaving her lips in the same sentence.

“But the civilians didn’t call for help?” Quinn asks, scratching her pointed chin. “Protocol calls for a distress signal this far into the mountains. They should have lit their distress beacon, alerting patrolling riders, at which time the dragons on patrol would have told all available dragons in the area. Every rider in this room would have mounted first as the reaction force and the others would have been woken from their rests, allowing the riders to prevent the loss of the keep in the first place.”

Mira scoffs and braces her hands on the end of the table, staring them all down. “Everything you’re taught at Basgiath is theory. You analyze past attacks and learn those very… theoretical combat maneuvers. But things don’t always go to plan, so why don’t we talk about the things that can go sideways, so you’ll know what to do when they do, as opposed to arguing that the keep shouldn’t have fallen?”

Quinn shifts uncomfortably in her seat.

“How many of you have been called out as third-years?” Mira stands straight, arms folding over her black leathers.

Emery and Xaden raise their hands, though Xaden’s is barely a gesture. Dain looks like his head is about to explode.

“That’s not true. We’re never called into service until graduation.”

Xaden presses his lips in a tight line and nods, giving Dain a sarcastic thumbs up.

“Yeah, all right.” Emery laughs. “Just wait until next year. I can’t count how many times we’re the ones sitting in these very rooms in the midland forts because their riders have been called to the front for an emergency.”

The color drains from Dain’s face.

“Now that’s settled.” Mira reaches under the table and pulls out a set of models, putting a six-inch stone keep in the center of the table. “Catch.” One by one she tosses painted wooden models of dragons at the group, keeping one for herself. “Pretend the other riders don’t exist, and we’re the only squad available to take back that keep. Think of the power in this room. Think of what each individual rider brings to the table and how you’d use those powers in unison to conquer your objective.”

“But they don’t teach that to first-years,” Liam says slowly from beside Violet, his thumb tracing patterns on the back of her hand.

Mira glances at the whirls of magic on his wrist, but to Liam’s credit, he doesn’t tug his sleeve down. It’s hard for Genevieve to remember that their third-years are the first riders who will serve with the children of the leaders of the Tyrrish Uprising—an uprising that could have left borders defenseless. Everyone in the room has become accustomed to Liam, Imogen, Genevieve… even Xaden. But those in active service have never flown with anyone marked by a rebellion relic.

Mira’s glare is hard, but it’s interrupted by Violet clearing her throat and shooting a look at her older sister. Her eyes widen ever so slightly at the clear warning on Violet’s face to back off, and she directs her attention back to Liam.

“They might not teach you this battle strategy as first-years because you’re all too busy trying to stay on your dragons. You had your first taste of strategy during Squad Battle, and we are approaching May, which means War Games start soon, right?”

“Two weeks,” Dain answers.

“Good timing then. You’ll need all the experience you get if you’re planning on surviving.” She holds Violet haze for half a breath. “This kind of thinking will give your whole wing an advantage, since I guarantee your wingleader is already assessing every rider for their own abilities.”

Xaden flips his dragon model in his hands but remains silent. He hasn’t spoken a single word to Mira since he’s arrived.

“So let’s do this. Who’s in command?” She glances around the table. “And let’s pretend I don’t have three years of seniority over even the highest ranked of you.”

“Then I’m in command,” Dain answers confidently, straightening his back as if an improved posture gives the illusion of power.

“Our wingleader is here,” Liam argues, pointing at Xaden. “I’d say that puts him in command.”

“We can pretend I’m not here, for the sake of the exercise,” Xaden sets his model dragon on the table and leans back in his chair, draping his arm across the back of Genevieve's, eliciting a glare from Mira. “Give Aetos here the position we all know he craves.”

“Don’t be a dick,” Genevieve whispers, nudging him.

“You have even seen me start to be a dick.”

Genevieve freezes, her head immediately swiveling to face him. That was his voice… in her head.

He turns, the golden flecks dancing in his eyes. She can hear him laughing in her mind, his lips tilted up into a small smirk.

“You’re staring. It’s going to get awkward in about 30 seconds if you don’t stop.”

Her gaze snaps forward.

“How?” She hisses.

“The same way you talk to Sgaeyl and I talk to Tairn. We both knew we could feel something in each other's mind, I just had to test if we could actually talk. Though I’m starting to wish I tried it sooner, the look on your face is priceless.” He winks and turns back to the table.

“You’re the wingleader.” Every word out of Dain’s mouth is agonizing, spoken through gritted teeth.

