Chapter 27: Shelterfire

Dawn came slow, gray and muted, offering no warmth—just a vague smear of light against the cracked roof of the old relay station. The air was thick with dust and static. The only sounds were breath: three of them. Steady. Waiting.

Ava sat cross-legged on the cold floor, close to the boy—fifteen, maybe—still unconscious, wrapped in a borrowed thermal blanket. No one knew his name yet. No one knew if he'd wake. But he was alive. Too hot, too pale, but alive.

Elren stood a few steps away, silent as ever. But his eyes didn't leave her. Not once. Not as her hands brushed sweat from the boy's brow. Not as she adjusted the edge of the blanket with a precision that betrayed her tension.

Elliot was muttering at a half-dead wall console, prying rusted wires into an old relay system like it owed him money.

"Stabilized for now," he said under his breath. "Found a bunker line—off-grid, pre-Unity. Two levels down. Might buy us a day."

Ava didn't answer. She was too focused on the boy.

He stirred.

A hitched breath. Then ripples—psionic energy bleeding into the room like bruised light in water.

Ava felt the shift instantly. Her fingers hovered above his forehead before landing.

Hot.

But not fever-hot.

It was pressure. Internal. Wrong.

Small bolts on the floor quivered. One floated.

Elliot stepped closer, his voice low. "That's a resonance leak. From inside him."

She didn't move.

Not even when the temperature spiked.

Not even when Elren said, calm and firm, "If he spikes, he could kill you."

Ava peeled open a packet of electrolyte gel with her teeth and whispered, "Then I'll be the first to know."

She fed it to the boy in steady drops.

Elren said nothing. But she could feel his eyes on her—silent, heavy.

The boy's wrist bore tiny scars. Old injection ports, maybe. She cleaned one with a cloth, deliberate and slow.

Elren stepped closer.

She felt the weight of his stare.

"Alright," she said without looking up, "you're hovering. Just say it."

Silence.

Then—quietly, "You're not who you pretend to be. Not entirely."

Ava gave a dry smile. "You say that like it's a compliment."

Elren's voice dropped. "It terrifies me, actually."

She tilted her head. "Well, that makes two of us."

The boy flinched again. His eyes fluttered open—glassy, unfocused.

He looked straight at her.

"Don't take me back… please, Ava."

Ava froze. Not out of fear—but recognition.

She leaned in, voice gentler than she meant it to be. "You remember my name?"

A slow blink. "Yes."

Elren crouched beside them. "Then what's yours?"

A pause stretched. Long enough to matter.

"…Rian," he whispered. "Just Rian."

Elliot approached and tossed her a flat, cold capsule.

"Failsafe," he said. "Surge chip. If he breaches again and we can't hold him—"

"I know what it is." Ava turned the device over in her palm. "Very subtle way to tell me you don't trust my instincts."

"I trust your instincts. I just also trust physics," Elliot muttered.

She pocketed it. "I won't use it."

Elren: "Obviously."

She shot him a sideways look. "Oh? Don't strain yourself expressing belief in me."

He didn't blink. "If you were going to use it, you would've already."

She frowned. "...Right. I keep forgetting you're the one person here with actual logic."

-----

Cutaway — Central Command

The screen buzzed static—grainy visuals of the relay station.

Vance stood before it, arms folded. Commander Sira flanked him, impassive.

"Activate Task Force Vector Three," Vance said. "Black-tier clearance. Full scope."

Sira's voice was dry. "Alive or terminated?"

"Stabilized," Vance replied, tone flat. "Whatever that takes."

------

Rian leaned heavily into Elren's shoulder. Half-conscious.

Ava walked beside them, adjusting the blanket, muttering to herself, "I dragged everyone into this. I lit the match."

Elren didn't look at her.

"Then let's finish what you started."

She gave a bitter smile. "So poetic, coming from you."

-----

Inside the bunker.

Tight. Cracked panels. Dangling cables. But dry. Warm. Hidden.

Rian was curled near a floor vent, already asleep again. Ava sat against the wall, cupping recycled warmth in a dented metal mug.

Elren walked perimeter loops. Elliot muttered about backup circuits and broken shielding.

Then—

The wall behind Rian darkened.

Light burst—purple and gold. Chaotic.

A psionic flare cracked through the room. Half the wall blackened. Elliot's sensor alarm wailed—then died.

Ava stood.

Elren moved faster. In front of her. Shield up.

Rian didn't wake.

But his body glowed. From the inside. Quiet. Inhuman.

Ava stared at the scorched wall.

Elliot's voice was quiet. "That's not a boy. That's a breach node."

Elren didn't lower his stance.

"Then we protect the node," he said. "Or we burn with it."

-----

Later — the corridor, quiet again.

Ava sat with her knees tucked, back against the cold stone. Silence buzzed like static.

Elren joined her. No words.

Eventually, Ava said, "I talked to it."

He didn't ask what. He knew.

"Grave," she said. "During the field test. He... responded. Not just reflex. He heard me."

Her hands curled around her knees.

"What if that means I'm not just some random outworlder? What if I'm the problem?"

Elren's voice was low. Unshaken. "Then we deal with it. Together."

Ava scoffed. "You think you can protect me from myself?"

He didn't look at her.

Not at first.

But then—he turned, fully, his eyes locking onto hers.

Steady. Unblinking. No hesitation.

"Yes," he said quietly. "Even from yourself."

Ava froze under his gaze.

It wasn't harsh. It wasn't gentle, either. It was real—so real it made her chest twist.

She hated that kind of honesty. It got under the skin.

She looked away first.

But he wasn't done. Still watching her, still holding that gaze like it meant something unbreakable.

"If it ever comes to that," he said, "I'll still stand between you and whatever it is. Even if it's you."

A long silence stretched between them.

Not uncomfortable. Just... too much.

Ava let out a breath, soft and uneven. Her voice was barely audible.

"That's the part you choose?"

Elren's reply came low, firm, and without blinking.

"That's the part I won't stop choosing."

She couldn't hold his gaze this time. Her fingers curled into her sleeves.

The smart remark that usually sat on her tongue never came.

For once, she had nothing to deflect with.

Just the quiet weight of knowing:

He meant it.

And she didn't know how to carry that.