Page 41 of Heart of the Rebel Mate

She shakes her head, exhaling hard."You don't understand what this means. They'll hunt you. They'll use every resource, every connection."

I already know all of this. But hearing it from her makes it more real.

She studies me, and her gaze is sharp."How can you pick me over something you've known all your life?"

I step closer, holding her gaze."I think you already know the answer to that."

A muscle jumps in her jaw, but she doesn't look away.

The silence stretches.

Then she speaks, quiet but certain."If you're with me, you need to understand something. There's no going back."

"I know."

That's when it settles. The reality. The finality.

I am a fugitive.

I have no home, no ties to the Council, no allies beyond the woman standing before me.

For the first time in years, I am truly alone.

Except—I'm not.

Not entirely.

Elara studies me, her expression unreadable. Then she speaks again, voice steady."If we do this, we do it right. No half-measures. No running just to survive."

"Agreed."

For the first time tonight, I see it in her. The moment she realizes that she's not alone either.

We are in this together.

Our fates are now tied.

I glance toward the window, the city beyond. Somewhere out there, the Council is already moving. Already setting things in motion to erase me the way they tried to erase her.

"They won't stop,"I murmur.

Elara's voice is firm."Neither will we."

This is the start of a commitment neither of us can take back.

CHAPTER 13

ELARA

The underground hideout smells of damp stone and old parchment, a strange mix of age and rebellion. The atmosphere carries the sound of whispered conversations and the metallic scent of weapons being cleaned in unseen corners. The dim lighting casts jagged shadows across the exposed brick walls, making the space feel more claustrophobic than it is.

I can hear the slow drip of water leaking from the ceiling somewhere deeper in the tunnels– it punctuates the murmurs of the rebels scattered throughout the chamber. The walls are lined with old bookshelves, their spines coated in dust, remnants of whatever purpose this place once served before it became a war room. A lantern flickers beside me, the flame barely holding on against the damp chill of the underground air.

Cassian stands at the center of it all.

He leans against a rusted metal desk, arms crossed over his broad chest, his dark eyes never leaving mine. The low light catches the edges of his face, sharpening the angles of his jaw, the lines of his brow. He's always been like this—watchful and unreadable, yet keeping his every movement deliberate. Once, I thought it was confidence. Now, I recognize it for what it is: control.

His presence is an unspoken command, and the rebels who surround us obey without question. Even now, as we stand locked in this silent battle of wills, I can feel their attention hovering on the edges of the room. They are waiting. Watching. Judging.

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