Ash hadn’t slept properly in weeks. He was up before dawn again, sitting on his bike in the garage while the rest of the compound was still wrapped in the hush of early morning. His hands gripped the handlebars like the throttle could anchor him...like if he held on tight enough, maybe his mind would stop running back to her.
Cordelia’s name was still the ghost that followed him around, hovering just beyond reach. Every hallway, every shadow in Devil’s compound, had traces of her in it. He’d tried to drown that ghost in whiskey, in noise, in sleepless nights spent fixing bikes until his fingers bled. Nothing worked.
So when Devil called him into the war room that morning, Ash said yes before he even heard the full mission.
Devil was leaning over the table, maps and photos scattered befo
