Steel Ocean

The night air was thick with tension, humid and heavy with the scent of salt from the distant ocean.

Jolyne stood at the edge of the clearing, arms crossed, her gaze locked on the moon hanging low in the sky.

Tomorrow, everything ended.

One way or another.

And she had no idea if she'd still be alive when it was over.

Her stomach churned.

Not from fear.

Not from the looming presence of Pucci, or the sheer weight of what was at stake.

But from something else entirely.

Because as much as she wanted to focus on the battle ahead—her thoughts kept drifting somewhere else.

To her.

To Isabella.

She heard Isabella before she saw her.

The sound of steady, deliberate steps cutting through the stillness of the night.

Then, that familiar voice—low, casual, edged with something Jolyne couldn't quite place.

"Didn't think you'd be the type to get sentimental before a fight, Cujoh."

Jolyne scoffed, not looking at her. "I'm not."

Isabella smirked. "Uh-huh. Sure."

She stepped closer, the warmth of her presence a sharp contrast to the cool night air.

For a while, neither of them spoke.

Because what the hell was there to say?

They both knew what was coming.

They both knew what was at stake.

And they both knew that not everyone was going to make it out alive.

Jolyne swallowed hard.

Then, finally—quietly, hesitantly—

"I don't know what's going to happen."

She hated how raw it sounded.

How real.

She wasn't used to admitting things like this.

Wasn't used to letting anyone see the parts of her that weren't unbreakable.

Isabella didn't answer right away.

When she did, her voice was steady, certain.

"Then let's make this count."

Jolyne's breath hitched.

Because it wasn't just a response.

It was a challenge.

A promise.

And something else entirely.

Something undeniable.

Jolyne turned to face her, their eyes locking.

And for the first time in all the months they had spent pushing and pulling at each other,

Jolyne saw it.

The thing she had been too stubborn, too blind, too afraid to acknowledge.

It had always been there.

In the way Isabella watched her when she thought no one was looking.

In the way she had bled for her, fought for her, protected her even when it made no sense.

In the way she had pulled away, got distant, got under Jolyne's skin, then wrapped herself around her again just to see how she'd react.

And Jolyne had reacted.

Every damn time.

Her heart pounded against her ribs.

Because this was it.

The moment where she either kept running from this—

Or let herself have it.

And Jolyne was done running.

She grabbed Isabella by the collar, yanking her forward—

And kissed her.

She had kissed people before.

Men, women—didn't matter.

Quick, careless, fleeting moments.

Touches that meant nothing, stolen in dimly lit rooms just to feel something.

But this?

This was different.

Because this wasn't about distraction.

This wasn't about proving something to herself or numbing whatever ache she didn't want to name.

This was Isabella.

And that changed everything.

Isabella didn't hesitate.

She pushed in closer, hands fisting in Jolyne's hair, fingers gripping tight like she had been waiting for this.

Like she wasn't going to let go.

The kiss was hard, desperate, unsteady—a clash of pent-up tension and frustration and things left unsaid for far too long.

But it was real.

Raw.

And it sent a shockwave through Jolyne's entire body.

Because it felt nothing like the others.

The others had been simple.

Had been easy.

This was something else.

Something she wasn't ready for—but couldn't stop.

And she didn't want to.

By the time they finally broke apart, Jolyne's lips were tingling, her breath coming in uneven gasps.

Their foreheads stayed pressed together, neither of them pulling away completely.

Jolyne's fingers were still curled in Isabella's shirt, gripping like she needed to ground herself.

Isabella's hand was still buried in Jolyne's hair, her thumb absently brushing against her temple.

Everything felt too much.

Too raw.

Too real.

And Jolyne knew, in that moment, that this had never been a game.

Not for Isabella.

And not for her.

Finally, after a long moment, Isabella exhaled a shaky breath—and smirked.

"Finally."

Jolyne huffed, rolling her eyes even as her heart continued to hammer against her ribs.

"Don't get cocky."

Isabella chuckled, her fingers still tangled in Jolyne's hair. "Bit late for that, babe."

Jolyne wanted to be annoyed.

Wanted to pretend this hadn't just changed everything.

But she couldn't.

Because it had.

And now?

There was no going back.

The night stretched between them, thick with everything they still weren't saying.

Jolyne swallowed hard.

Then, voice quieter, steadier than she felt—

"Don't you dare die on me."

Isabella's smirk faded.

For a second, she didn't say anything.

Then, voice low, serious, just like before—

"Same to you."

And that was enough.

For now.

Because tomorrow, the fight would begin.

But tonight?

Tonight, they had this.

And Jolyne would make sure she survived long enough to make it count again.