Page 107 of Heart of the Rebel Mate

CHAPTER 29

ADRIAN

The night presses in around us, thick with the scent of damp earth, steel, and the sharp tang of anticipation. The rebellion is poised on the edge of something final—whether it's victory or annihilation remains uncertain.

The second hideout is a far cry from the fortified camp we left behind. The stone walls of the bunker are crumbling, vines creeping through the cracks, and the air is thick with the scent of old wood and rain-dampened earth. But it's shelter. The rebels move with quiet determination, checking weapons, adjusting armor, whispering amongst themselves. Some are confident, eager for the fight. Others are quieter, their eyes shadowed with the weight of what's coming.

I stand at the center of the war map we've laid out in the remains of an old storage bunker, the dim lantern light casting flickering shadows on the cracked walls. The air is taut with tension, the hushed murmurs of rebel commanders discussing formations barely cutting through the thick silence.

Every piece is in place. Every contingency considered.

And yet, my mind keeps straying—to her.

Elara.

She's out there now, speaking with Cassian, Isla, and the others, finalizing last-minute details. I should be focused on our battle plans, on the weaknesses in the Council's fortifications, on the soldiers counting on me to lead them through this fight.

But my body remembers the way she kissed me before we left the camp. The way her fingers tightened in my hair. The way she didn't say goodbye, just pressed her lips to mine like it was the only thing that mattered.

I exhale sharply. I need to get a grip.

"Adrian."

I turn to find Ethan watching me. He's leaning against the bunker wall, arms crossed, his keen gaze cutting through me.

"You keep looking at the damn door," he says. "Go find her. You're useless to me like this."

I huff a laugh, shaking my head. "We don't have time for distractions."

Ethan snorts. "Call it whatever you want. But if this is the last night we've got, you'll regret not taking it."

He's right. And I hate that he's right.

I shake off the temptation. Later. Right now, my people need me.

I move through the camp, stopping to speak with some of the younger rebels. A few joke with each other, forced laughter cutting through the night, but I see the fear behind their eyes. They know what's coming.

I spot Gary, a lanky nineteen-year-old, sitting on a broken crate, sharpening his knife with slow, deliberate strokes. His hands are steady, but his face is pale, his jaw tight.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," I say, stopping beside him.

Gary startles, then forces a smile. "Just... thinking."

I crouch down, resting my forearms on my knees. "Thinking about what?"

He exhales through his nose, glancing at the others before meeting my gaze. "What if I freeze up out there?"

I smile slowly. I know that fear. I felt it once.

"Listen to me," I say, my voice steady. "Fear is natural. But fear doesn't get to decide who you are. Only you do."

Gary looks at me, his brows furrowed.

"My mentor used to tell me," I continue, "Courage isn't the absence of fear—it's what you do in spite of it."

Something in his face shifts, the tension easing just a little. He exhales, nodding. "Yeah. Yeah, okay."

I smirk. "Good. Now, tell me—are you leaving anyone behind?"

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