Page 111 of Celestial Combat

Someone tried to block the exit with an Escalade. Zane spun the wheel, drifting hard around the edge of the lot, and shot through a gap between a chain-link gate and a patrol car backing up too slowly.

And just like that, we were gone.

We took the back roads through industrial Jersey – old brick buildings and silent factories watching us blur past like ghosts. I didn’t say anything for a while. I didn’t need to.

Zane’s hands were steady on the wheel, his eyes checking the rear-view mirror from time to time.

It was quiet now, the kind of silence only adrenaline could carve. I sat there breathing it in. Watching the rhythm of his shoulders and the way the city lights flickered against the windscreen.

Twenty minutes later, we hit the George Washington Bridge just before two in the morning. The city opened up in front of us like a promise – skyscrapers lit gold, Manhattan a shimmering line across the water, the Hudson River glittering below. New York never slept.

The wind cut clean and cold as I rolled my window down. My hair caught it, curls tangling in the night air. The scent of rain and steel and the faint burn of exhaust filled my lungs. I tilted my head toward it, breathing deep.

And then I looked at him.

Zane’s profile was sharp in the city glow – cut from shadows and streetlights, every angle precise and disciplined. But his eyes shifted, catching mine.

There was something there. Something hot and still and deep.

Not just adrenaline. Not just heat.

His gaze dipped briefly to my bruised lip, then back to my eyes.

“You should’ve listened to what I told you.”

“Wouldn’t have mattered.”

It was the truth. Fighting in an illegal underground cage – I was bound to get a little hurt at some point.

“It would’ve mattered to me.”

That stopped me. Not the words – but the way he said them. Like he hadn’t meant to. Like it slipped out before he could stop it.

“You’re mad I fought.”

He didn’t answer at first. Just kept his eyes on the road, jaw clicking with tension.

“No,” He finally said. “I’m mad you got hurt.”

The way he said it… Like it only mattered because it was me…

It took me longer than I would’ve liked to remember he was literally hired to protect me.

I studied him in the city lights – the sharp cut of his jawline. The tattoos ending right at his jaw. The silver piercings in his brow and nose. The steady grip he had on the wheel. The undeniable tension riding just under his skin.

“You should see the other guy,” I said, trying to lighten the mood, but it came out softer than I meant.

“I did,” He murmured. “Still couldn’t stop thinking about you, though.”

“It’s fine. I’m tough.”

“Doesn’t stop me from wanting to be the one taking the pain for you.”

The tension between us stretched, tighter than the steel of the bridge.

The city blurred around us, but he didn’t look away this time. Didn’t pretend like he wasn’t thinking abouttouching me, or pulling over just to feel my pulse race for an entirely different reason.

“You’re staring,” I whispered.

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