Bearly Contained by Zora Black & Milly Taiden

Author:Zora Black & Milly Taiden [Black, Zora & Taiden, Milly]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2025-12-18T00:00:00+00:00

16

ANGIE

Fire eats fast when it’s hungry, and tonight it’s starving.

The flames crawl up the sides of the crates like they’ve been waiting for this moment, like they’ve been watching me carry these hard drives and film canisters around for years, just biding their time for the chance to consume them. The edges of the reels curl black before they catch, the plastic melting with a hiss and a wail, and the smell hits me—burning celluloid and scorched ink and the acrid tang of dying electricity—and it all makes my eyes sting even more than they already were.

I don’t wipe the tears. They’re not shameful. They’re not even sad, not really. They’re just part of it. Part of watching my life up until now get swallowed in sparks and smoke.

Cassian stands a few feet away, arms crossed over that broad chest, his breath fogging steady in the cold. His face is all hard lines and restraint, the way it always is when he’s trying not to feel too much, but I see the flicker in his jaw every time something new cracks and crumbles in the fire. I see the way his eyes track me, not the burning gear, not the flames, but me—like he’s trying to make sense of what I’m doing, and maybe why it’s making his chest rise a little faster than usual.

I pull out the last drive from the bottom of my backpack. This one’s different—sleeker, newer, silver edges dulled from how many times I’ve held it in my hands, stared at it while wondering what it meant. This one has everything: the footage of Cassian when he didn’t know I was filming, the interviews with the villagers who whispered his name like a ghost story, the old Super 8 scans I digitized of maps, places, teeth that weren’t human. This was the crown jewel. My masterpiece.

And I’m going to destroy it.

“Are you sure?” Cassian asks, his voice low, barely there, but it cuts through the snow-drenched silence like thunder in the distance.

I don’t look at him when I speak. I keep my eyes on the fire, because if I look at him, I might lose my nerve. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

Then I toss it in.

No hesitation. No ceremony.

The flames crackle louder for a second, the plastic sizzling as it twists and melts into nothing, and a part of me goes with it. But I don’t feel hollow. I feel clean. Scared, yes—terrified, even—but also clean. Like I’ve finally cut the cord on a version of myself that was never meant to last.

“You just...” His voice is rougher now. He takes a step forward, then another. “You erased your whole career. Your legacy. Your proof.”

I finally turn to him, slow and deliberate, because he needs to see it on my face, needs to know this isn’t grief. This is choice. This is clarity.

“No,” I say softly, stepping close until I can smell the scent of him—pine and fire and something darker underneath.

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