Page 95 of Heart of the Rebel Mate

A bullet whizzes past my ear. I dodge just in time, twisting, snarling. Another guard charges, knife flashing in the firelight. I meet him head-on, slamming into him with bone-crushing force. His scream dies as I rip his throat out, hot and metallic on my tongue.

Ethan doesn't hesitate. He steps over the body, firing three quick shots into another Loyalist trying to flee. His expression is unreadable, but his hands—his hands are steady.

The van screeches to a halt. Isla and another rebel tear the doors open, yanking the driver and passenger out with brutal efficiency.

Inside, crates are stacked against the walls, stamped with the Council's insignia.

"We got it," Isla confirms, her voice breathless but victorious. She shoves the last guard aside before slamming the van doors shut. "Let's move."

The remaining Loyalists try to rally, but it's too late. My rebels are already retreating into the night, the van roaring down the road.

Ethan exhales, lowering his rifle. The fight is over. We won.

But as I glance at him, watching the firelight flicker against his sharp features, I realize?—

For him, this isn't enough.

Not yet.

By the time the Council forces regroup, we're long gone.

Back at the hideout, the air is thick, charged with something sharp and heavy. The stolen crates sit in the center of the war room like a ticking bomb, waiting to explode.

The lanterns flicker, casting long shadows across the stone walls. Everyone is on edge, their silence louder than words. Isla stands stiffly, arms crossed, eyes sharp with anticipation. Ethan lingers by the crates, fingers twitching like he's ready to rip them open himself. And Elara—she's deadly still, her focus locked on the stolen cargo like she already knows something inside is going to change everything.

I don't realize I'm holding my breath until she steps forward and pries the lid off the first crate.

Inside, stacks of paper are bound together with thick black straps. Not just any documents. Personnel files. Strategy reports. The Council's secrets.

Ethan exhales, long and low. "This could change everything."

He's right.

I grab one of the bundles, flipping through pages filled with names, locations, encoded messages. The kind of information the rebellion has killed for.

But then Elara stills.

Something in the way she tenses sends a prickle of unease down my spine. She pulls a single sheet from the crate, smoothing it out with careful fingers. It's different from the others—rushed, not bound, like it was intercepted in the middle of something.

I step closer, my eyes skimming over the page.

A transcript.

A conversation.

And then—a name.

Cassian.

Ice floods my veins.

Elara reads faster, her breath coming in sharp, measured inhales. I see the exact moment she understands.

Cassian has been in contact with someone inside the Council.

Not just for intelligence gathering.

For negotiations.

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