“I’m not even supposed to be here,” Xaden shrugs. “But if it makes you feel better, for the purpose of war games, you’d be getting your orders from your section leader, Garrick Tavis, which he’d get from me. You’ll be carrying out your maneuvers as a squad for the good of the wing. Just pretend I’m another member of your squad and use me as you wish, Aetos.” Xaden folds his arms over his chest.

“So what have you heard through this… extension of our dragons’ bond?” she whispered harshly.

“Why are you even here?” Dain challenges. “No offense, sir, but we weren’t exactly expecting senior leadership on this trip.”

“You’re more than aware that Sgaeyl and Tairn are mated.”

“Three days!?” Dain fires back, leaning in. “You couldn’t make it three days?”

“Lay off it, Aetos,” Genevieve barks. “Just because you can’t keep Violet underneath your thumb anymore doesn’t mean you have to take it out on me. Or Xaden. It has nothing to do with him, that’s up to Tairn and Sgaeyl.”

“I’ve heard just how much you miss me when I’m gone,” Xaden says, his timing impeccable.

“Of course you rush to defend him.” Dain hurls a glare at Genevieve. “I know I’m not wrong when I say that General Sorrengail gave you orders to watch him and report suspicious activity, not fall in love with him.”

“How do you know about that!?” Genevieve’s mind is reeling. She only told Xaden about her mission, maybe she mentioned once to Violet in passing. Oh my gods, Violet! Genevieve’s eyes could cut through metal as she stared so hard at the silver-haired girl, that Violet could swear she was looking right at her soul.

“Great job remaining professional, Aetos.” Xaden scratches the relic on his neck, and Genevieve knows damn well that stupid mark doesn’t itch. “Really shows those leadership qualities to their best advantage.”

“I’m going to kill you,” Genevieve sneers, her fiery gaze not leaving Violet’s, but the words are obviously pointed towards Dain.

One of the riders down the table whistles low. “Do you boys just want to whip it out and measure? It would be faster.”

Liam smothers a laugh, but his shoulders shake.

“Enough!” Mira slams her hand on the table.

“Oh, come on, Sorrengail,” the rider down the table whines with a wide smile. Both Mira and Violet look his way with sharp eyes. “I mean… the older Sorrengail. This is the best entertainment we’ve had in ages.”

Violet shakes her head, and looks around the table. “Mira has the ability to extend the shield if the wards are down, so the first thing I would do is send her to scout the area with Teine. We need to know if we’re dealing with infantry or gryphon riders.”

“Good.” Mira moves her dragons closer to the castle. “Now let’s assume that there are gryphons.”

“You want to do your job?” Genevieve says, a sickeningly sweet smile on her face. “I mean, how you can forget you’re the squad leader is beyond me.”

His hands clenched around the dragon he holds as he rips his gaze from Genevieve. “Quinn, can you astral project from the back of your dragon?”

“Yes,” She answers.

“Then I would have you project into the fortress to check for signs of weakness,” Dain orders. “And then have you report back. Same with Liam. We’d use your farsightedness to see if you can locate where the gryphon riders are and if there are any traps.”

“Good. The weaknesses are the wooden gate,” Mira notes as Quinn and Liam move their dragons into position, “And the Navarrian citizens they have captive in the dungeons.”

“So much for blasting the whole place,” Ridoc says.

“You’re an air welder, right?” Dain asks Emery. “So you can shape your dragon’s flames, lead them through the occupied parts of the keep without killing civilians.”

“Yes,” Emery answers. “But I’d have to be in the keep.”

“Then we’ll get you into the keep.” Genevieve says firmly. “My signet works the best when I’m on the ground-”

Dain cuts her off.

“You want him to go in on foot and leave his dragon?”

“Why do you think we get all that hand-to-hand training? Or are you going to leave all those innocent people to die?” Mira flicks her wrist and Emery's dragon goes flying out of his hand and into hers. She puts it in the center of the keep. “The real question is, how do you get close enough without getting you killed, since I’m guessing the others will be busy fighting off the gryphons that launch once the fireworks start.”

Genevieve sits back, rolling her eyes.

“What’s your signet, Aetos?” Quinn asks.

“Above your pay grade,” Dain answers, glancing around the table and skipping over Xaden, then making the rounds again, finally sighing. “Any ideas?”

