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The shuttle hummed quietly beneath your boots, a smooth glide through the dark velvet of space as Onychinus protocol played out around you. It was supposed to be a routine mission—just a brief meeting on a neutral station with a few Ever representatives. Nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing dangerous.
Which was exactly why you were allowed to come.
And exactly why Sylus hadn’t argued. Much.
He sat across from you now in the low-lit cabin, one ankle resting over his knee, gloved fingers idly spinning a sleek pen between them. The flick of silver caught the ambient light every few seconds, glinting like a secret. His coat hung open just enough to reveal the curve of his collarbone, the dark red shirt beneath it still crisp despite the long ride.
“You’re staring,” he said without looking up.
“I’m thinking,” you replied, arms crossed, pretending like the flush on your cheeks wasn’t blooming from the slow, smug smile that curved across his lips.
“Oh?” He tilted his head toward you now, lashes low, violet gaze narrowed with mischief. “Thinking about how I’ll look when I’m charming Ever’s delegates into spilling all their secrets? Or... something else?”
You raised a brow. “That’s a pretty bold assumption, considering you haven’t charmed anyone into anything yet.”
“Yet,” he echoed, and then leaned forward—elbows braced on his knees, eyes locked to yours. “I’ve got a solid track record, sweetie. When I want something, I get it.”
You swallowed. Too warm. Too smug. Too close.
“Then I guess it’s lucky I’m here to keep you from getting too cocky.”
That earned a soft laugh, rich and low. “You? Keep me in check? You’ve never denied me anything.”
You lifted a hand and flicked the pen out of his fingers.
“Hey.”
“I’m denying you this.”
He leaned back again with a quiet groan, but the grin stayed. “Unbelievable. I bring you on a date in deep space and you steal my toys.”
“This isn’t a date,” you said, even though it kind of felt like one. It always did, when it was just the two of you. Even on missions, even during late nights in his dimly-lit gym or quiet returns to the base after long days. The space between you always buzzed, not just with desire, but something deeper. Familiar. Pulled tight by history. Threaded through with want.
He gave you a look like he could hear your thoughts. “Could be a date. If we make it one.”
“Sylus—”
The shuttle landed with a gentle jolt. The cabin lights brightened as the system booted down, and your moment shattered into the reality of metal and motion.
“We’re here,” he said, voice still soft. But he lingered before standing. Reached out and tucked a stray lock of hair behind your ear, thumb brushing your cheek. “You ready?”
You nodded, breath caught in your throat.
“I’ve got your back,” you said.
His gaze lingered a beat too long.
“I know.”
The shuttle hissed as it docked, pressure seals engaging with a heavy clunk. Beyond the reinforced doors, the Ever outpost loomed — pristine white corridors, gravity-neutral chambers suspended in magnetic harnesses, the whole facility floating like a jewel in the dark curve of Earth’s upper atmosphere. From here, the stars looked like pinpricks carved into black glass. Still. Cold. Watching.
You tapped your fingers against the strap of your harness, watching Sylus slide his hands through his hair with practiced ease. He looked calm — as always — but you caught the way his shoulders rolled once, like he was working out tension. He always got quiet before meetings like this.
"Still time to back out," he said, not looking at you as he locked the weapon case on his belt. “Could say it was a boring intelligence recon. I’ll even tell them you had the flu.”
You gave him a look. “And miss watching you pretend to be professional?”
That earned a huff — not quite a laugh, but close. He turned, finally, meeting your eyes with that slow-burn warmth only he ever gave you. “I’m always professional, sweetie.”
“You’re still wearing the necklace I gave you under your shirt.”
“You picked it out. I’m not suicidal.”
He stepped closer, the synthetic floor humming under his shoes. His fingers brushed against your cheek, tipping your chin slightly. The pressurized hum of the ship behind you faded just a little as he lowered his voice. “You’re sure about this, kitten? These aren’t just numbers in a report. Ever plays deep.”
You nodded. “I know that. I need to know what they’re hiding. Same as you.”
