When Ash Meets Smoke - Caelan and Ariana

[Caelan Ward]

The hum of the vehicle died beneath a settling hush, and Caelan exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Blood soaked through the side of his dark shirt, warm and sticky where it clung to his ribs. The sting was secondary to the tightness in his chest... the kind that had nothing to do with injury.

He didn’t recognize this place.

It wasn’t a Revenant safehouse. Too clean. Too quiet. The stone structure sat tucked between two broken dunes, its low silhouette shaped like something that had grown out of the sand rather than been built into it. Lanterns glowed faintly against desert dusk, soft orange bleeding into blue. No markings. No symbols. Just a weatherworn door with a subtle camera mounted above it.

He looked to his right, jaw tightening.

Elian. The youngest of his team, loyal to a fault... too much heart, not enough self-preservation. He’d taken Caelan’s weight without flinching and insisted they stop here. Not a Revenant cache. Not the usual route.

“Where the hell are we?” Caelan muttered, voice low, edged in suspicion.

Elian rubbed the back of his neck, then nodded toward the structure. “It’s a medbay. Sort of. Quiet one. Off-grid.”

“That’s not an answer.”

Elian’s eyes darted to the door, then back. “Look… I got clipped on a recon run a couple months ago. Didn’t want to report it, so I...” He hesitated, as if bracing for a verbal lashing. “I came here. One of Romero’s people patched me up.”

“Romero,” Caelan repeated, tone flat. “That Romero?”

Elian nodded. “Yeah. But not the boss. His daughter. She runs this place. Keeps to herself. Doesn’t ask questions.” He paused, then added more quietly, “She saved my damn leg, Cael. Didn’t charge me. Didn’t call it in. Just… stitched me up and sent me back like I never came.”

Caelan let the silence settle between them. He hated unknowns. Hated owing favors even more. But he hated bleeding out in a sand-swept outpost with a collapsed lung and two cracked ribs even more.

He didn’t argue.

Instead, he pushed open the vehicle door, boots crunching against the gravel path. His hand stayed near his belt... not on a weapon, but close enough. Pain made his steps unsteady, but not weak. He refused to show that. Not here. Not in unfamiliar territory.

The inside of the medbay was cooler than expected... stone walls absorbing the heat, smooth tile underfoot. The air smelled like something clean but aged. Disinfectant, faint mint, metal. Not sterile like a hospital, but not lived-in either. Somewhere in between.

Caelan took it in quickly... rows of neatly arranged supplies, two empty cots, cabinets labeled in tidy handwriting, a small side desk covered in patient logs written by hand. Efficient. Functional.

He sat on the edge of the nearest cot, fingers leaving faint streaks of blood across his side. Elian hovered, unsure whether to stay.

“You did good,” Caelan muttered. “Go wait outside.”

Elian hesitated, then nodded, stepping back without argument.

Caelan let the quiet return. He leaned slightly forward, forearms braced on his knees, watching the doorway. Still bleeding. Still wary. Still not convinced this wasn’t a trap dressed in gauze and calm lighting.

The door creaked open. Boots. Light, unhurried. He didn’t look up right away... he heard her before he saw her. A controlled pace. No rustle of uncertainty. Whoever she was, she didn’t walk like someone who feared much.

He finally lifted his gaze. She wasn’t what he expected. No lab coat. No gloves yet. She wore dark jeans, a tucked-in shirt rolled at the sleeves, and confidence stitched into every movement. Her hair was tied back loosely, and her expression... cool, unbothered... barely shifted when she saw the blood. She didn’t flinch. Not even a flicker.

“You’re not what I expected,” Caelan said quietly, voice like gravel dragging over a low flame. She met his gaze without hesitation. “Good thing,” he added after a beat, as her hands reached for gloves and gauze. “You’d probably flinch less than most of my squad.” She didn’t answer. Just moved closer, assessing the wound like it was a problem she already knew how to solve. He didn’t trust her. Not yet. But he didn’t stop her. And that, in Caelan’s world, said more than any words ever could.

[Ariana Romero]

Ariana was in one of her father’s manors humming softly as she relaxed on her phone. The security system alerts her to intruders in the yard, she calmly stands up opening the cameras. She saw the two men approaching the house and looked towards the guards “stand down” the men immediately obeyed her command. 

She walked towards the med bay tying her hair back as she gave her lead guards instructions “secure the perimeter, ensure they came alone and weren’t followed” as she went to walk into the med bay a guard moved to follow her causing her to raise a hand “no guards in the treatment area remember” the guard went to protest but a single look from her silenced him. 

