Despite the blood and dirt, I felt a strange flicker of confusion.
These people weren’t stiff mindless drones.
They actually poked at Dylan, and he let them get away with just enough back-and-forth to keep them moving.
Could the System have been wrong with its diagnosis about Dylan being a tyrant out to destroy the world?
Clearly, he’s a functioning , maybe a little broken in the head human.
Nothing out of place.
Collins stepped closer to Dylan, his voice devoid of jest.
“Western perimeter is stabilized enough for transit, sir.
We located the missing squad—two casualties, three injured, but no further active manifestations detected in the immediate radius.
Command is estimating a full sweep will take at least seven days.” I tried but couldn’t understand half of the jargon he was spouting.
I caught only jagged pieces like—western sector, containment, seven days, anomaly level.
Seven days?
Collins glanced over at me, his eyes taking in my torn jeans, my bleeding knee, and the fact that I was visibly swaying where I stood.
”What do we do with her?” Collins asked softly, treating me like an operational variable that needed addressing.
“Should we send her back to the main estate with the medical transport?” I held my breath waiting for a response that would make all these better.
I wanted nothing more than a hot shower, a bed and a room without screaming monsters.
I opened my mouth to volunteer for the medical transport myself — anything to get out of these boots — but what came out instead was, “You know, most people get a honeymoon after their wedding right?
Beaches.
Overpriced spa robes.
Room service.
I’d even take a hotel with bad Wi-Fi at this point.” Nobody laughed but Collins looked like he very much wanted to.
Instead, Dylan looked at me.
His eyes swept over my dirt-caked face, my ruined boots, and my scowl.
“She stays,” Dylan said flatly.
Collins hesitated, his brow furrowing.
“At the forward base?” ”Yes.” I blinked.
Huh?
”Get in the truck,” Dylan ordered, turning toward the lead vehicle.
I hauled myself up the high step of the armored transport, dropping heavily onto one of the metal benches inside.
I fully expected Dylan to sit up front with the driver or take another vehicle entirely.
Instead, he climbed in right behind me and sat directly across the narrow aisle.
The doors sealed shut and the transport lurched forward.
The silence inside was broken only by the hum of the engine and the quiet chatter of the comms headset Collins was wearing up front.
I leaned my head back against the steel wall, completely out of steam.
”How long is this operation?” I asked softly, staring at the reinforced floorboards.
Dylan didn’t look up from his tablet.
“Seven days.” My eyes snapped open.
“Seven?
As in a whole week out in the dirt?” ”Possibly longer.” I let out a low, pathetic groan, dropping my face into my dirty hands.
“I hate you so much.” No, I hate myself more.
Kristen, come and take your husband.
I’m done.
Holland or Dylan, I don’t care anymore.
The ride was mercifully quiet.
My body was crashing from the adrenaline rush, every muscle aching as the vehicle bounced over rutted dirt roads.
By the time the vehicle slowed an hour later, the sun had dipped low.
The vehicle passed through a series of gates before coming to a stop.
When the doors opened, I looked out to find a concealed military-style compound built deep into the mountain valley.
There were no marble floors or chandelier lights here—just functional barracks, steel watchtowers, equipment racks, and rows of vehicles parked under camouflage netting.
Operatives moving across the courtyard stopped to watch as the doors of Dylan’s transport opened.
Whispers echoed across the gravel as word spread like wildfire: the fake heiress was actually in the hazard zone, and she had come back alive.
I swung my legs over the edge of the transport, trying to step down onto the gravel on my own two feet.
But the moment my right foot hit the ground, my scraped, exhausted knee gave out entirely.
Before I could faceplate into the dirt for the second time today, a strong arm caught me around the waist, pulling me back up against a solid chest.
”I can walk,” I protested instantly, trying to push against his vest.
”You’re currently proving otherwise,” Dylan replied without a single shred of emotion.
Without waiting for my permission, he shifted his grip, sliding one arm under my knees and lifted me completely off the ground.
”Put me down!” I hissed, my face flushing hot as dozens of uniformed guards watched us walk past.
“People are looking!” ”Let them look.” He kept walking, his stride steady, carrying me across the courtyard like I weighed nothing at all.
Leila jogged up beside us, clipboard in hand.
“Boss, she needs her knee disinfected, a tetanus booster, and about ten hours of rest before her leg swells up.” Dylan didn’t slow his pace.
“Come and treat her in my cabin.” The entire courtyard seemed to drop five degrees in temperature.
Leila paused in her tracks.
Collins, who was walking a few paces behind us, suddenly found an interest in staring at his boots.
Jace looked up at the metal rafters of the hangar, completely fascinated by the ceiling structure.
I looked between all of them, my brow furrowing in confusion.
“Your cabin?
Why are you all acting like he just ordered my execution?
What does that mean?
What happens in his cabin?” Dylan didn’t answer her, nor did he look at his lingering staff.
He kept walking like the courtyard hadn’t gone dead silent around us.
If this was the closest thing to a honeymoon I was ever going to get, someone owed me a full refund.
”Nothing.
It’s private,” he said simply after a few minutes, carrying me straight toward an isolated black timber cabin set against the edge of the tree line.
And without another word, he pushed the door open.