Chapter 108: Ashlight Between Shadows and Smoke - Kissed Truth
Late afternoon light filtered through the canopy above, fractured gold trailing across their path like a broken promise.
They didn't speak while they packed.
Silence, in the aftermath of Ezra's appearance, felt not like peace but something brittle. It stretched tight between them — thin as glass, thick as blood. Selene moved with that military grace that came from years of surviving things you weren't meant to. Her hands were steady, but her jaw was tight. She didn't waste a movement. Didn't let herself feel.
Aria moved differently.
Slower. Calmer. Like stillness wasn't weakness but awareness. Her fingers brushed each item before folding it, smoothing each edge like it mattered. Like she was making sense of a space already lost. The room still smelled faintly of garlic and old tea, but the warmth had long since drained out.
Selene's hand brushed the bedframe and paused.
Ezra's voice echoed — not loud, but heavy. The kind of calm that always hid teeth. She could still see the way he looked at Aria. The way he dissected her with his gaze like he knew exactly what she meant to Selene.
"I should've seen it sooner," Selene muttered.
"You did." Aria's voice was soft, but steady. She was standing near the window, tugging the blinds halfway down. "You just didn't know it was him."
Selene turned. Stared.
"You believe me."
Aria didn't blink. "Always."
The word hit harder than it should have.
People said things like that all the time — always, forever, no matter what — and they rarely meant it. But Aria's voice didn't waver. She didn't look away. She meant it.
Selene wasn't sure what to do with that kind of faith. So she nodded.
And kept packing.
Their gear had been prepped in theory —emergency packs tucked under the couch, medkits stashed near the bathroom, knives and ammo in decorative boxes. But this wasn't a drill. This wasn't a plan they made while half-laughing over burned soup and cold showers. This was now. Ezra had appeared, and everything old and ugly had surfaced with him.
"East?" Aria asked, tying her hair back with a black ribbon that looked like it had once been part of a dress.
"Neither," Selene said. "We go dark. North woods, past Mid - Rise. There's an old drainage complex no one remembers anymore. Dry, hard to track, and off - grid."
Aria nodded once. "You know the way?"
"I memorized it before we moved in."
"Didn't think we'd need it this soon?"
"Didn't think we'd need it at all."
At the door, they paused.
The apartment smelled like memory — rain through the cracked bathroom window, soap and steam, the faintest trace of cinnamon from a packet Aria had hoarded for weeks just to surprise Selene.
Aria looked back. "Leave it?"
Selene stared for a moment.
The furniture wasn't much. The walls were water-stained. But it had been theirs. A rare, soft thing in a world built on rust and blood.
"Leave it," she said.
They locked the door behind them. Not because it would stop anyone — but because some things still deserved the dignity of a goodbye.
The city was quieter than expected.
Not dead. Just… waiting. As if the world had drawn in a breath and hadn't exhaled yet.
Their footsteps didn't echo. Selene adjusted her stride to match Aria's. They moved like shadows pressed to pavement — fluid, synchronized, and alert.
No helicopters. No gunshots. Not even the distant hum of power.
Just the occasional whisper of wind through gutted alleyways and the sharp scent of metal and moss where pipes had ruptured long ago.
Selene scanned rooftops. Windows. Drainage grates. Every reflective surface could be a scope. Every turn could be a trap. Ezra hadn't said he was alone. He hadn't said he wasn't, either.
She hated that part most. Not knowing.
They passed through three forgotten districts before the skyline thinned, crumbling buildings giving way to trees. Ivy clung to sagging balconies. Ferns curled around rusted car frames. Nature had begun reclaiming this stretch of the city, and it welcomed them with stillness.
It wasn't quiet.
Just muffled.
Like even the birds didn't want to be noticed.
They crossed the eastern drainage line just before sundown. The air cooled. Everything smelled like damp earth and moss - covered stone. Trees arched overhead, heavy - limbed and watchful. Roots jutted from the soil like ribs.
Here, even their breath felt loud.
"Should we rest before dark?" Aria asked.
Selene shook her head. "Not yet. I want distance."
"I can keep up."
Selene glanced sideways. "I know you can."
They found the structure just past a broken culvert. Concrete half - sunk into the slope, swallowed by ivy and time. It looked like a forgotten bunker. Or the kind of place nightmares liked to live. But Selene had found it years ago and kept the memory sharp, just in case.
Just in case had arrived.
The air inside was colder. Drier. It smelled like dust and wet stone, but not mold. No footprints. No signs of recent activity.
Safe.
For now.
Selene set traps. Aria rolled out blankets. No one spoke until the tripwire was in place and the entrance covered with a weave of wire and broken razor line.
Only then did Selene allow herself to sit.
Back pressed to stone. Legs stretched out. Tension in her shoulders refusing to let go.
Aria joined her a moment later. Wordlessly wrapped a blanket around both of them. Her warmth settled beside Selene like a quiet truth.
They sat in silence.
But this time, it wasn't sharp.
It wasn't uncomfortable.
Selene's head tilted slightly. Aria's curls brushed her shoulder. It wasn't a lean. It was permission.
Selene exhaled.
"He always smiled when he lied," she said softly.
Aria didn't answer. Just listened.
"When we worked together… I didn't notice it at first. Ezra was good. Calm. Always one step behind me — but never off. I thought he had my back. I thought we made sense."
She swallowed. Looked at her hands.
"But when things got messy… he smiled. Like it gave him permission. Like pain was a joke he got and no one else did."
Aria's voice came gently. "He smiled at the door."
Selene nodded.
And let that truth settle.
"He was important to you?" Aria asked. Not accusing. Just asking. Curious in that careful, deliberate way she always was when peeling Selene open.
Selene hesitated.
Then: "He was safe. For a while. Before everything cracked open."
"Did you love him?"
"No." The answer was too quick. But true. "I trusted him. I leaned on him. But I didn't love him. I wasn't… I didn't know how to love someone. Not back then."
Aria nodded slowly. "But you do now."
It wasn't a question.
Selene turned toward her. The barest smile at the corner of her lips. "I'm learning."
Their eyes met.
Not heated. Not teasing. Just honest.
"You don't have to prove anything to me," Aria whispered. "Or to him. You're allowed to change."
"Even if it makes me vulnerable?"
"Especially then."
Selene let that sit.
Then her hand shifted, fingers sliding to interlace with Aria's. Their hands folded together in the dark like they'd always belonged there.
Later — after the cold had settled into the stone and sleep hovered just out of reach — Selene spoke again.
"If he comes back…"
"He will."
"If he tries something — if he gets close to you —"
"We stop him."
Selene turned fully. Her voice low. "You'd fight him?"
Aria's gaze was unwavering. "I'd bleed for you," she said simply. "But I'd rather make him bleed first."
Selene didn't flinch.
She blinked.
Then she smiled — slow, almost shy.
It wasn't armor.
It wasn't teeth.
It was real.
Aria leaned in. Her lips brushed Selene's — soft, deliberate.
Not desperate.
Not urgent.
Just… certain.
Like punctuation at the end of a sentence Selene finally meant to write.