Page 102 of Heart of the Rebel Mate

The rebellion has never been closer to an all-out battle with the Council. Every decision made in this room dictates whether we survive the coming storm or crumble beneath it.

Ethan stands at the head of the table, arms crossed over his broad chest, his sharp gaze scanning the group like a predator assessing its pack. His presence commands the room—steady, unyielding—but even he can't disguise the lines of exhaustion bracketing his mouth.

"We have a window," he says, his voice even, controlled. "The Council's forces are stretched thin after our last raid. Their supply lines are vulnerable. We hit them hard, we cut off their legs before they even see us coming."

I shift my weight slightly, studying the map in front of me. Hand-drawn blueprints of the Council's compound sprawl across the table, hastily sketched but clear enough to reveal weak points.

Isla leans forward, her fingers drumming a nervous rhythm against the wood. "Their stronghold is fortified, but we've mapped out several vulnerabilities. If we can infiltrate their main communication hub, we can disrupt their coordination and leave them blind long enough for our main forces to breach the outer defenses."

It's a solid plan. A high risk, high reward maneuver.

I trace my fingers over the map, following the main corridors leading to the control center. "It's a risk," I say, keeping my voice steady despite the weight pressing against my ribs. "If they get even a whisper of our plan, they'll lock the place down. No one gets in. No one gets out."

Cassian exhales sharply, leaning back in his chair, arms folded across his chest. His expression is unreadable, but there's an edge to his posture, a quiet amusement lurking in his eyes like he knows something the rest of us don't.

"That's why we make sure they don't hear a damn thing until it's too late," he says, his tone casual but laced with steel.

Cassian has always been an enigma. Unpredictable, unreadable. We fight side by side, but I don't trust him—not completely. He's playing a game none of us can see, and I've learned to be wary of men like him.

Ethan exhales, rubbing a hand over his jaw. "We need a small infiltration team—fast, efficient, precise. Adrian, you lead it. We'll coordinate the main assault from the outside, but if you fail to disable their communications before we strike, this whole thing falls apart before it even begins."

All eyes shift to me.

I don't hesitate. "I won't fail."

A promise, as much to myself as to them.

The weight of responsibility settles deep in my chest, coiling tight. This isn't just another mission. This is the battle that determines everything—the rebellion's survival, our people's future, the fragile hope we've clung to for too long.

Failure isn't an option.

Silence stretches across the room, thick and suffocating. No one doubts the stakes, but doubt lingers in the spaces between their breaths, in the unspoken fear none of us dare give voice to.

Ethan clears his throat, breaking the quiet. "You leave before dawn. Isla, get Adrian the layout of the security patrols. Cassian, make sure our exit plan is airtight. We move fast, we move clean. No mistakes."

Chairs scrape against stone as the group starts to disperse, the meeting breaking apart into hushed conversations and final preparations. Isla hands me a rolled-up set of parchment, her eyes dark with worry.

"Be careful," she murmurs, barely audible.

I nod, tucking the maps into my belt, but I don't say the words she wants to hear. There's no room for false reassurances.

Across the room, Cassian lingers near the doorway, watching me with that same unreadable expression. A smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, but his eyes are sharp. Calculating.

"Try not to die, Adrian," he says, his voice light, almost mocking. "It'd be a shame to lose you before the real fun starts."

I don't give him the satisfaction of a reaction. Instead, I brush past him, stepping into the cold corridor beyond.

Dawn is only hours away.

And by this time tomorrow, everything could be different.

The corridors of our hideout are eerily quiet when I step outside. The discussion inside continues, muffled voices debating logistics, but I need a moment away from it. A moment to breathe. To think.

The war room is suffocating, thick with tension, with fear no one dares to name. We're standing on the edge of something irreversible, and every choice we make from here on determines whether we survive—or if we're just another rebellion crushed beneath the Council's boot.

I barely make it a few steps before I hear Cassian's voice behind me.

"You really think we're going to win this?"

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