The chopper blades had barely stopped spinning when my boots hit the rooftop.
The cold night air hit me like a slap—fresh, sharp, real. The city below glittered like nothing had happened, like no guns had been drawn, no hostages taken, no lives nearly ruined. But I wasn't fooled.
Everything had changed.
Anthony led the way, silent for once, the Hawaiian shirt fluttering slightly beneath his tactical vest. We moved across the rooftop, down a private stairwell, and through the reinforced elevator doors that led back into the sanctum we called home.
The apartment was warm. Soft lights hummed. The familiar scent of Camille's overpriced candles hung in the air—lavender and woodsmoke. Something comforting. Safe.
A lie I wanted so badly to believe.
Camille stood by the counter, arms crossed tightly, chest rising and falling too quickly. Her eyes met mine with a surge of emotion—relief, frustration, fear—but she didn't speak.
Alexis was pacing, her tablet gripped in one hand, the other tugging at her hair. She stopped when she saw us. "Is she—?"
Sienna was behind me, walking slowly but on her own. Camille moved first, arms wrapping tight around her. Alexis followed. There were whispers, half-sobbed apologies, promises, kisses on the forehead.
I lingered by the door.
"Hold her," I said quietly. "Please."
Alexis blinked at me. "Rey—?"
But I was already turning away.
Anthony followed me to the balcony. He didn't need to be told. He knew. We needed air. We needed distance.
The door shut behind us. The city stretched before us, the balcony bathed in a silver glow from the skyline and the moon overhead. For a second, I just stood there. Silent.
Then I gripped the railing hard enough for the metal to groan.
Anthony leaned against the glass wall. "Hell of a night."
He tried again. "You know, I always figured your presidential campaign would include a few explosions, but this is moving fast even for you."
Anthony's smirk faltered. He looked over. Really looked.
My jaw was tight. Shoulders tense. Every breath sharp.
I finally turned to him. Voice low. Measured. But every syllable burned.
Anthony blinked. "Everything on what?"
"The current World President. His factions. Allies. Plans. Everything. I want files, footage, intercepts, whispers. I want to know who he bribes, who he fears, who he sleeps with. I want his blood type, his shoe size, the way his mother looked at him when he cried."
Anthony straightened, no more jokes.
"Understood, boss," he said. "You want to take him down?"
"No," I said, eyes still locked on the skyline. "I want to win."
"Okay," Anthony said carefully, "then what is this really about?"
I turned to him fully now.
Mark telling me to join him in ruling the world.
Connor hurting Sienna.
The smug look in that bastard's eyes like he owned me, like he understood me.
"I'm tired," I said. "Tired of being manipulated. Studied. Chosen. Rejected. Praised. Feared. Used."
Anthony said nothing.
"From the start, I've been the question. A mystery. An anomaly. Something to solve. Something to control. Mark thinks I should conquer the world with him. Connor thinks I should conquer it for them. And every goddamn faction I touch thinks they can shape me."
My hands were shaking now.
"I'm not a weapon. I'm not a symbol. I'm not your prophecy, your enemy, or your toy. I'm me. And I'm done passively playing their stupid game."
The wind caught my coat, flaring it around me. The city was too quiet. Too still. Like it was listening.
Anthony ran a hand through his curls. "You know I'll back you. But this is heavy. And fast."
"I don't care," I snapped. "I'm done reacting. I'm done waiting."
"I want to move first."
He nodded slowly, then hesitated. "And NovaCore?"
I exhaled. "What do we have?"
Anthony leaned back against the glass again. "Progress. But it's getting harder. The deeper we go, the more encrypted it becomes. Most of the people connected to it are dead. Records scrubbed. The company officially collapsed more than ten years ago, but there's still activity in black-market contracts and ghost subsidiaries."
"Finish it," I said. "Whatever's left of NovaCore, I want to know. Down to its last breath."
"You think they're involved with Connor?"
"I think they're involved with everything," I growled. "Including me. Maybe even Mark and the current World President. It all smells the same. Secrets. Silence. Power hidden behind smiling faces and blank documents."
Anthony gave me a long, measuring look.
He stepped away from the glass, left the apartment and disappeared into the night, back to wherever his home is. No more smirks. No more games.
I stood there for a few more minutes. Let the wind cool the fire under my skin. Let the fury burn itself quiet.
When I was steady again, I turned and opened the door.
Inside, it was warmer now. A little quieter. The girls were on the couch—Sienna tucked between Camille and Alexis, wrapped in the oversized throw blanket she always loved.
I walked over. Sat beside her.
She was crying silently, shoulders trembling against me.
She buried her face into my shoulder and didn't move.
Camille stroked her back. Alexis watched me, uncertain, her eyes searching mine for answers I didn't have.
I wrapped my arm around Sienna. Held her like she was made of something fragile and irreplaceable.
I looked at them all—Sienna, Camille, Alexis.
Everything I had left that was mine.
The war could come. The world could burn.
But I wasn't going to lose them.
I looked at each of them in turn.
Then said, voice low, quiet, absolute:
"I promise you. No one—no one—will ever touch you again. Not while I breathe. Not while I'm standing."
Sienna clutched me tighter.
Camille nodded once, her lips trembling.
Alexis closed her eyes, just for a second, then opened them again—fierce. Ready.
The fire was still there.
But now it had a direction.
And I was done waiting to be played.
I was going to end the game. On my terms.
And I'd make sure these damn bastards would remember exactly who I was.