For a moment, he didn’t say anything — just looked at you, red eyes flicking over every line of your face like he was memorizing it. He always did that before missions, too. Like just in case.
Then: “Alright.” He leaned down, his lips brushing your temple. “But if anyone so much as looks at you wrong in there—”
“You’ll what?” you teased, stepping past him toward the door. “Tell them a long-winded story about Mephisto’s kleptomania until they cry?”
He followed with a faint smile. “It worked once.”
The Ever operatives were already waiting in the glass-panel briefing room — a sterile, floating space tethered between two structural beams. They offered polite nods, cold tea, and a datapad loaded with false transparency.
Sylus kept his tone clipped but polite, asking about Rift signatures near the old Chronos Labs, subtle mineral patterns in the asteroid belt — things only Ever would try to hide under the pretense of benevolence.
You watched their faces closely as they lied, your hand drifting to rest lightly on the edge of the console, where Sylus’s hand brushed yours beneath the table. He didn’t look down. Didn’t react. But his thumb curled around your fingers slowly — anchoring.
They talked for over twenty minutes. Boring, clipped lingo about graviton behavior, quantum decay rates, ship logs, monitoring systems. But something itched at the back of your skull. Like this entire facility was too clean. Too quiet.
Too rehearsed.
When the meeting adjourned, the lead agent offered a tour. “We’re proud of the improvements. All Ever technology is shared freely with Onychinus, of course. Feel free to observe what you like.”
You and Sylus exchanged a glance.
“Of course,” Sylus said, with a smile that never quite reached his eyes.
The walk through the corridors was long — and strange. A few labs, observation pods, bio-stasis chambers that didn’t quite match what the facility claimed to be. Too few staff. Too many locked doors.
“Something’s off,” you murmured to Sylus, close enough for only him to hear.
He nodded once, subtly. “I’ve been mapping the hallways. Two sectors don’t line up with their official schematic.”
“And the lead agent?”
“Hasn’t blinked in twenty-seven seconds. I’m betting implants. Maybe worse.”
You exhaled slowly. But he squeezed your hand once, behind the shield of his coat.
“You trust me?” he asked under his breath.
You didn’t hesitate. “With everything.”
“Then stay close.”
He grinned then — that roguish, cocky one he only wore for you. “And after this, I’ll take you for a joyride. I mean it.”
You reached the core chamber under pretense of a systems inspection. The moment Sylus accessed the terminal, the entire room changed.
A low pulse rippled through the walls — like a heartbeat — followed by a sudden drop in temperature.
Behind you, the door sealed with a violent clang.
The lights flickered red.
The gravity vanished.
You floated for only a moment before a dull thrum surged through your skin — wrong, wrong, wrong — and Sylus cried out, grabbing his chest. You reached for him instinctively—
“Sylus?”
His knees hit the floor with a grunt. Sweat beaded at his temple. “Antimatter—”
“What?”
“Antimatter chamber,” he gasped, bracing on one elbow. “It’s—nullifying me.”
Your heart dropped into your stomach.
Antimatter. The one thing that could sever him from his Evol. Disable everything that made him what he was.
He looked up at you, face drawn, breath ragged. “This is a kill box.”
“Sylus—”
Your voice cracked as you dropped to your knees beside him, the air thick and vibrating with something wrong — something cold and heavy pressing in on all sides. He braced himself on one arm, jaw tight, his free hand curling into a fist against the floor.
“Sylus—hey—” Your fingers found his wrist, trembling slightly as you gripped it. “It’s just your Evol right? You’re gonna be alright—”
“Feels like…” he hissed through clenched teeth, forcing himself upright. “Something’s pulling—tugging—like static inside my bones.”
You felt it too, now that he said it. A buzz under your skin. Not painful exactly — but oppressive. Wrong. The floor no longer vibrated with ship systems or station hum. The silence was total. Manufactured. Staged.
You moved in closer, pushing hair out of his face, anything to comfort him.
