​Leo’s POV

​I began to undo the latches. Each click sounded like a gunshot in the silent room. She kept shaking her head, her gloved hands coming up to push at my chest, pleading with me in a silence that was louder than any scream.

​No, no, no, her body language cried out.

​But I refused to listen. Something deep in my marrow told me not to stop. I didn’t care if I was starting a war. I didn’t care if I was breaking every law in Nigeria. I had to know.

​"Don’t fight me," I whispered, my voice cracking.

​My fingers found the final release. With a sharp tug, I lifted the heavy charcoal helmet. It slipped from my hands, hitting the floor with a dull, hollow thud that echoed against the walls.

​My eyes came in contact with her face, and I stopped breathing. The world stopped turning.

​There, standing right in front of me... was my Scarlett.

​The black braids were a wig, shifting slightly to reveal the chocolate hair I knew so well. But it was her face—that face I had kissed a thousand times in my dreams and mourned for a thousand nights—that broke me. Her skin was pale under the room’s dim lights, and her eyes, those beautiful, haunting eyes, were swimming with tears.

​"Scarlett," I whispered. The name felt unreal on my lips.

​Tears gathered in my own eyes, blurring my vision. My wolf wasn’t just howling now; he was screaming in pure, agonizing joy.

She didn’t run. She didn’t speak. She just stood there, her lower lip trembling as a single tear escaped and ran down her cheek. She looked at me with so much pain, so much love, and so much regret that I felt my soul shatter and knit back together in the same breath.

​I didn’t ask how she was alive. I didn’t ask how she had eaten the strawberries or why her scent had changed. I didn’t care about the lies, the death, or the three years she was hiding. All I knew was that my Scarlett was alive.

​I stepped forward, my hands shaking as I reached out to cup her face. Her skin was warm. She was real. She wasn’t ash. She wasn’t a ghost.

​"It’s you," I choked out, a sob catching in my throat. "It’s really you."

​I leaned in, and before she could say a word, I crashed my lips against hers.

​The kiss was passionate—a collision of two souls that had been lost in the dark for too long. It tasted of salt and longing, of three years of wasted grief and a thousand unspoken questions. As our lips moved together, I felt the electric spark turn into a roaring furnace. This wasn’t a hallucination. This wasn’t the heat playing tricks on me. This was the woman who owned my heart, breathing and crying in my arms.

I pulled her closer, my arms wrapping around her armored waist as if I could anchor her to me... and never lose her again. I kissed her like I was trying to breathe life back into my own lungs, and for the first time since the night she "died," I felt the weight of the world lift off my shoulders.

​She kissed me back, a broken sob escaping her lips as she leaned into me. Her arms wound around my neck, holding on as if she were drowning and I was the only thing keeping her afloat. We both cried into the kiss, our tears mixing together, tasting of salt and three years of lost time.

​I finally pulled away just an inch, only to bury my face in the crook of her neck. I pulled her into a hug so tight it probably hurt her armor, but I couldn’t help it. My whole body was shaking, and I could feel her trembling against me, her small hands clutching the back of my shirt.

​"Is it you, Scarlett?" I choked out, the word thick with pain. "Is it really you?"

​She didn’t answer with words. She just held me tighter, her breath coming in fast gasps. I could feel her heart racing against my chest—a steady, beautiful beat that proved she was really here. She was alive. She wasn’t a hallucination.

​I pulled back just enough to cup her face again, my thumbs wiping away the fresh tears on her cheeks.

I couldn’t stop myself; I leaned down and kissed her forehead, then her closed eyelids, then her nose, as if I were trying to memorize every single inch of her all over again. I looked into her eyes, my own vision blurred by the tears standing in them.

​She reached up, her gloved fingers trembling as she touched my jaw, then my cheek. She looked at me with an expression of pure wonder, as if she were seeing a miracle.

​"You look so different, Leo," she whispered, her voice soft and shaky.

​I let out a wet scoff, a half-laugh and half-sob. "You look like a goddess," I replied, my voice rough with emotion.

​Even with the different hair and the tired lines around her eyes, she was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.

A soft blush crept onto her cheeks, a flash of the girl I used to know, and for a second, the three years between us seemed to vanish.

​We just stood there in the quiet room, staring at each other, letting the reality of the moment settle in our bones. The silence wasn’t heavy anymore; it was full of everything we hadn’t been able to say.

​Finally, she looked down at my hands on her face and then back up at me. "Won’t you ask me?" she said softly. "I believe you want answers?"

​I looked at her, seeing the fear in her eyes—the fear that I would be angry or that I would demand answers she wasn’t ready to give.

I shook my head, my grip on her face softening.

​"No," I said firmly, leaning my forehead against hers. "Unless you want to tell me. Right now, I don’t care about the how or the why. I just care that you’re alive and in my arms. Everything else can wait."