She walked in quietly moving towards the cot, her movements were calm and precise showing that she didn’t mean any harm. She knew how men like this could be. Kneeling beside him she assessed the wound in silence not even reacting to his remarks. 

“Lay back” her instructions left no room for argument as she started to prepare her supplies. She was used to men not respecting her authority, her father had taught her how to demand it, but at the end of the day, most criminals didn’t respect a little girl. 

She knelt beside his cot moving his shirt out of the way so she can work on his wound “this is going to hurt a bit” her voice was cold as she warned him before flushing the wound to be sure no dirt was left inside. She watched him writhe in pain a small smirk on her face “oh relax, that was the easy part” she looked at him before carefully examining the wound again trying to see how deep it goes “so what exactly caused this? I need to know so I can treat it” her voice had shifted back to cold and clinical. 

She pressed a small button on the table beside her and within minutes someone came into the room. She looked at them calmly as she instructed what to set up “I need the Xray and Ultrasounds readied to assess for internal injuries” she got to her feet taking off her bloodied gloves before glancing back down at him “we normally don’t treat outsiders, but since your buddy is a good person I don’t see an issue making an exception” she smiled and walked away from him starting to chart his case “your friend received out help because he got hurt saving some of our men, we repay loyalty like that, I suppose we should have made it more clear to him that it was supposed to be a one time deal” she looked at him wondering what his deal was. 

She looked back to her paperwork “for my records I’ll need a name and date of birth, feel free to lie if you don’t trust me, it’s mostly to make it all look by the book in case we are ever discovered” 

The day her father had opened this place for her they created a cover story. An exclusive private clinic, only members could know about it. They knew it was necessary in case word got out. So she kept her records neat, only asked the necessary questions to complete treatment, and otherwise pretended to know nothing about what else could be going on behind the scenes. Ariana knew all too well that underground deals always came to the surface eventually. 

She finished her notes before returning to his side, but before she could speak a guard knocked on the door bowing to her as he entered. 

“The perimeter is secure ma’am, the men were not followed” the man spoke to her calmly. 

She nodded slightly not even looking at him “thank you Valentino, now go ensure we don’t have any further guests” without question the guard ran off leaving Ariana to focus on her work. 

She looked at him as she prepared some pain relief for him “don’t mind the guards, they are just here for insurance” she shrugged slightly as she carefully injected him “now that should make everything less painful.

After giving it a minute for the pain relief to kick in she began working on him again, the staff she had called in brought over an ultrasound machine so she could look for any internal damage. She remained silent making mental notes of anything she might need to keep an eye on. She could see signs of old healed injuries making it clear that he was no stranger to being hurt and honestly that doesn’t surprise her. She sat back slightly looking at him “you got lucky, seems you missed most of your major organs, a small scratch on your lung but I’d say it should heal fine on its own as long as you rest” she put on fresh gloves before she began stitching the wound carefully. 

As she worked on closing the room she started giving orders to her staff again “prepare a couple of the guest rooms and tell the cooks we will be having a couple guests for dinner” she didn’t even bother asking him about it, making it clear he would be staying whether he liked it or not. She finished stitching his would and put a dressing over it “you and your friend will stay here for a few days, I want to keep an eye on the lung puncture, make sure it doesn’t get worse” she smirked a little “since you look like the kind of hothead that wouldn’t accept bedrest without being forced”

[Caelan Ward]

He didn’t like this. Not the cold tile beneath him. Not the way her gloves snapped into place like punctuation marks. Not the sterile precision in her voice that cut deeper than the scalpel she hadn’t even picked up yet. He laid back, only because he had to, because moving too much might tear something worse. His muscles tensed anyway... reflex more than reason. Her hands were steady, sure, practiced. She didn’t waste words or movements, and that should’ve been a comfort.

But it wasn’t. Caelan gritted his teeth as the wound was flushed, eyes fixed on the cracked ceiling instead of the woman kneeling at his side. Pain clawed up his ribs, white-hot, and for a moment it took everything he had not to react. But his jaw clenched harder. No sound escaped. She smirked.

He caught it from the corner of his eye. Noted it. Tucked it away. He’d seen women like her before... too competent, too controlled. The type that people either underestimated or avoided altogether. She didn’t ask for permission. She gave orders, and people jumped. But he wasn’t one of her people. Her questions came clinical and cold. He answered because he had to.

