She found him by tracking the blood.
Not literal blood—but Julian's pattern. The way he thought, how he hunted. Aria knew the map of his mind as well as she knew the scars on her own body. When he left a trail, it wasn't through mistakes.
It was through intention.
He wanted her to follow.
Damon had protested when she stormed into the safe house, demanding coordinates and satellite feeds. He told her Julian had a plan, that he was doing this to protect her.
Aria just stared at him, cold and furious. "Then he's a fool."
Damon sighed. "I thought you might say that."
He handed her the keys.
—
Julian was in Lisbon.
Of all places.
Not a battlefield. Not one of Silas's compounds.
But a church.
One barely standing, half-eaten by vines, flanked by crumbling graves and ancient stones.
He stood at the altar like a ghost, the stained glass throwing fractured light across his shoulders.
Aria stepped through the doors, silent as breath, and aimed her gun at him.
He didn't even turn around.
"You found me faster than I thought."
She lowered the weapon. "I always find you."
A pause.
Then he said, "This is where I was supposed to die."
She froze.
Julian finally turned.
"When I was twenty-three, Silas put a price on my head," he said quietly. "Sent five men to kill me here. They failed. I left one of them breathing just long enough to crawl back and tell him I was still alive."
Aria said nothing.
"I thought if I died now—here—it might mean something," he added.
"It won't."
He smiled bitterly. "Still a poet, I see."
"No. Just not suicidal."
Julian stepped down from the altar. "You think I'm trying to die?"
"I think you're trying to win."
"And you'd rather I lose?"
"I'd rather you live."
He reached her then, fingertips brushing her wrist, jaw clenched like he was holding back the ocean.
"Why?" he asked softly. "After everything?"
She didn't answer.
Couldn't.
Because the truth was too heavy.
Too dangerous.
She didn't just want him alive.
She needed him.
And she hated him for it.
—
They left Lisbon that night. Together.
But the silence between them was different now. Not cold. Not even angry.
Just full of things neither of them knew how to say.
Julian drove, one hand on the wheel, the other resting against his thigh—close enough to hers that their skin brushed every time the road curved.
She didn't pull away.
He didn't look at her.
But when they stopped for fuel, he reached across and touched her cheek, brief and quiet.
A whisper of skin.
A warning.
A promise.
—
Back at the bunker, Mira was awake.
And terrified.
"They're coming," she said the moment Aria stepped into the room. "They know where I was. Silas isn't going to wait."
Julian's jaw locked.
Damon pulled up the security feed.
Six black SUVs.
One mile out.
"Breach protocol," Julian snapped.
"Already done," Damon said. "But Aria—he's not here for us."
She went still. "What?"
Damon turned the screen.
And there he was.
Silas Ward.
Standing in the center of the road.
Alone.
No guns.
No backup.
Just him.
Holding a phone.
Julian narrowed his eyes. "He's bluffing."
"No," Aria said softly. "He's threatening."
The phone rang.
She answered.
"Hello, darling," Silas said.
Her grip tightened. "I'm not your darling."
"Of course not. You're Julian's, aren't you? Or maybe no one's. You've always been so good at slipping through fingers."
"Say what you came to say."
He laughed. "Fine. I want to meet. One hour. Come alone."
"Or what?"
There was a pause.
Then a child's voice in the background.
A boy.
Crying.
Aria's stomach dropped.
"Don't," she whispered.
Silas said, "Come alone, or I'll put a bullet in his spine. Just like your father did to mine."
And the line went dead.
—
Julian didn't say a word.
Not as Aria loaded her gun.
Not as she laced her boots.
Not as she stepped toward the door.
He only blocked her path at the last second.
"I'm going with you."
"You can't."
"I'm not letting you go alone."
She looked up at him.
And this time, she didn't lie.
"He has the boy."
Julian's expression shattered.
It was the first time she'd seen him truly break.
"Where?" he asked, voice hollow.
"Outside the border. Near the old graveyard. The coordinates were in the metadata."
Julian didn't move.
Didn't breathe.
He just said, "Then we kill him."
But Aria shook her head.
"No. We end him."
—
The graveyard was silent.
The boy sat tied to a bench, eyes red, hands trembling.
Silas stood behind him with a blade.
Not a gun.
A knife.
Old-fashioned.
Personal.
Aria stepped into the clearing alone, hands raised.
"No weapons," she called.
Silas smiled. "Lie better, Aria."
She dropped the gun anyway.
Then walked forward.
Step by step.
Until they were only ten feet apart.
"Let him go."
"Not yet."
Her voice turned to steel. "If you touch him, I will end you."
"I know," Silas said. "But that's the thing about endings, Aria. They rarely go the way we plan."
Then he lunged.
But he wasn't aiming for the boy.
He was aiming for her.
And Aria was ready.
She grabbed the blade mid-swing, twisting it from his grip, her hand slicing open as steel met skin.
Silas punched her in the stomach.
She hit back.
The fight was brutal—bone and blood and rage. Not like the ones she used to fight for survival.
This was for justice.
This was for every piece of herself she'd lost because of him.
Julian appeared behind Silas, gun raised.
But Aria shouted, "No!"
Silas spun, used the boy as a shield.
Julian froze.
That was all Aria needed.
She stepped forward and stabbed Silas in the leg.
He went down.
But not before grabbing the child again—dragging him close.
"You won't do it," he hissed.
"You don't know me," Aria whispered.
She raised the gun Julian had dropped.
And shot him.
Once.
Twice.
Right through the shoulder.
Right through the thigh.
Silas crumpled.
The boy crawled away, sobbing.
And it was over.
—
Later, the child slept in a safehouse three countries away.
Julian sat beside Aria on the roof of the bunker, bleeding and silent.
"You saved him," he said.
"No. I gave him a future."
Julian looked at her. "What about yours?"
She didn't answer.
Because she didn't know.
All she knew was that Silas was alive.
But broken.
And she finally had control of the war.
At least, for now.