“Sure.” Violet picks up both Genevieve’s and Xaden’s dragons and shoves them toward the keep. The figurines hover above the structure, a testament to Violet’s superior ability to use her lesser magic in the absence of a signet. “You stop ignoring that you have two of the most powerful signets at your disposal, and ask the Shadow Wielder to black out the area so no one sees you land, and send her, a Life Weaver” —Violet’s eyes lock on Genevieve— “to take out the threat from the inside out.”

“She’s not wrong,” Mira agrees, but her words are clipped.

“You can cover all that?” Dain begrudgingly looks at Xaden.

“Are you seriously asking me that?” Xaden retorts.

“Just wasn’t sure you could cover an area that—”

Xaden lifts a hand a few inches above the table, and shadows pour from underneath their seats, filling the room and turning dark as midnight in a blink. Genevieve’s heart jumps as her sight goes black, gripping her dagger tighter.

“Relax. It’s just me.” A ghost of a touch skims her cheek. “Want to put some vines up just to scare him?”

“I’m good, thanks,” Genevieve whispers, this is the first real time she’s been in his signet, and holy shit, it’s terrifying.

“Fuck me,” someone says.

“I can surround this entire outpost, but I think that might freak some people out,” Xaden says, and the shadows disappear, racing back under the table. Genevieve takes a deep breath, noting that everyone at the table, beside Emery and Imogen, who have no doubt seen that trick before, are slightly green.

Even Mira, who’s staring down at Xaden like he just took an attempt at her life.

“I hope you didn’t get any idea while we were in the dark there,” Xaden teases, and just like that, whatever fear Genevieve was harboring disappears into the air around her. He laughs, and she grits her teeth.

“Get him out of my head,” She throws at Tairn.

“You’ll get used to it,” He responds, not bothering to give her directions on how to reply.

“Is this normal with all mated pairs and their riders?”

“For some. It’s a great advantage in battle.”

“Well, it’s a pain in my ass right now.” She internally groans. Right now, she misses when he was far away and not in her head, listening to her every thought and concern. She thinks a lot, and it's nauseating to think he was listening to everything.

“Then shield him out the same way you do me—or start talking back,” Tairn grumbles. “You have the power to be a pain in the ass, too. You already are one to me.”

“And how exactly am I supposed to talk back at him?” She gives Xaden a heavy dose of side-eye, but he’s engrossed in the ongoing battle they’ve waged against an imaginary keep.

“Figure out which pathway into your mind is his. You only have two, narrow down which one is mine and which one is his.”

Oh joy. That should be easy.

The hypothetical operations are concluded, each of them using their powers to the best of their abilities, everyone except Violet. But when it’s time to take out the gryphons in air, Violet knows that she and Astrape trump everyone except Genevieve and Tairn.

“Good job,” Mira says, glancing at her pocket watch. “Aetos, Riorson, and Sorrengail, I want to see you in the hallway. The rest of you are dismissed.”

The rest of the squad rises, chairs scraping the stone floor as they file out of the room. Genevieve stays seated for a moment, her eyes narrowing as she watches Xaden, Dain, and Violet file out of the door behind Mira.

“Come on, Genevieve.” Liam’s voice snaps her out of her reverie, and she looks up to see him standing behind her, an easy smile on his face. “Let’s get out of here.”

Genevieve stands, brushing her hands on her pants. “Yeah, I’m coming.” But as she walks out the room, and brushes past Xaden, he gives her arm a light squeeze.

He tries to be reassuring, but there is too much on her mind. Too many things that apparently, he can hear too.

——————————————-

“There’s a drift of gryphons headed this way!” Tairn bellows, not even minutes after she’s gotten back to her triple dorm in Montserrat. It’s evident that the other riders have gotten the alert too, because as Genevieve runs back to the battle plan room, the others are there too.

“You have to go!” Mira says to Violet, pulling her into a hug.

“We can help!” Violet argues, but she’s being held so tight.

“You can’t. And if Astrape is using her power to keep you seated, then she’s diminished as well. You have to go. Get out of here. If you love me, Violet, you’ll go so I don’t have to worry about you, too.” She releases her, looking to Xaden as the squad pours out of the door above, thundering by as they run down the steps. “Get them out of here!”

”Let’s go!” Dain shouts. “Now!”

“Lieutenant Sorrengail,” Xaden addresses firmly, practically snarling at Mira. “Even if you don’t trust me, I’m the best weapon you have,”

“If what you say is true, then you’re also the best weapon Genevieve has, and gods only know what Genevieve might do if Violet gets hurt. As much as I don’t trust either of you, you’ve kept her alive this far and you need to keep her alive now. The other half of the squad will be here in moments, we have time. Go.” Mira’s eyes shift to Genevieve. “Violet will follow you if you go.”