“I’m sorry— I should have sensed it before we walked in— I should have—”
Sylus places his hand over your own trembling one, and then: “It’s not your fault sweetie,”
The look in his eyes made you want to cry. You turned your cheek, willing the sting behind your eyes to go away, scanning the room for any possible exit.
“The door sealed behind us, but maybe there’s another way out. Maybe if I resonate—”
“It’s an antimatter nullification field,” Sylus said again, voice low and strained, like he was forcing each word through glass. “It doesn’t just strip my Evol. There’s no energy in this room, so you won’t be able to resonate either.”
Your breath stuttered. “But why—”
A sharp electronic squeal sliced through the chamber, and you instinctively ducked, moving even closer to Sylus to shield him— arm braced around his waist.
The ceiling above flickered with life — a broad, concave screen shimmered to life with an unnatural glow. Blue light painted your faces, cast your shadows long and skeletal on the chamber walls.
Then a voice crackled through the air, smooth and artificial, modulated and unplaceable.
“Welcome, subjects.”
The chamber stilled.
“You’ve been selected for Ever’s latest experimental paradigm: a study on survival instinct, emotional prioritization, and the threshold at which love becomes expendable.”
Your blood went ice cold.
Sylus straightened beside you, more from sheer fury than recovered strength.
“You are inside a sealed facility. All exits are currently inaccessible.”
A long pause. Then:
“Only one of you may leave.”
You froze.
Sylus didn’t breathe.
“You have sixty minutes to make a decision. If no choice is made, both participants will be eliminated. This study aims to explore whether the human will to live outweighs the depth of emotional attachment. If sacrifice is instinct… or illusion.”
The voice smiled without smiling.
“Will love compel you to die? Or will instinct compel you to survive?”
A soft ding echoed in the chamber.
From the ceiling, a small ring of projection light scanned the floor, and a holographic timer materialized in midair.
59:59
59:58
59:57
It ticked slowly. Quietly.
You could hear Sylus’s breathing next to you — harsh and uneven.
The projection vanished from the ceiling, leaving only that timer, glowing a sickly blue in the dim.
You turned to him, your voice catching.
“We’re not doing this.”
He looked at you, eyes sharp. “Obviously not.”
“We can find a way out. We always do.”
Sylus’s lips twitched, and for a second you thought he was about to argue. But then he nodded — short, clipped, decisive.
“Then let’s get to work.”
59:06
The first ten minutes passed in a blur of frantic logic.
Sylus pulled himself up onto a bench embedded into the wall, wiping sweat from his brow, and you scrambled to scan every seam, every panel. The chamber was smooth, shiny surfaces that reflected your haunted gaze — the kind of manufactured perfection meant to be inescapable. No visible access points. No screws. No exposed wiring.
Just white walls. Blue light. And that damn ticking.
He walked you through what he could remember — where the fail-safes might be, how Ever had developed prototype nullification protofields before, but nothing ever stable. “They can’t keep this field up forever,” he said. “It’s too volatile. We just need to outlast it.”
“So we wait it out?”
“No,” he said immediately. “They won’t let it reach that point. If their data corrupts, they’ll kill us to preserve control.”
You grit your teeth. “Then what’s the plan?”
“Look for feedback points. Anything magnetic. Antimatter is sensitive to polarity. If we reverse the chamber’s flow…”
He didn’t need to finish. You were already scanning again, dragging your fingers over the edges of the panels, looking for hairline breaks, inconsistencies.
“You said your Evol is gone,” you said after a beat. “Completely?”
He flexed his hand slowly. “It’s not gone— it’s just… useless. In a place like this.”
His words made your stomach turn. You couldn’t hide the grimace that rippled across your face.
“I can still think. Still fight.” He made his way towards you, then, softly: “Don’t give up on me now, sweetie. We still have time. I promised you I would remain undefeated, I intend to keep that promise.”
You nodded, swallowing hard.
He pulled you into his chest, one strong hand cradling your head, the other gliding up your back.
“I will get us out of here.”
50:02
The timer ticked past 50 minutes.
You’d found nothing.
No irregularities. No temperature shifts. No hidden seams.
