Vane didn't say anything. He couldn't. The sheer, desperate force of her demand stole the air from his lungs.

He looked at her, this magnificent, terrifying woman standing on the edge of oblivion, demanding to go out like a supernova rather than a fading ember. Denying her would be the only true betrayal.

He nodded, a jerky movement, and took her hand. Her grip was crushing, the hand of a warrior in her prime, burning with a borrowed fire that was already starting to flicker.

He led her off the cold balcony and back into the dim triage ward. The heavy metal door clanged shut behind them with finality, sealing them inside the concrete box that had been their entire world for weeks. The sound cut off the wind outside, leaving a sudden, heavy silence in its wake.

It was quieter in here, the fog muffled. The single bulb hanging from the ceiling cast long, swaying shadows that made the rows of empty cots look like waiting graves.

They stopped in the center of the room, by the cot where he had watched her slowly decay. It looked different now. It wasn't a deathbed anymore. It was just a narrow space in the dark.

Senna turned to face him. In the poor light, the shadows hollowed out her features, making her look fierce and ancient, a goddess of war enjoying her final night on earth before returning to the underworld.

"Don't look so terrified, rat," she whispered, her voice thick with an emotion she refused to name. A faint tremor ran through her hand where it held his. "It's just one last drill."

"I'm not terrified," Vane lied, his voice rough as granite. He stepped closer, invading her personal space until he could feel the radiant heat coming off her skin. "I just... I spent a month watching you die in this room. Seeing you stand here, whole... I don't want to blink in case you disappear."

She reached up, her hands framing his face. Her palms were hot, calloused from the spear. She looked at him, not with the cynical assessment of a mentor, but with the raw hunger of a woman who knew exactly how many heartbeats she had left.

"I'm right here, Vane. For now." Her thumbs traced his jawline, a surprisingly gentle touch. "Kiss me. Before I remember I'm supposed to be your superior officer and throw you in the brig."

Vane didn't hesitate. He closed the gap, wrapping his arms around her powerful shoulders, pulling her against him.

He kissed her.

It wasn't gentle. It was a collision. It tasted of cheap whiskey and ozone and five weeks of repressed desperation. She kissed him back with the same ferocious intensity she brought to the spear, her hands tangling in his hair, pulling him down to her level.

It was a fight for dominance, a clash of two stubborn wills finally breaking against each other. Vane met her intensity, his own desperation rising to match hers. This was the woman who had broken him down and rebuilt him. This was the general who should have led armies, now reduced to fighting a rearguard action in a forgotten room with only a thief for company.

He wanted to memorize the taste of her, the feel of her strength under his hands, before it turned back into ash at sunrise.

They stumbled backward until the backs of their legs hit the cot. They didn't stop. Their hands moved frantically, tearing at jackets and shirts, shedding the ruined uniforms of the Academy that had failed them both. Buttons popped, fabric tore; it didn't matter. They were stripping away the roles, parasite and host, student and teacher, until there was nothing left but skin and heat.

They fell onto the narrow cot, the metal springs screaming in protest under their combined weight. The room, the fog, the ticking clock.. it all receded. There was only the frantic rhythm of their breathing, the slick heat of sweat, and the desperate need to connect, to fuse themselves together before the connection was severed forever.

Vane met her eyes one last time in the dim light, hovering over her. Her obsidian eyes were wide, vulnerable, and completely open to him. There were no more walls between them. No more lies. Just two people on the edge of a cliff, deciding to jump together.

"Take it," she commanded breathlessly, arching up to meet him. "Take everything."

And then the darkness took them.

Later.

The room was silent again, save for the sound of their slowing breath. The air was thick with heat and the scent of their coupling.

Vane lay on his back, staring at the cracked ceiling, his arm draped over Senna's waist. She was curled against his side, her head resting heavily on his chest, her powerful body finally still.

She felt incredibly warm. Solid. Real. Her heartbeat against his ribs was strong, a steady drumbeat that defied the fate waiting for her outside this room. For a few beautiful minutes, he allowed himself to forget the pact. He was just a man holding a woman he respected more than anyone else alive.

She shifted slightly, her lips brushing his skin as she mumbled into his chest. "Did you get it, rat?"

Vane stroked her hair, his eyes burning. "Yeah. I got it."

"Good," she sighed, her body going completely lax as sleep pulled her under. "Don't... waste it."

Those were the last words he heard in the room.

Because then, it happened.

It didn't start with pain. It started with a sound.

A low, resonant hum began in the center of his chest, vibrating through his sternum, deeper than his own heartbeat. It was a sound he knew, but louder than ever before. It was the sound of his soul waking up and realizing the door wasn't just ajar, it had been kicked off its hinges.

Authority Active: [Usurper]

Condition Met: Deep Physical & Emotional Resonance.

Target Acquired: Senna Valerius (Expert, SS-Rank Authority).

Initiating Conceptual Transfer...

Vane stiffened. The warmth of Senna's skin against his suddenly felt scorching hot, then freezing cold.

"Senna?" he whispered, panic spiking.

She didn't answer. She was gone, deep in the sleep of exhaustion, her guard completely, finally down.

The hum grew louder, a roaring in his ears that drowned out the room. Vane's vision began to swim. The shadows in the corners of the ward seemed to stretch, warping, pulling away from the walls.

The air grew freezing cold. The smell of sex and warmth vanished instantly, replaced by the suffocating stench of ancient dust, copper blood, and thick, rotting ozone.

The ceiling above him dissolved into oppressive darkness.

'No,' Vane thought, trying to move, trying to wake her up to stop it. 'Not yet. I just want a minute. Just let me hold her for a minute.'

The Usurper didn't care about what he wanted. The pact was sealed in sweat and blood. The debt was due.

The world tilted violently on its axis. The warmth of the bed was ripped away as if he'd been plunged into ice water.

Vane wasn't in the ward anymore.

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