The night was heavy with silence as Lucien and his group carried Iman back through the ruined streets. Her body was limp in his arms, fragile yet alive, every breath a reminder of the battle they had just endured.
His men followed close behind, their faces grim but relieved. They had fought, bled, and risked everything to bring her back — but Lucien had refused to let anyone else hold her. She was his, and he would not let her slip away again.
Inside the safe house, he laid her gently upon the bed. The others withdrew, leaving him alone with her. Lucien sat beside her, exhaustion weighing on him, but his hand never left hers. He leaned forward, resting his head on the edge of the bed, his dark hair brushing against her fingers.
Hours passed before Iman stirred. Her lashes fluttered, and when her gaze fell upon him, her heart softened. With trembling fingers, she reached out and caressed his hair.
Lucien's eyes opened at her touch, relief flooding him. He rose instantly, gathering her into his arms.
"I thought I lost you," he whispered, voice breaking.
"You saved me," she murmured, weak but steady. "You never left."
"I could never leave," he said fiercely, pressing his forehead against hers. "Not when you are my reason to exist."
Her hand brushed his cheek. "Lucien… you stayed here all night?"
He smiled faintly, weary but devoted. "I would sit here for eternity if it meant watching you breathe."
She closed her eyes, tears glistening. "Then promise me you'll never let go."
His lips pressed against her forehead, her cheeks, her lips - every kiss a vow. "Never," he murmured. "You are mine, and I am yours. Always."