You slammed your palm against the wall and let out a frustrated breath. “There has to be a way out.”
Sylus was kneeling by the floor now, eyeing the base of the door where the seal had activated. “As much as I hate to admit it, they engineered this room well.” A pause. “Seems like they finally found someone competent enough to take me out.”
You turned sharply. “Don’t talk like that.”
“I’m being realistic.”
“This isn’t a joke, Sylus. Ten minutes have barely passed and you’re already talking like you’re going to die!”
He looked at you, his expression unreadable.
You took a step toward him. “You said we’d get out of this. That you’d take me for a joyride.”
“I meant it.” A flicker behind his eye. Then:
“I will.”
Your shoulders dropped, just a fraction of tension released from your frame.
“Then stop talking like that. Work with me.”
He exhaled slowly, and for a moment — just a second — he looked exhausted. Not from pain. Not from the nullification. But from you. From the ache in your voice. From what it meant.
You dropped to your knees beside him again. “We’re going to figure it out. After everything we’ve been through— this can’t be what beats us.”
He looked at you finally. “It won’t, sweetie.”
You reached for his hand — and this time, he let you hold it.
His skin was cool, but his warmth spread through your chest all the same.
40:13
You were stuck to the screen on the far wall of the room now. Trying everything you could think of — hacking, overriding the system — anything that might disengage this experiment and end the nightmare.
The room felt smaller. The air thinner.
Sylus hadn’t moved in minutes.
Internally, he was spiraling.
He was still trapped in this room — physically — but mentally he was in Tarus City. He was in the Judicator’s sanctuary, clutching his chest, fighting his desire to kill you, to fall victim to the curse.
He was running away. Running away from fate — from a choice he would never make if he had any say — running away from you.
He was trying to save you.
He didn’t notice you approaching.
“Talk to me,” you whispered. “You’re shutting down.”
“I’m not—” he said too quickly. “I just keep thinking... if I hadn’t brought you—”
“Sylus, don’t.”
He looked at you, jaw clenched.
“I followed you,” you said, reaching for him. “I chose to be here.”
“You didn’t know what this was.” He said, gripping your hand.
“Neither did you, I don’t blame you.”
He didn’t answer.
Silence stretched. Thick. Choking.
Then, softer:
“I’ve survived a hundred different deaths,” he said. “I’ve been through worse than most people can imagine. But if you die in here—if you die because of me—I won't come back from that.”
Your throat closed. You reached for him again, gripping his hand tighter.
“Then don’t let it happen,” you said. “Sylus, it’s not over.”
His eyes met yours — and this time, they were glassy.
But he nodded.
Once.
Then:
“Thirty minutes left.”
You looked up at the timer.
29:59
The chamber had gone still.
Only the low-frequency hum of the containment core pulsed through the walls — cold, mechanical, absolute. Every path you’d tried had dead-ended. Sylus’s fingers hovered over the holographic interface, but the security script just blinked back at him: ACCESS DENIED. CORE LOCK ENGAGED. COUNTDOWN: 00:27:42
He’d hacked through far worse before. Coded intelligent AI, cracked encrypted data under pressure, bypassed systems no one else even dared touch. Somewhere deep in his bones he wished he could summon Mephisto — anything that might crawl through a crack in the system, find a loophole he couldn’t reach alone.
But he was quiet. Too quiet.
He was scared.
You watched him from across the room. He stood motionless — not breathing for a second too long. His shadow stretched long and distorted beneath the sterile overhead lights, warping where the antimatter field shimmered faintly against the walls.
And then he said it.
“I want you to be the one who gets out.”
Your heart stopped. “What?”
“If we don’t find a way out in time,” Sylus said, still not meeting your eyes, “you should live. You have to. Don’t argue.”
Your voice cracked. “Sylus—”
He turned. His red eyes were soft — devastatingly so.
“I know how this looks. But I’ve already thought it through. The antimatter nullifies me — my Evol, my regeneration, everything that makes me unstoppable. But you... you’re still whole. You can walk out of here, strong, resilient. Everything I’ve ever wished for you to be.”
