war has begun, and if they're not careful, a fatality will tear them down.
NO SMUT OR SEXUALIZING ━ if any of the triplets are uncomfortable with this fanfiction, it will be taken down immediately.
matt sturniolo x fem! oc x chris sturniolo (LOVE T...
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𝖑𝖎. The Last Time
Maeve
THE MILES ARE FEW, but they feel endless. Maeve keeps her grip on the door handle, ready to spring out the second they roll onto the Port Road, wheels spinning beneath them. It's just her, the electricons, and their driver. Even Marzia is silent, staring out the diner at the darkening sky. The smoke of New Town gives way to black, acrid clouds the closer they get to Harbor Bay. At first, Maeve is grateful that she doesn't have to speak to anyone. But as the minutes wear on, the silence grows thicker, heavier, pressing down on her. It makes it difficult to think of anything beyond the city head and the battle raging there. In the distance, the horizon seems to burn.
Her mind spins out, filling in the blanks of what they might find. Each scenario is worse than the last. Surrender. Defeat. Cyrus dying. Matthew pale and bleeding, his blood a silver halo.
The last time Maeve was in Harbor Bay, she traveled through the tunnels and alleyways. She didn't tear through the streets in a military transport, escorted like some kind of dignitary or noble. She barely recognizes the place.
She expects opposition as they roll into the city, but the battle lines are farther in than she thought. The streets are largely empty of everything but soldiers. All theirs, marching to their posts or working their patrols. Once or twice, Maeve spots a contingent of coalition soldiers flanking prisoners. Silvers handcuffed in iron, being led away to wherever they might be kept. Dawson's orders, Maeve presumes. He knows how to leverage prisoners best.
The transport angles beneath the electricons, beginning the gentle descent to the harbor.
"The coalition is forming up on the waterfront, fortifying our position before they try to push back into the fort," the driver calls back to them. A radio in his console blares mostly static, but a few jumbled words get through. He relays what he can. "Sounds like the Air Fleet is holding the Nortan jets out at sea, and we're doing what we can to win the warships in the harbor, but there's Lakelander ships on the horizon."
Jeremiah curses under his breath. "Well out of range," he mutters.
"Let me be the judge of that," Marzia replies sternly, still at the window.
Tristan leans back in his seat, his lips pursed. "So we hold the city. For now."
"Seems like it," Maeve says, still wary as ever.
The transport rolls on, passing larger buildings and more important-looking places. Maeve's body is tight as a coiled wire, ready to react if this calm is just a trap. A feint to lure Matthew and the others into a false sense of security. She keeps her teeth gritted together and the feel of lightning close. Her fellow electricons do the same, each of them stern and ready to fight.
