The morning crept in like a whispered secret — pale light seeping through the cracks in the boarded window, soft and gray like smoke before a fire. Ash stirred first. She didn't open her eyes immediately. For once, there was no jolt of panic, no cold sweat, no ghost clawing at her chest.
Just warmth.
She was still curled up against Haru, her head resting lightly on his shoulder, his hand resting — not holding, not gripping — but resting over her back like he was afraid to disturb something sacred.
Ash hadn't meant to fall asleep beside him.
And she definitely hadn't meant to stay.
She lifted her head slowly, blinking at the faint light bleeding into the small cabin. Haru's eyes were closed. His face, in rest, looked softer. The sharpness melted into something nearly innocent — like the boy he could've been, if life had offered mercy instead of scars.
But life didn't offer mercy.
Not to either of them.
Ash eased away, careful not to wake him. She didn't need the awkward silence. Didn't want him to see the confusion twisting inside her — not about the kiss, but about everything else it meant.
She didn't regret it.
But she also didn't know how to live with it.
At the sink, she ran cold water over her hands, letting it ground her. Her reflection in the fogged mirror above it was unfamiliar — tired, bruised, a little hollow around the edges… but not alone.
Footsteps behind her. No surprise.
"I can make coffee," Haru said quietly. "It'll taste like regret, but it'll be hot."
Ash didn't turn. "You're not funny."
"I'm a little funny."
She let out a breath — not quite a laugh, but not cold either.
He walked over, careful not to crowd her. Their shoulders were close, but not touching.
"Did I cross a line last night?" he asked.
Ash looked at him in the mirror. "No. I did."
Haru tilted his head. "You sure about that?"
"I kissed you. That wasn't confusion."
"But staying after?" he asked, voice softer. "That was."
She nodded once. "A little."
He accepted that. Didn't push. Just said, "I'll take a little. As long as it's real."
Ash turned toward him. "What if I don't know what real is yet?"
"Then we figure it out," he said simply. "Slow. Quiet. No expectations. No war at our heels."
She scoffed, half-hearted. "There's always war."
"Not in this room. Not today."
She stared at him, long enough that he began to shift. Then, finally — "Okay."
A single word. But from her, it meant everything.
Later that day, the radio crackled.
Jin's voice filtered through the static like a ghost dragged back to life.
"—repeat, Ash, if you're hearing this, do not go back to Sector Nine. Phoenix is compromised. Hollow's reach goes further than we thought. They're hunting survivors. You're on the list."
Ash's hand tightened around the receiver.
"I know I abandoned the plan," Jin's voice continued. "But I didn't abandon you. I'm heading to the Greyline Bridge tonight. If you're alive, meet me there."
The transmission cut.
Ash stared at the silence. It felt too soon, too sharp, too unfinished.
Haru stepped in. "It could be a trap."
"I know."
"But you want to go."
"I have to go."
"Then I'm coming with you."
Ash didn't argue this time. She just nodded, her eyes already distant — the way they always were when strategy began replacing emotion.
"Greyline's three clicks east," she muttered. "If Phoenix is cracked, we're going blind."
"I'll prep the car."
Ash turned to him. "Why are you still doing this?"
Haru's gaze didn't waver. "Because every time I choose you, I come closer to choosing myself."
She didn't know what to say to that.
So she said nothing at all.
The sun had begun to dip by the time they reached the bridge — a rusting structure over a dead riverbed, all steel bones and memory. Shadows pooled beneath the beams. A perfect place to disappear. Or be ambushed.
Ash stepped out first. No visible weapons. But she didn't need them.
She was the weapon.
Haru followed a step behind.
Jin appeared moments later, stepping out from the underpass like a ghost reborn. He looked thinner. Angrier. Alive, but not well.
He saw Ash and stopped in his tracks.
"You came."
"I always do," she said.
He glanced at Haru. "With him?"
"Yes," she said firmly.
Jin's mouth tightened. But he didn't argue.
"The world's on fire," he said. "Again."
Ash looked past him, toward the distant skyline — fractured buildings, smog-covered chaos.
"Then let's make sure we're the ones who decide what burns next."