“You are not sending me out alone.”
“You would survive,” he pressed, stepping closer. “You still have your future. Your work. Your world. So much more ahead of you. Me—?” His smile twisted with unbearable tenderness. “I’ve lived long enough. I’ve seen everything worth seeing.”
“No you haven’t,” you snapped, cutting him off. “I won’t let our future slip away because of some stupid fucking experiment—” You paused, breath hitching. “You don’t get to make that decision for me, Sylus.”
“Sweetie...”
“Don’t do this.” Your voice broke. You crossed the room in two strides and caught his face in your hands. “Don’t you dare talk like you’ve already decided. Like you’re disposable.”
His hands closed around your wrists — warm, steady, trembling slightly.
“You don’t understand. I brought you into this. I told you it was safe.”
“I told you I don’t care about that!”
“You should. I wasn’t paying attention. I missed the signs. I—” He cut himself off, the guilt knotting in his throat. “You could’ve been anywhere else. You should have been.”
“I chose to be here,” you snapped, tears stinging. “Because I love you. Because I trust you.”
He faltered.
You touched his jaw, voice shaking but sure. “If I hadn’t come — if you died — without so much as a goodbye—” You choked back a sob. “I wouldn’t know what to do. If this is really it— then we go out together.”
He flinched. That guilt in his eyes twisted deeper, sharper.
“Don’t say that. I told you I wouldn’t let you die. I meant it.”
You stared at him. “It’s not your decision to make. We still have time. Let’s not waste it.”
You turned back to the screen, steel settling into your spine. You forced yourself to block out the timer, even as it kept bleeding toward zero. Sylus returned to the door, beginning another pass over the mechanisms, searching for even the thinnest crack in the system.
But your words echoed in his mind.
It’s not your decision to make.
You were right. He knew that. But it didn’t change the truth: he was selfish. Selfish in his desire to protect you. Selfish in the way he’d always placed himself between you and danger — not out of arrogance, but fear. Desperation. Love.
He was selfish then, too. In another life.
Letting you plunge the sword through his chest had come as naturally as breathing. There was no other option in his mind. Dying was the only way to free you. To protect you from the curse — from himself.
It had felt right. At the time.
But was it what you would’ve chosen?
He didn’t let himself think about what became of you afterward. Not often. On the hardest nights, he told himself you had your revenge. That you relished in the treasures he left behind. That you lived out your days in peace. That you moved on.
He had to believe that.
He couldn’t believe he left a gaping hole in your chest.
He knew he was wrong.
He thought of the binding curse you laid over him — how your grief kept him tethered to this life. Not vengeance. Not hatred. But love. Your curse was your forgiveness. A second chance — one where doomsday was behind you and the only fight left was to love each other freely. To see it through to the end.
And now he was here again.
If he left you behind, would you forgive him again?
Will this be my final curtain call?
15:01
“Sylus—”
Your broken sob dragged him out of the spiral.
He turned fast. You were trembling at the console, braced against the edge as though it were the only thing holding you upright. Silent tears tracked down your cheeks. Your eyes stayed locked on the monitor — on the timer ticking relentlessly downward.
Fifteen minutes.
Fifteen minutes until one of you died.
“Sylus,” you whispered again, breath hitching, fragile with panic and fury and unbearable love.
He didn’t speak. He crossed the room with quiet urgency and laid his hand on your back. You flinched—not from him, but from the weight of it all. The pressure. The grief. The fear.
“I can’t do this,” you said hoarsely. “I can’t—pretend like we’re okay. Like this is just another mission. I—every time I look at that timer I feel like I’m watching you disappear in real time.”
His voice came soft. “I’m still here.”
“But for how long?” You turned toward him, eyes red-rimmed and pleading. “You’re already deciding. I can see it. You’ve already made peace with leaving me behind, and I hate it.”
He swallowed hard. “It’s not peace. It’s just—logic.”
“Fuck logic!” you snapped, stepping into him. “I don’t know what to do— I can’t figure anything out with this stupid panel and my Evol won’t work—”
Your words dissolved into sobs.