Xaden grumbles, grabbing Genevieve by the wrist and motioning for Liam to do the same to Violet. He’s practically tossed her up on his shoulder, as Violet struggles against his grip.

“No!” She fights, but there’s no point, Liam outmatches her by so much. “Mira! What if you get hurt? Astrape’s speed could be the only thing that saves you. Tairn’s speed could save you! At least let us stay!”

She looks over her shoulder at the doorway, but there’s steel in her expression. “You want me to trust you, Hale? Get her the fuck out of here and find a way for her to keep her seat. We both know she’s dead if she doesn’t.”

“Mira!” She screams, clawing at Liam’s arms, but he’s already halfway down the stairs with an arm clamped around her waist as if she weighs less than the swords on his backs. “I love you!”

“Liam, let us go grab our packs. She can’t run while I watch.” Genevieve says, following quickly in step behind Xaden’s long strides. It takes only minutes for Genevieve and Violet to grab their bags and Rhiannon’s since they’ve never unpacked, cramming their cloaks into the empty space. Once they return to the hallway, Xaden and Liam are there waiting, and their packs are suspiciously empty.

Genevieve doesn’t even want to think about what they’re leaving behind in order to get them out safely.

Violet doesn’t even bother looking at them, marching for the door, but Genevieve grabs her elbow and spins her around. “Nope. We can’t leave the fortress walls. We’re going up.” Liam grabs her waist and all but hauls her to the nearest turret. “We’re climbing.”

“This is bullshit!” Violet yells at Genevieve, uncaring that the other members of the squad also climbing the turret can hear. “Astrape could help them!”

“Violet, your sister is right. You have to make it out, so we’re going. Please just climb.”

“Dain,” Violet says, realizing he’s right in front of them.

He turns around and takes Rhiannon’s pack, slinging it over his own. “I don’t like Genevieve all that much, but she’s right. It’s not just you we have to get out, Violet. Think of every other first-year.” The plea in his eyes shuts Violet’s mouth. “Are you going to sentence an entire untrained squad to death? Because I’ll make it. Dianna, Emery, and Heaton will, too. And we all fucking know Riorson will. But what about Rhiannon? Ridoc? Sawyer? Genevieve? Do you want her death on your hands?” He asks, his words choppy as they race to the open door.

They burst onto the roof as Emery mounts his dragon, who is precariously perched on the thinner-than-quadrant wall. Violet pales, and Genevieve knows that she will never be able to mount Astrape at this angle.

“Ridoc and Quinn are already in the air,” Liam tells them as Emery launches skyward, where Cath, Astrape, and Deigh hover, their winds beating the air.

“Violet can’t mount at this angle!” Genevieve whispers harshly to Liam. “Get her up on that dragon!”

He nods, pulling Violet in towards her, his hand cupping his head as he gives her a quick kiss, before lifting her up for Astrape to grab. She’s fighting the whole way up. The rest of the squad is in the air and safe. Genevieve can fight. But they won’t let her.

Liam goes to mount next, crumbling the masonry with the force of Deigh’s landing, and Liam takes off down the narrow walkway toward the large Red Daggertail.

“You next, Aetos,” Xaden barks, and Dain flicks his eyes to Geneveive.

“Gene-” He starts to argue.

“That’s an order.” There’s no room for argument here in that tone, and Geneveive knows it, especially when Cath takes Deigh’s place on the wall. Dain looks like he might fight, but ultimately he nods, turning to Xaden.

“Get Genevieve in the air as soon as Tairn arrives.” He says firmly.

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Xaden says, his words firm. “Now get on your dragons so I can get her on hers.”

Immediately, he turns and runs up Cath’s leg, mounting so easily that Genevieve is almost jealous.

“Where are you?” Genevieve calls out to Tairn, seeing the empty skies above her.

“Almost there. I was doing what could be done.”

“Let me stay and fight,” Genevieve says to Xaden, desperation evident in her every word.

Xaden turns sharply at her words, his eyes dark and stormy, stepping closer until Genevieve can feel the heat radiating from him. “You can’t stay,” he growls, his voice thick with frustration and something deeper— something raw that he’s been holding back.

“I’m not running away,” She snaps, her fists clenched tight at her sides, fighting against the pull in her chest, the one that keeps dragging her back to him.

