Reinforce has arrived

The dark night swallows the ink-blue sky.

No stars, no moon shine tonight. Just a vast, suffocating void.

Their absence numbs the heart—too quiet, too final.

Nothing remains. Her senses slip away—like threads unravelling.

Her soul weakens. Her vision swims in blur. The weight of armageddon crashes down, wringing the life from her chest, bleeding her heart dry.

She wishes—desperately—that she could turn back time.

Undo it all.

She saw it. The ruin.

The blood.

The bodies. The brutal truth lands like a blade between her ribs:

She is the reason for this.

All of it.

Now—back in hiding—she crouches low, trembling arms wrapped around the child.

Noah. Noah, who she first met four days ago. The little boy who she adores.

His chest rises and falls beneath her palm—but barely.

So shallow it might vanish any second.

Her hand presses desperately against the open wound, slick with blood.

Her tears fall freely, from her chin onto his pale, numbed face.

The sounds outside are chaos incarnate—gunfire, screaming, explosions splitting the air like thunder.

It's deafening. She can't do it anymore.

She can't—

She wants it to stop.

Why won't it stop?

Her chest tightens with grief.

This nightmare is sinking, burying itself in the grave of truth.

Make it stop.

Please, make it stop! she sobs, a violent sound that tears up from the hollow inside, beeding out every emotion she has left.

All the lives lost tonight…

It didn't have to be this way.

If only she'd surrendered.

If only she'd made herself known when they came for her.

She could've stopped this.

This is her fault.

She should've taken their place.

She should be dead instead.

Can she still prevent more deaths now?

Would they spare Rhett if she gave herself up?

But her legs won't move. Her body shake too violently.

Coward.

She's a coward.

She's the one to blame.

The thought makes her stomach turn.

How is she supposed to live with this?

Rhett fights alone.

He carves through them like judgment, a blade for every innocent lost tonight.

But if they start bombing—if missiles fall from the sky—

He'll have to stand and watch it all burn.

Where is the Navy?

What the hell is taking them so long?!

He had activated the distress beacon the moment he sensed the first warning in the radar—just one tap. A lifeline.

He only hoped the Navy was already within striking range.

Not far out at sea, twin warships breach the curtain of night.

A sudden shift. A new tide.

Reinforcements arrive.

Two armed helicopters launch from the decks, slicing through the air like predators.

They hover over the enemy fleet, weapons locked, shadows cast over steel.

The Navy has arrived.

Order crashes into the chaos.

Rhett exhales.

The weight on his shoulders lifts—only slightly.

Onboard the cruise, the remaining attackers roar in fury.

They break cover and open fire on the skies.

But there's no diplomacy left.

No calls to surrender.

They must pay—with blood—for the blood they've spilled.

"Seems like a full-scale disaster," mutters the warship commander, leaning toward the reinforced glass, surveying the carnage through the observation deck window.

The enemy's attempts are useless. Bullets ping off the helicopters, harmless.

"Fire," he says calmly.

"Roger. Engaging," comes the crisp reply from a soldier.

A flash—

And then thunder.

The warship's cannons roar, fire arcing across the sea.

The enemy vessel explodes in a storm of metal and flame.

The ocean quakes.

Gunfire ricochets through the night, steel versus steel, sky versus sea.

The enemy's attention shifts.

And Rhett moves.

He ditches the empty rifle.

Draws his pistol.

Fresh magazine locked in.

Then he runs—toward her.

---

He drops to his knees beside her, breathless.

For a moment, he only stares—

Into her eyes, wild with fear.

Then down at the boy in her arms.

Noah.

Rhett brings two fingers beneath the boy's nose.

Waits.

Hopes.

A faint exhale leaves his lips. His eyes close, jaw clenched.

Neva tightens her hold, protective and desperate.

"Neva," he says softly, brushing a tear from her cheek. "It's over now. The Navy's here."

"Really?" Her voice is a breath—fragile, trembling.

"Yes. We have to go."

He holsters his gun and gently reaches for Noah.

She lets him go.

He lifts the child in his arms—so light. But his shoulders are heavy.

His chest tight.

Then lays him on the bed with reverent care, as if still hoping he might stir.

Neva frowns. Confused. Alarmed.

"What are you doing?" she asks, pushing herself up, knees weakened, a trembling hand bracing her against the wall to stand.

Rhett steps closer and takes her hand.

"The soldiers will retrieve his body."

"His body?" Her voice cracks. "Are you insane?!"

She tears free, stumbles to the bed.

"How can you say that, Rhett?!"

She bends to lift Noah again.

The blood soaks her hands.

The blood soaks the white sheets, staining them deep crimson.

Rhett reaches out—hand firm on her shoulder.

"Neva, we can't take him."

"He needs help!" she cries, holding the boy tightly to her chest. His cold skin pressed to her warmth. "The Navy—they can save him! They have to!"

Her eyes lock with his. She doesn't see the sorrow buried there. Not yet.

"They can't," Rhett says softly.

She freezes in place.

"Noah's long gone," he repeats, quieter.

"No…" she gasps. "He's still breathing!"

They flinch as another explosion rocks the deck.

Rhett looks at Noah's lifeless form.

He swallows hard.

He bled too much.

"Let him go," he pleads.

"No!" Her voice shatters. Her fingers clutch tighter. "Don't say that!"

He doesn't argue.

Instead, he takes her hand. Gently. Slowly.

Guides her fingers to Noah's wrist.

"Feel it," he says.

She hesitates.

Then she presses her fingertips down.

"No!" Her voice cracks. Her lips quiver. How can he say something so cruel?

Rhett steps forward. Gently, but firmly, he guides her hand to Noah's wrist.

"Feel his pulse," he says.

She swallows hard, then presses her fingers to the boy's skin.

Her stomach drops.

There's nothing.

She pulls away, frantic, touching his forehead, his chest, anywhere.

"Why?" she whispers. "Why isn't it beating?!"

Tears blur her sight. She blinks hard.

She looks into his face—so pale.

So serene. So cold.

"He's so cold," she murmurs, curling herself around his tiny body.

Pressing his still chest to her heart.

She remembers him. Warm. She remembers ruffling his curls.

His gleaming green eyes looking at her—now shut.

The blooming smile on his lips now frowning.

She looks at Rhett again. Her voice raw.

"Do something. Please. Make him breathe."

Rhett stares back—his strength cracking at the seams.

He sees it in her eyes: the final ember of hope.

And it breaks him.

"It's too late," he breathes, and pulls them into his arms.

She crumbles into him, sobbing.

Then—gently—he lifts Noah from her hold.

Lays him back down.

"No," she gasps, reaching again. "We have to take him!"

Rhett grips her wrist—gentle, but unyielding.

"Rhett!" she cries, twisting. Her other hand claws at his, trying to break free.

But she's no match for him.

Not like this. Not now.

She whimpers.

All she can do is look back—at that tiny, lifeless form lying alone on the bed—as Rhett drags her out of the room.