“Sweetie, come here.”
He wrapped his arms around you. Held you like a lifeline.
“I know this is stressful. But there’s still time. Try not to panic. Just breathe with me for a minute.”
You buried your face in his chest, clutching his shirt like it could anchor you to this moment — this heartbeat, this warmth. His breathing steadied you. Together, for just one fleeting moment, you felt the world pause.
And then—
The intercom buzzed to life again, slicing through the silence like a blade.
“Subjects. You have ten minutes left. If a decision is not made in this time, both parties will be eliminated.”
A sob tore from your throat.
Shaking, you looked up at Sylus. His eyes were glassy now too — red and wet and barely holding back everything.
“Sylus—” you choked, voice breaking, “I know it might not work— but try to resonate with me.”
“Sweetie...”
“Just do it!” you snapped.
He said nothing. Just slowly slid his hand down your arm, lacing your fingers together. A grounding touch.
You closed your eyes, reaching inward with everything you had left — begging your Evol to reach past the containment field. Past fear. Past time.
Please… please…
You focused everything into him.
And waited.
The silence was unbearable.
No warning klaxon. Just the low, invisible hum of the antimatter trap and the weight of the minutes slipping through your fingers.
Sylus’s hand was still warm in yours, but your palms were slick, fingers trembling. You’d been trying everything. Overclocking your Evol, syncing your rhythms, pushing your Evol to its limit. The chamber had pulsed once—just once—with a shiver of blue light, your hands glowing gold for half a second like a breath being held. But then it collapsed. Fizzled.
Too weak.
“No, no, no—” you muttered, pressing your hands to the floor as if sheer force of will would draw something out. “We’re close. We have to be close. Why won’t it hold?”
The resonance flickered again — a bright, shuddering pulse that cracked through the silence like a held breath finally released — then dimmed just as fast, like it had thought better of trying.
You flinched at the collapse of it. “That was closer, wasn’t it? That had to be—”
Sylus’s hands tightened around yours. “It was. But it’s not enough.”
“No,” you whispered, shaking your head hard. “No, we just have to—”
Another surge, then nothing. Not even a hum.
You pressed your palms flat to the chamber wall, sweat collecting at your temples. The silence afterward was unbearable. You could hear your heartbeat in your throat, loud, choking, useless.
“We can’t give up,” you said quickly, breath catching. “It was working. We can make it work again—if we try harder—if we—”
“Hey. Hey, kitten.” Sylus caught your face gently, brushing back damp strands of hair. “You’ve done enough.”
His voice was soft, so maddeningly soft, like you were already being put to sleep.
Your throat clenched. “Don’t talk like that.”
“I’m just saying it out loud,” he murmured. “In case we don’t get another chance.”
“No,” you said again, harsher this time. “We will. Don’t say that. Don’t you dare—”
His forehead rested against yours, warm and grounding. “I love you,” he said.
You froze.
“I love you more than I ever thought myself capable of loving anything,” he went on, voice trembling for the first time. “And if this is where it ends, I need you to know that was never your fault.”
You gripped his sleeves. “Sylus, stop. You’re talking like you’ve already chosen.”
“I did. The moment this trap activated.”
“No—”
“Yes.” He breathed in shakily. “I made peace with it already, sweetie. You have to let me.”
You shoved away from him. “I won’t let you. I already told you you’re not allowed to make this decision for me!”
His jaw tightened, but his gaze stayed steady. “I’m not choosing for you. I’m asking you to live.”
“You’re asking me to kill you,” you snapped.
“I’m asking you not to waste everything we’ve survived for. Everything you’ve become.”
You were shaking. “And you think I could live with myself if I just let you go? If I climbed out of here and left you behind in this empty metal tomb, alone—?”
“If it means you live, then yes.”
You shoved him, not hard enough to hurt. “You’re so selfish.”
He blinked. “Selfish?”
“You think you’re sparing me pain, but really you’re just choosing the option that makes you feel better. You’d rather be the one left behind than risk living without me.”
