The days that followed the arrest of Johnathan Windsor felt like walking through fog.
The city didn't cheer.
The world didn't pause.
But something had shifted — like the air had finally exhaled after holding its breath for too long.
He was gone.
The king had fallen.
And yet, the battlefield remained full of ash.
---
James was discharged from the hospital three days later.
The wound on his shoulder would heal.
The bruises on his ribs would fade.
But the silence between us? That… stayed.
He didn't speak much.
Not even when I tried.
I found him on the rooftop that night — our rooftop — staring out over London's skyline like it had betrayed him.
"You haven't said a word since we got back," I whispered, stepping beside him.
His eyes didn't leave the horizon.
"I almost died," he said finally. "I almost watched you die."
"I saved you," I replied.
"And you risked everything."
I stepped closer, placing a hand on his chest. "You would've done the same for me."
"That's not the point."
"Then what is?"
He turned sharply, voice raw. "I love you, Amelia. That is the point. And every time you run into fire, I have to pretend I'm okay with it, but I'm not."
I stared at him, stunned.
"I didn't ask you to be okay with it," I said. "I asked you to stand beside me."
"I did."
"And I will do the same — every time. Even if it kills me."
His jaw clenched, pain swimming beneath the surface.
"I've lost everything once," he said. "My mother. My family. I can't lose you too."
The air between us was heavy — not with anger, but fear.
The kind of fear that only comes when you finally realize what you truly have to lose.
I reached up and cupped his face.
"You're not going to lose me," I whispered. "You already saved me once, James. This time, I saved myself. And I came back to you."
His hands closed around my waist.
And finally, finally, he let himself fall — forehead resting against mine, breathing in sync.
"I'm not good at this," he muttered. "Love. Normalcy."
I smiled softly. "Good. Because I don't want normal. I want real."
---
The next morning, the front pages were still blazing.
> "Windsor Arrested for Crimes Against Humanity."
"Sophia Moore's Story Sparks Global Reform."
"Daughter Turned Hero: Amelia Moore Speaks Out."
The world now knew who I was.
Not just a name.
Not just a victim.
But a voice — one loud enough to break glass houses.
---
Later that evening, Sophia knocked on my door.
"I've been asked to testify before the U.N.," she said.
I blinked. "What?"
"They want to hear it all — the Redwood experiments, the corruption, the survivors. It's bigger than we imagined."
I felt a chill.
"So this isn't over?"
Sophia smiled gently. "Truth never ends, Amelia. It echoes."
She reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.
"You made me proud," she said.
And with that, she walked away.
---
That night, I returned to the rooftop, wrapped in one of James's jackets.
He joined me quietly, two mugs of cocoa in hand.
We didn't need words.
Not tonight.
Because after the war…
Sometimes peace is the loudest thing of all.
---