“Damn it, Gen!” He grabs her shoulders, the force of his grip sending a jolt through her. His face is so close now that she can see the tension in his jaw, a battle raging in his eyes. “If you stay, you might die. And I can’t—” He cuts himself off, the unspoken words hanging between them.

Genevieve freezes, her breath catching in her throat. She’s fought her entire life. Fought for survival, for vengeance, for a reason to keep going. But this—this feeling tearing through her, the one he’s igniting—it’s different. She’s never let herself feel it before. It’s terrifying.

“I’m not leaving you,” she whispers, the words slipping out unbidden, her voice breaking with emotions she can barely hold back.

Xaden’s expression shifts, the anger in his eyes softening for just a moment, replaced by something fierce, something vulnerable. He steps closer, and before she can say anything else, his lips crash against hers, hard and desperate. The kiss is searing, full of everything he’s never said, everything they’ve both been holding back. It’s a demand, a plea, and a promise all at once.

Genevieve’s hands fly to his chest, her fingers curling into the fabric of his jacket as she kisses him back with the same intensity, her heart pounding wildly. She can feel the tension in his body, the barely controlled restraint in the way he pulls her closer, as if he’s afraid to let her go. Her entire world narrows to this moment, to the feel of him, the taste of him, the way he’s pouring every emotion into this one kiss.

It’s like he’s trying to memorize her, to burn the memory of her into his soul. And she feels it too—that same desperate need to stay with him, to fight beside him, no matter the danger.

But even through the heat of the kiss, there’s something else. Something that trembles beneath the passion: fear. Not just hers—his. She can feel it in the way he holds her so tightly, in the way his breath hitches as he pulls away, just barely, their foreheads still pressed together. His hands remains on her, fingers digging into her shoulders like he’s fighting himself, fighting the urge to tell her to stay.

“I don’t want you to leave,” he murmurs, his voice rough and low, so quiet she almost doesn't hear it over the rush of wind and the distant roar of dragons. His forehead is still pressed against hers, his breath coming fast, the admission barely escaping him.

Her heart twists painfully at his words. Xaden—the leader, the warrior, the one who’s always in control—is admitting something she never thought she’d hear. The weight of it crashes into her, and for a moment, all she wants to do is throw caution to the wind and stay. To fight by his side, consequences be damned.

But they both know the truth. If she stays, she’ll only put everyone else at risk. Including him.

His lips brush hers again, softer this time, lingering for a heartbeat longer than before, as if he’s reluctant to let her go. “But you have to,” he whispers, his hands slide down her arms, reluctantly releasing her, but not before he presses one last kiss against her forehead.

Genevieve bites her lip, fighting back the tears that threaten to spill over. She hates it—hates that she has to leave him behind. But she knows, deep down, that if she doesn’t go, she’ll only make things worse.

Tairn’s presence thundered into her mind, a surge of power. “I’m here,” the dragon rumbles, his wings beating the air as he descends towards them.

Xaden steps back, his jaw clenched, watching her with an intensity that makes her chest ache. “Go,” he says, his voice hoarse, filled with an emotion he won’t let himself fully show.

With one last, longing look, Genevieve turns and runs toward Tairn, her heart breaking with every step. As she vaults onto the dragon’s back, she glances over her shoulder, locking eyes with Xaden one final time.

She doesn’t need words to know what he’s thinking—what he’s feeling. It’s written all over his face, in the way his hands are still clenched at his sides, in the way he watches her as though he’s afraid this will be the last time, even though they both know he will survive.

And as Tairn takes to the skies, lifting her higher and higher into the air, Genevieve swears she can still feel the imprint of his lips on hers, the weight of his unspoken words settling deep in her chest.

She doesn’t want to leave him. But she has to survive—for both of them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hey everyone! whats up? I'm unbelievably excited for the next chapter-omg. This chapter was chill, but I don't think it was particularly empty, you know?

i actually am very excited for chapters like 23, 24, 25 to be published because thats when more about quinn and genevieve's backstory gets revealed and its been so much fun to write.

also i have an extreme obession with kit connor in romeo + juliet, truly the only man i've ever been attracted to (thats a blatant lie-sorry to my ex boyfriends if you ever read this)

anyways, thats it! let me know if you liked it, and if you did leave a like, comment or kudo! see you all on saturday!

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taglist: @awkardnerd , @hannraumari , @minjix

#violet sorrengail #fourth wing #fourth wing imagine #fourth wing x reader #fourth wing xaden #liam mairi #xaden and sgaeyl #xaden riorson #xaden riorson x reader #garrick tavis x reader #the empyrean #the wounded healer

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