He opened his mouth to argue — then closed it. His silence was answer enough.
Tears blurred your vision. “You said you loved me.”
“I do.”
“Then stop trying to leave me.”
Sylus pulled you close, breath catching. “If you walk out, maybe I don’t die. Not really.” You looked up, startled.
He hesitated, voice lower. “You’ve always been the only one who could truly end me. If you leave… maybe some part of me will keep waiting. Maybe I’ll come back.”
Your hands trembled against his chest. “That’s not enough. I don’t want a ghost of you. I want you. I want us both out of here.”
“If it can’t be both,” he murmured, “then it has to be you.”
You shook your head, desperate. “There’s always another way. We just haven’t found it yet.”
“You said that an hour ago.”
“I’ll say it until my voice gives out,” you whispered, pressing your forehead to his again. “Because I refuse to live in a world that doesn’t have you in it. If this place wants us to choose one life—it can’t have either.”
He didn’t answer. His arms only tightened around you.
The next resonance surge was weaker. Your time was running out.
5:00
The air in the chamber hummed like a dying star — pulsing faintly, then fading, the light from the holographic screen beginning to dim. Sylus sat against the wall, one arm around you, the other curled protectively over your hand, which trembled in his grip.
The resonance had sparked — once, twice — a flicker of your Evols trying to harmonize. But it never held. The antimatter core in the center of the room seemed to absorb everything. Even hope.
Your breathing was unsteady now. Not just from exhaustion. From fear.
“We almost had it that time,” you whispered. “I could feel it… just for a second. Sylus, maybe—maybe if we try again—”
“No,” he said softly, his voice so gentle it almost didn’t register as refusal. “It’s not going to work, sweetie. You and I both know it. I don't want to waste what's left pretending it’s not happening,”
A silence passed between you. Sylus looked at the ceiling — at the thin sliver of metal and glass that separated you from the sky outside. The stars had long since disappeared.
He let out a quiet breath. “I used to think dying scared me. That the worst thing in the world was not knowing what came next.”
You shook your head, voice raw. “Stop.”
“But it doesn’t. Not anymore. Not if I know you’ll keep going. That you’ll live the kind of life I always wanted for you.”
“No—stop it.” Your voice broke. “Sylus, listen to me. If I leave here without you, that life means nothing. I don’t want it. I never did.”
His hand tightened around yours. “You don’t mean that.”
“I do.” You looked him dead in the eyes. “You talk about me living, like I’m supposed to be okay walking away from this. Like I could smile and move on. I can’t. I won’t.”
There was a flicker of guilt in his expression—deep, old, familiar. Like a shadow resurfacing from some buried place.
“I made this mistake before,” he murmured. “A long time ago. Gave up my life, thinking it would be enough to save you. But it wasn’t. You still suffered.”
You frowned, confused—but he shook his head before you could speak.
“Doesn’t matter,” he said. “What matters is I know better now. Dying for you doesn’t fix it. Not if it breaks you in return.”
You were both quiet for a while.
The core in the center of the room pulsed once—like a heartbeat. Then stilled.
You swallowed. “Then we don’t choose. Not one over the other.”
Sylus’s throat bobbed. His voice cracked when he said, “You mean—”
“I mean we stay.” Your hand lifted to his face, brushing his cheek. “Together.”
He exhaled shakily, pressing his forehead to yours. “You’re sure?”
“Yes.” The tears came now, but you weren’t afraid anymore. “If this is it… I’d rather it be with you. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
He kissed you — slow, aching, his hand at your jaw like you were something sacred.
When the antimatter core began to glow brighter, signaling the final countdown, neither of you looked away.
You leaned into him. Wrapped your arms around his waist.
“I’m not afraid,” you whispered.
“Neither am I.”
The core was blinding now. You buried your face in Sylus’ shoulder, whispering your last goodbye.
“I love you, Sylus.”
“I love you, too, sweetie.”
And then—
Darkness.
Two sets of fingerprints on the glass.
Two people, curled together like they were always meant to return to each other — even here.
Even at the end.