“Blade. Close-range. Coated.” His voice was low, taut with pain and suspicion. “Didn’t get a clean look.”

No need to mention that he’d felt it slide past the ribs with just enough restraint not to gut him. That’d been deliberate. A warning. Whoever had landed the blow wanted him bleeding...  not dead. Yet.

He watched her call in staff like she owned the ground beneath their feet. He didn’t miss the way the guards bowed, or the way her voice changed when giving orders. Authoritative. Final. The kind that didn’t invite discussion.

He didn’t like that either. And when she turned back to him... demanding a name, date of birth, even with the caveat to lie... it chafed. He wasn’t used to being catalogued. He was used to ghosting. No trails. No records. Not even a shadow when he walked away. Still, he gave her something.

“Jace Revan. Just that. Born a long time ago. Make up the rest.”

Flat. Mechanical. Like a recitation he’d given a dozen times before. The name wasn’t real, of course. Just enough grit and believability to pass a surface scan, and generic enough to disappear if anyone came sniffing. He didn’t trust her... not yet... and he sure as hell wasn’t going to hand her the truth wrapped in a bow.

The guard entered with a report. Unfollowed. Perimeter secure. Didn’t matter. He didn’t feel safe. Pain meds hit, dulling the edge of the burn, but not the instinct to brace. He forced his breath slow while she worked, watching her hands more than her face. Efficient. Exact. She hadn’t botched a single movement. But efficiency didn’t equate to trust.

Nothing did. She told him he’d gotten lucky. He almost laughed. Almost. Instead, he let the silence speak for him. He’d been gutted before. Shot, stitched, left in gutters and back alleys with lungs full of blood and bones he’d had to reset himself. Luck wasn’t part of it. Just a long-standing agreement with pain.. he’d endure, and it would pass. 

Then came the decision she didn’t bother to offer. His jaw ticked. Caelan sat forward slowly, one hand braced against the cot, the other curling around his ribs. Her voice was still calm, still clinical. But the way she said it... like it was already done... hit him sideways.

He didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t need to. “That’s not your call.” The words were quiet, hard. “I’ve taken care of myself through worse in places a hell of a lot less clean than this.” His eyes met hers, unreadable. “I don’t plan on staying longer than tonight.”

Before she could argue, he reached for his phone with stiff fingers, wincing as he pulled it from his pocket. The screen flickered dimly. One bar. Enough. He tapped out a message to Elian:

Still breathing. Not staying long. Keep watch. Don’t relax. He hit send and tucked the phone away.

His gaze returned to her as she finished her work. His body might’ve surrendered to rest out of necessity, but his eyes never did. “I’m leaving tomorrow,” he said flatly, final. “Save your guest room for someone who wants the help.” He didn’t care if she believed him. Didn’t care if she’d try to make him stay. The decision had already been made. And in Caelan’s world, his word was the only one that mattered.

[Ariana Romero]

Ariana looked at him calmly as he answered her questions “so on paper you’ll be Jace, but what should I actually call you?” she looked at him with a small smirk on her face “I’m Ariana, most people call me Ari” she looked down at her paperwork as she filled it out calmly. Before turning back to his injury, inspecting her handiwork quietly. 

She resisted the urge to laugh as he tried to argue “didn’t your friend tell you? What I say goes” she smirked a little looking at him “you will stay here until I say you are safe to leave, you won’t get past my men, especially in your condition” she shrugged a little before sending her staff away. 

Her gaze landed on him as she crossed her arms calmly “your buddy didn’t tell you who I was did he? Or maybe you don’t know my family’s reputation, though given the nature of your injury I doubt that’s the case” she knew most people in the criminal underworld knew of the Romero family, and of her father’s legacy. It was a name that commanded respect, most people were thanking her for even bothering to help them, but this guy, he was different, part of her wanted to keep the mystery going a little longer just so he wouldn’t change how he behaved with her. 

She could tell he wasn’t the type to listen to someone without a damn good reason. She pulled up her sleeve showing the family crest she had gotten tattooed when she was 18, her father called it a coming of age present but she knew the truth. He marked her so that anyone would know who they are crossing if they touched her. She kept it covered most of the time not wanting people treating her differently for being a Romero. But some people needed to know her identity so she could use it to gain the upper hand. 

