The Vault was quiet in the hours after Aspen's retreat, the chaos beginning to settle as Stag's men helped restore some order. The fires had been put out, the corridors cleared, but the tension still lingered—like the aftermath of a storm that could start back up at any moment.
I sat with Oliver, the weight of everything pressing down on me. Farrah's absence felt like a gaping hole in my chest, and despite everything we had accomplished today, it didn't feel like a victory.
"You did the right thing," Oliver said quietly, his hand resting on my shoulder.
I shook my head, unable to meet his eyes. "I don't know if you did..."
"We don't always get to see the results of our decisions right away," he continued. "But letting Aspen walk away… it was the right call. There's no place for her here anymore, and she knows it."
I swallowed hard, the ache in my chest tightening. "But she's still out there."
"Yes," Oliver admitted, his gaze distant.
Oliver stood, staring out at the remnants of the chaos we'd survived. "There's still work to do. But we'll rebuild. And we'll do it together."
I looked at him, my heart heavy but resolute. He was right. The fight wasn't over—not by a long shot. But for now, we had won.
And that was enough.
The Vault was quiet now, almost eerily so. After everything that had happened—the chaos, the bloodshed, the betrayals—it felt strange to have this moment of stillness. Like the place itself was holding its breath, waiting to see what came next.
I stood against the wall, looking out over the Vault. The faint hum of distant voices, the flicker of neon lights reflecting off the wet floors—it all felt different now. The world hadn't changed, not really, but something inside me had.
Oliver stood beside me, leaning against the wall as he looked at the same view. His hand brushed against mine, a small gesture, but it grounded me in a way that nothing else could.
"We did it," he said quietly, his voice a low rumble in the stillness.
I nodded, the weight of it settling over me. "Yeah… we did."
But there was no celebration in my voice. No sense of triumph. We had won, sure. We had taken back the Vault, pushed Aspen out—but at what cost? Farrah was dead. The streets were still tense, fragile. And the scars Aspen had left behind… they'd take time to heal.
"We're not done, though," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "There's so much left to fix."
Oliver's gaze shifted to me, his dark eyes softening. "There's always something to fix in a place like this. But we'll handle it. One thing at a time."
I looked down at my hands, at the faint, almost completely gone, remnants of violet ink that had once marked me as Oliver's. The bracelet was gone now, but in its place, something stronger had grown. Trust. Partnership. And maybe… something deeper.
"Stag's men…" I started, hesitating for a moment as I gathered my thoughts. "He'll want more than just a cut. He's not the kind of guy who's content with staying in the background. He'll want more influence."
Oliver sighed, nodding in agreement. "I know Stag. We'll have to keep a close eye on him. But for now, he's useful. And his men can help stabilize things while we rebuild."
I chewed on my lip, thinking about what that meant—what it meant for the Vault, for the future. "We'll have to renegotiate the deals with the vendors. Aspen bled them dry, and if we don't fix that, they'll never trust us."
"They'll come around," Oliver said, his voice steady, though there was an edge of exhaustion in it. "We've already shown them things are changing. We'll prove it through action. Stag's presence might help… or it might make things worse. But we'll adapt. We always do."
My mind drifted through the past few days—how much had changed, how much I had changed.
When I first came to the Vault, I was just another face in the crowd. A girl from the streets, clawing her way through the chaos, trying to survive. I had been lost, angry, desperate for something—anything—that would give me control over my own life.
But now… now I had found that control. I had fought for it, bled for it, and even though I was far from perfect, I had something I'd never had before: a purpose. Not just within the Vault, but with Oliver.
I had earned my place here. And no one, not Aspen, not even the streets themselves, could take that away from me. "I never thought I'd feel like I belong anywhere," I said softly, almost to myself.
Oliver's eyes flickered toward me, curiosity in his gaze. "What do you mean?"
I let out a small sigh, my chest tightening as I thought about it. "When I first came here, the Vault was just another place to survive. It didn't matter where I was, as long as I wasn't back on the streets. But now… it's more than that. This place has given me something I didn't think I'd ever have."
"What's that?"
I met his gaze, a soft smile tugging at the corners of my lips. "Control. Over my own life. Over what happens next. For the first time… I don't feel like everything's out of my hands."
Oliver's expression softened, and for a moment, we just sat there in the silence, both of us reflecting on what the Vault had given us—and what it had taken.
"There's something else," Oliver said, his voice quiet, almost hesitant. "This place… it used to be all I had. The Vault was my life. It's what kept me going. But now…"
He trailed off, his eyes lingering on me, and I felt my heart skip a beat. "Now what?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
Oliver's hand found mine, his fingers lacing through mine as he squeezed gently. "Now, I have you."
The words hit me harder than I expected, a warmth spreading through my chest that made me feel… lighter. For the first time, in a long time, I didn't feel alone. I didn't feel like I was just surviving. I had something to fight for— someone to fight for.
"I need you to stay close," Oliver continued, his voice low and sincere. "I've spent so long keeping people at a distance. But now… I realize that maybe it just made me weak."
"You're not weak," I said, shaking my head. "You've done more for this place than anyone else could have. People who were just scraping by on the streets found themselves at home here. A way to survive."
"I'm not talking about the Vault," he replied, his eyes locking onto mine. "I'm talking about us."
My breath caught in my throat, and for a moment, I didn't know what to say. There was so much between us—so much unspoken, so much left to figure out—but in this moment, it didn't matter.
We had each other.
"I'm not going anywhere," I finally said, my voice soft but steady.
A comfortable silence settled between us, the weight of the past few days finally starting to lift. The Vault still had a long way to go, and we had a mountain of problems to deal with. But for the first time, I didn't feel overwhelmed by it. I felt… ready.
