Reluctant to let her apart from him, Rhett holds Neva tightly in his arms.
He feels her trembling, so he kisses the side of her head comfortingly.
"Are you hurt?" he asks.
Neva shakes her head. "No."
"I thought I lost you again," Rhett breathes erratically, his voice breaking.
Neva only whimpers, tightening her arms around his neck.
They stay still for only a moment.
Then Neva pulls away, making him lower her feet on the ground.
Her eyes are glassy, cheeks tear–stained, her ips puckered.
His eyes soften, his fast beating heart—buttery and thawing.
He leans down... Then she leans...
Velvet lips meet, and they are melting.
Slow and passionate, they share a longing kiss.
Rhett is embraced by Neva tightly, and fully again.
And he gladly allow himself this blessing.
His heart races as he buries his face in the crook of her neck, lost in her warmth, inhaling her familiar scent—of sweet roses.
His Neva is here, in the flesh.
One with him.
And he prays for approval to let this moment stop.
A world where they can forever be close; a leisure where he can only focus on her.
Blind the minds. Put out the world.
Live with her in the safe.
Live with her in the never–ending light.
Then his cold stare fixes at Raka, standing motionless in a distant.
His face darkens.
Rhett reaches behind, fingers curling around the Beretta 92FS.
A quick flip of his finger snaps the safety off.
The hammer's already back—smooth, silent, deadly.
He raises the weapon, eyes locked on Ishmael.
No tremor, no hesitation.
But Ishmael just stands there.
Staring at them.
Not a muscle spasms in his face, even as Rhett's gory eyes lock on him.
Even as an arm extends, steady, a gun aimed directly at his head.
Rhett's index finger curls around the trigger.
"He said, I could get my memories back," Neva's muffled words breaks through the silence.
"Who?"
"Jeriah."
He creases his brows, eyes narrowing.
Neva pulls away and fastens their eyes, steady and certain.
The pistol now hangs by his side. And she hasn't yet noticed the weapon in his hand.
"Jeriah. He's the one who took both me and Ishmael to Miraeth." Her voice is edged and hurried.
Rhett frowns, his grip tightening around the gun.
"I know it's hard to believe—"
Neva doesn't finish her sentence. A car zooms toward them. He turns and spots a black Wrangler Jeep charging ahead.
Screeching tires slice the air as the vehicle halts ten feet from the Aston Martin
"I know it's hard to believe—"
But Neva's words cut short as the distant roar of an engine zooms in.
Rhett turns and spots a black Wrangler jeep charging ahead.
Screeching tyres slice the air as the vehicles halts ten feet away from the Aston Martin.
Sky steps out, immediately aiming a Sig Sauer P320 at Ishmael.
But Ishmael's bottomless eyes stay locked on Neva, prompting Rhett to put an arm over her and lead her behind him—shielding her.
"Put your hands up!"
Ishmael doesn't heed her.
Sky grits her teeth and lifts the gun over her head.
A loud bang echoes through the air.
Neva lets out a small yelp, clutching onto Rhett's jacket.
Silhouettes of birds scatter from the woods.
The faint smoke rises from the muzzle.
Sky points the pistol at Ishmael again.
"It's over, Raka.
Put your hands above your head."
Ishmael clenches his jaw.
"Get in the car." Rhett says.
"Rhett, don't—" "Get in the car, Neva." His tone comes out slightly harsher.
"There's a wildfire. An evacuation notice has been issued." He clears, his voice now gentle.
Neva's face turns ashen.
Sky's strides toward Ishmael are methodical, delineating—
blue cat eyes, calculating and cautious.
Neva hears it now, over her own loud, ragged breaths—faint in her ear, the distant wail of ambulances, and the harsher wind that blows in the smoke,
thick and persistent, carrying the wildfire's breath even closer.
"Neva," Ishmael's wounded voice pulls her out of her haze.
She glances at him.
An abandoned man.
Weary, standing alone on the road.
Pity grips her chest, empathy tightening like a fist.
Rhett takes aim.
Ishmael stands, unrelenting, as Sky and Rhett corner him from both sides.
And the more this moment stretches—grinding slower, longer—the more Neva feels a conflict rise inside her...
His eyes—dimmed and abandoned.
For she knows the dream a realism.
Still, this parallel of world run her over like rogue waves.
Before Neva realises, the andrenaline rush blistering her mind.
She's already infront of Rhett.
His confused gaze drops to her hands—clasped over his, steadying the pistol.
"You can't hurt him," she says, and watches as the faint glint in his eyes begins to shift, molding into something else.
"I'm going to Miraeth. Only Ishmael can lead me there." She says, her voice stern.
And in that moment, she makes up her mind.
She won't dare break Jeriah's responsibility on her; wouldn't dare defy the Lord's purpose for her.
Rhett's frown deepens.
"What are you saying, Angel?"
"You wouldn't understand." She gently guides his hand down, lowering the gun.
Then, she turns to Ishmael. "I want you to take me to Miraeth."
Ishmael's slouched shoulders lift slightly.
His mouth opens—about to respond—but closes again, silent.
"Tell me, Ishmael—" Neva is cut off as Rhett grips her arm, turning her to face him.
"What has he done to you? Do you even hear yourself?"
He searches her eyes, trying to make sense of it all.
Speculating—wondering if she's been coerced, restrained… twisted by Ishmael's influence.
"I'm bound to a divine purpose, Rhett."
Neva's chin trembles.
"I'm afraid to rebel against it."
These details offer Rhett no clarity at all. And still, he knows it—she's burdened.
For she lowers her head; deliberating for the right words. A battle of adeptness to illustrate in her mind; against the hopelessness that he cannot name.
"I believe you." Rhett says.
Neva's eyes round slightly.
"Whatever this purpose of yours is," Rhett says gently, "I'll assist you. Even to the depths of the world.
Wherever you go, I follow."
He offers a small, airy smile at her tightened, downturned lips.
Tears begin to gather—waterworks rising in her warm cocoa eyes.
A choked sob escapes her lips as she suddenly throws her arms around him.
Rhett exhales, soft and slow. His arms come up to hold her, grounding them both in warmth.
He then turns to gaze at Sky.
She raises a brow, a shoulder lifting in question—waiting for an order.
"Not today," Rhett says.
Sky stares at him like he's lost his grip on reality. Her brows knit together, voice sharp.
"He's a criminal, Czar."
Rhett doesn't respond right away. His eyes drop as he rubs gentle circles across Neva's trembling back.
A storm raging inside him—duty clashing with something far deeper, far intense.
"I... I was afraid you'd let me go alone with him," Neva whispers, voice barely audible through her sobs.
"I could never." He coldly says.
"Jeriah said the pandemic was just the beginning.
And I had already forseen this wildfire."
Rhett doesn't say anything.
"Where are the kids?" She asks.
"At home. Come on, we're supposed to leave now."
"What day is it?"
"21st October."
Neva pulls away from him, eyes slightly enlarged in disbelief. "So I've been away for less than a day?"