She pulled her sleeve back down before walking away before leaning back against her desk “now you know who I am, and you know that if I wanted you and your friend wouldn’t even be in here” her caring demeaner from before was gone as she now was determined to get him to agree to her terms “now I am caring for you free of charge as I would anyone else I let through my doors, I am not about to let someone with injuries such as yours leave, you and your friend are safe here, and you will stay until I deem you fit to leave” she looked down at her nails as if she wasn’t at all concerned about how he could react. 

She knew he could attack her if he wanted, but she also knew if he even tried her men would be in the room before he can even get hands on her, let alone cause any real damage. She wasn’t afraid of what he could do, she had dealt with men like him plenty of times, and even without her guards could easily handle herself in a fight. 

She let out a small sigh before moving towards the door “someone will come and show you to your room shortly, dinner will be ready in a couple hours” she shrugged before leaving the room calmly. She looked to one of her men once she was out of the room “make sure he doesn’t leave the property, and invite his little friend inside” the man nodded before running off to follow her orders. She may not be planning to be a crime lord like her father but she knew how to use what power he had given her to her advantage. 

She walked through the manor smiling as she walked into the gym practicing her sparring before dinner, she was expertly hitting the punching bag with acute precision, it was clear she had been properly trained to be lethal if she needed, even if her guards were never far behind. She wanted to be able to defend herself independently, not just with an army of guards by her side. Her back was to the door as she practiced her guard down in the safety of her own home.

[Caelan Ward]

The name sat between them like a drawn blade. Romero. Of course. The pieces clicked together in silence, jagged and unwelcome. He’d heard the name whispered in backrooms, coded into intel briefings, branded into the kind of men who commanded fear by legacy rather than presence. The Romeros didn’t need to explain themselves... history had already done the explaining for them.

And she’d worn that crest like a shield, flashed it just long enough to remind him whose house he was bleeding in.

Caelan sat there, chest rising slow and deliberate, jaw locked against the storm that wanted to break loose. He’d spent years keeping his face unreadable, his voice level, his movements measured. And right now, it was all that kept him from snapping the IV line out of his arm, ripping the stitches raw, and limping his way back into the desert just to breathe air that wasn’t owned by someone else’s name.

But his body wasn’t keeping pace with his pride. Every nerve screamed. His ribs felt like splintered glass grinding with each breath. He wasn’t going anywhere tonight. And he hated that... hated needing a roof, hated owing a debt, hated lying on a cot in Romero territory like some wounded animal boxed into a corner.

She’d said what I say goes with a smirk like it was law.

He didn’t answer her when she asked what to call him. Didn’t offer her the real name, or even a fake one for that matter. Jace Revan was enough. The rest she could chew on in her paperwork, like bones without the meat.

As she walked out, voice cool, giving orders that turned men into shadows at her heels, Caelan exhaled through his teeth. A quiet hiss. Control. Always control. His hand curled around his phone again, thumb brushing the edge. One bar. Still there. Still his only tether to Elian on the outside.

He didn’t text again. Not yet. Elian knew better than to move without word. Kid was too loyal for his own damn good, but he wasn’t stupid. If Ari... Ariana... meant what she said, they’d drag Elian inside soon enough. That was a problem. Kid was honest to the bone. Too honest. The type to smile politely and give his real name when asked. The type to believe a smile meant safety. Caelan’s gut tightened. He’d have to keep that leash tight.

He leaned back slowly, careful not to split the stitches. His eyes fixed on the ceiling again, tracing cracks like maps to anywhere but here. His mind refused to rest. Every instinct catalogued the room... the angles of the exits, the weight of the cot, the distance to the door. Even drugged, his brain refused to soften its edges.

Romero. Daughter of. He didn’t know her game yet. Didn’t know if she patched people up out of some twisted sense of independence, or because it bought her leverage later. Maybe both. Everyone wanted something. Everyone.

And when the guards came for him... to escort him to his so-called room... he’d walk. Not because she said so. Not because her family name meant anything in his world. But because he needed time. Time to figure the angle. Time to make sure Elian didn’t hand them more than they already had.

His ribs ached as he pushed himself upright, steadying with one hand against the cot’s edge. Every breath was sandpaper. Every step a reminder that he was at someone else’s mercy, and he despised it.

But if Ariana Romero thought for a second that her crest, her guards, her house gave her the upper hand, she hadn’t met a man who’d built his life out of clawing through other people’s traps and walking out the other side. He’d stay the night. Because his body gave him no choice. Tomorrow, though? Tomorrow was his. And in Caelan’s world, his word was the only one that mattered.