Ready to rebuild. Ready to fight for what we had.
Oliver and I made our way through the corridors, the lingering tension of the Vault still buzzing in the air. As we turned the corner, we saw Stag barking orders at a group of his men, already making their presence known. He caught sight of us and gave a curt nod, but his eyes narrowed slightly in curiosity as Oliver walked directly up to him.
"I need you at my office first thing in the morning," Oliver said, his tone firm but calm. "Until then, clean things up around the Vault. Keep your men in line, treat the vendors well, and don't let anything slip out of control." He paused for a moment, then added, "We'll talk business tomorrow. You're going to be happy with what I've got planned."
Stag raised an eyebrow, folding his arms across his chest. "And what makes you so sure, Oliver?"
Without breaking stride, Oliver reached into his back pocket and pulled out a thick envelope stuffed with cash. He handed it to Stag with an unwavering look. "Consider this a gesture of good faith. I'm offering you something better than the streets ever could."
Stag glanced at the envelope, weighing it in his hand, then gave a satisfied grunt. "Alright, I'll play along—for now. But I'll be expecting a lot more than just this when we meet."
"You'll get what's you're owed, don't worry," Oliver replied evenly. He clapped Stag on the shoulder, then turned back toward me. "Come on," he said softly, the command in his voice dissolving into something gentler.
We left Stag and his men behind, walking side by side as we headed back to Oliver's apartment. The chaos around us wasn't gone, not entirely, but it felt manageable now. There was a new energy in the Vault—a slow, simmering shift. I could feel it. Oliver could feel it. We had taken back control.
By the time we reached his door, my muscles ached with exhaustion, but the sense of relief—of victory—was stronger. We had made it through the worst.
In the apartment, I watched as Oliver stood, stretching his arms as he moved toward the kitchen.
I leaned back in the kitchen chair, a soft smile playing on my lips as I watched him. This was our new normal— chaos outside, but something steady between us. Something solid.
As Oliver set the food down on the table, he looked over at me, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "I guess we should figure out how to deal with Stag, huh?"
I laughed softly, shaking my head. "Yeah. That's going to be a whole mess."
"But it's our mess now," Oliver said, his voice serious but laced with a sense of peace. "And we'll deal with it together."
I felt like I was exactly where I was meant to be. Not just in the Vault, but here, with him. We had been through hell, but we had survived. And now, we had something worth building, something worth protecting.
The chaos of the Vault outside seemed to fade into the background. We had a lot of work ahead of us—new deals to make, new alliances to forge, and plenty of rebuilding to do—but for now, in this quiet moment, I allowed myself to feel the peace we had fought so hard to find.
Whatever came next, we would face it together.
After we finished eating, I leaned back in my chair, watching Oliver clear the plates and move around the kitchen, the ease in his movements now so different from the tension that had ruled him for so long. I reached into my bag and pulled out my phone, my fingers brushing the screen as the familiar weight of it rested in my hand. A sad reminder.
Farrah.
My chest tightened, grief welling up again as I stared at the device. Farrah would have texted me by now, some sarcastic message or teasing me about Oliver. But now, the screen stayed dark, a reminder of everything this life had taken from me. Farrah wasn't the first. I knew, deep down, she wouldn't be the last.
Death followed me here. Decay lingered in the shadows of the Vault, infecting everything it touched.
I thought of my parents. The streets I'd clawed my way out of. The desperate faces I had once walked past every day, trying to survive in a world that took and took and never gave back. And yet here I was, years later, still fighting the same battles, still trying to carve out something that felt like hope.
Maybe I was fooling myself, thinking that there could be something more. Something better. But as I sat there, in this quiet moment with Oliver, I realized that I wasn't the same girl who had run from the streets with nothing but survival in mind.
I was different now. Hardened, yes. But also… stronger. I had found a place of power here, in this twisted world of the Vault. A place where, for the first time in my life, I wasn't just surviving—I was shaping my future. I had fought, bled, and lost, but I had also won. And Farrah, as much as it pained me to admit it, had been part of that. Her death would not be in vain. I owed her that much. I set the phone down on the table, my hand trembling slightly as I did. The grief was there, and it always would be. This life had shaped me, but it hadn't broken me. Not yet.
Oliver returned to the table, sitting beside me, his hand resting gently on mine. I looked into his eyes, seeing a shared understanding there. He'd lost people, too. More than I could probably imagine.
"We'll make it work," I said softly, more to myself than to him. But he nodded anyway, squeezing my hand in silent agreement.
We sat in comfortable silence for a while, the weight of the day still heavy on both of us. The Vault outside was far from fixed, far from healed. There was still so much broken, so much corrupted. But we had a chance—a real chance—to build something better. Something stronger.
And I wasn't alone anymore.
For so long, I had carried the weight of my past like a chain around my neck, convinced that I'd never be anything more than the girl who fought to survive. But now… maybe I could be more. Maybe we could build something that wasn't just about survival, but about living. About having something to fight for.
A future.
I stood, glancing back at the phone on the table one last time, before turning toward Oliver. His gaze met mine, steady and unflinching.
"Let's rebuild," I said quietly, the words filled with a quiet determination.
As we moved toward the door, stepping out into the darkness of the Vault's corridors once again, I felt a shift deep within me. The Vault was a brutal place. The streets were worse. But I wasn't just a product of that brutality anymore. I had power now. Control.
And for the first time in my life, I wasn't running from the shadows. I was walking straight into them—ready to claim my place.
The Vault wasn't just a prison or a sanctuary anymore. It was home.