70: The Final Choice
The War Is Over, But the Scars Remain
The night was quiet. Too quiet.
Alexander had spent his entire life listening for threats, waiting for the next strike, the next betrayal, the next death. Now, there was only silence.
His father was dead.
His empire was in ruins.
The world he had spent his whole life fighting against had finally collapsed. And yet, the weight in his chest remained, heavier than ever.
He stood on the rooftop of an abandoned building, the city stretching out before him like a monster waiting to devour them. Bright lights, endless streets, people living their lives unaware of the blood that had been spilled to keep their world turning.
His body ached, every bruise and cut screaming in protest. His ribs were still sore from the fight, and his knuckles were raw, split open from the final battle. But the physical pain was nothing compared to what was clawing at his mind.
The ghosts of his past.
His father's voice still whispered in his head. "You are exactly what I created you to be."
The faces of the dead haunted him—friends, enemies, those caught in the crossfire. No matter how much he wanted to believe it was over, the past would never truly leave him.
And then there was Eve.
She was standing a few feet away, watching him, waiting. She had been through just as much, maybe even more. She had bled for him. Suffered for him. And still, she stayed.
He didn't understand it.
Didn't deserve it.
And yet, she was still here.
What Comes After Survival?
Alexander exhaled slowly, the night air cold against his skin.
"I don't know how to do this," he admitted. His voice was rough, strained. "I don't know how to just… stop."
Eve stepped closer, her eyes searching his. "Then don't."
He frowned. "What?"
"You don't have to stop being who you are, Alexander," she said softly. "You just have to stop fighting battles that don't need to be fought."
He let out a dry, bitter laugh. "That's all I know how to do."
"Then learn something else." She held out her hand, palm open. A choice. A promise. "With me."
His chest tightened.
Eve had always been different. She never begged, never demanded. She just was. A presence that grounded him, that made him feel something other than anger and vengeance.
Could he do this?
Could he walk away?
Could he be more than a weapon?
The Final Step
The city stretched out before them, endless, uncertain.
The world was still dangerous. People would still come for them. The past would always be waiting, ready to drag him back into the darkness.
But for the first time, Alexander didn't feel like he had to run.
He looked at Eve—bruised, exhausted, but standing. Always standing.
He reached for her hand.
Her fingers curled around his, warm, steady.
And just like that, something inside him settled.
"No more running," he said.
Eve nodded. "No more running."
Together, they stepped forward—into the unknown, into the future, into something neither of them had ever dared to dream of.
And for the first time in his life, Alexander Voss wasn't fighting a war.
He was choosing to live.