Page 115 of The Endless Want

“Promise you’ll stay behind cover. Do what the lieutenant says. Don’t improvise.” His voice tightens. “And if anything feels off—anything at all—you walk. You pull back. You run.”

The way he says run makes my throat tighten. He’s not imagining me bolting from danger. He’s imagining losing me. Losing us. I swallow. “I know what I’m doing.”

“I know you do.” His voice cracks on the edge of restraint. “That’s what scares me.”

Something in my chest shatters—quietly, deeply. But I can’t fall apart now. Not in front of him. Not when I finally feel strong again.

Mackenzie clears her throat gently. “We should go. Italians don’t like to wait.”

Nadia steps forward and pulls me into a quick hug. “Be safe. And if that’s Dara… we’ll handle it. Together.”

I squeeze her back. “We will.”

Declan still hasn’t moved. He watches me like the world is tilting. Like he’s trying not to chase after me, drag me into a locked room, and keep me there until the war is over.

I step toward him anyway.

He doesn’t expect it—not the proximity, not the suddenness. I look up into his eyes, see the worry cracked open raw beneath the anger, and I lean in without thinking.

Not a desperate kiss. Just… something real.

My lips press softly to his—light, warm, honest. His breath catches. His hand rises halfway, as if he wants to cradle my face but isn’t sure if he should. When I pull back, his eyes are wide. Unsteady. Almost wrecked.

“That wasn’t goodbye,” I whisper. “That was… later.”

He swallows hard, throat working visibly, but he doesn’t chase the kiss. He lets me go. He trusts me enough to. Or maybe he’s learning to.

Mackenzie gestures for me to follow, and I start down the hall. My heart is pounding—not with fear, but with something like hope. Something like belonging. Something like—for the first time in a long time—coming home to myself.

Before we turn the corner, I glance back. Declan is still standing where I left him, watching me like I’ve taken the only piece of him that was ever unbreakable.

When our eyes meet one last time, he doesn’t speak. He only nods.

I turn, lift my chin, and head toward whatever waits next.

The hallway outside the war room feels colder than it should, like the air hasn’t caught up with the decision I just made. Mackenzie keeps pace beside me, her stride long and sure, the way of someone who has lived through enough chaos to carry calm like armor. I match her step for step, trying to let the rhythm settle my nerves.

“That kiss was brave,” she says quietly, not looking at me.

I huff out a breath. “It was… necessary.”

“Still brave,” she repeats, and her mouth flicks into a faint grin. “He almost died on the spot, though.”

“Don’t tease me.”

“I’m not teasing. I’m saying: that man is whipped. Utterly, devastatingly whipped.”

I feel heat rise in my face, but it’s not embarrassment—it’s something softer, something afraid to claim itself but finally ready to try.

“He’s scared,” I murmur.

Mackenzie gives a thoughtful hum. “Maybe. But he’s also choosing you anyway. That’s the difference.”

I don’t respond because I can’t trust my voice. The elevator doors open, and we step inside. I rest my hand on the rail as the doors slide shut with a metallic sigh.

For a moment, everything is quiet.

Then the elevator begins to descend, and my stomach follows.