Apocalypse Trade Monopoly
Chapter 130: – Old Threads, New Tension

Chapter 130: – Old Threads, New Tension

Lucas rose from the chair in one smooth motion, his joints popping softly in protest. He rolled his shoulders back, jaw tight, and ran a hand through his hair.

"I need a shower," he said, already turning toward the private washroom.

"Please do," Ava muttered. "You smell like plasma and arrogance."

He threw her a smirk over his shoulder but didn’t respond. The bathroom door slid shut behind him.

Ava remained on the bed, knees drawn to her chest, arms loosely around them as she stared at the empty chair he’d just vacated.

She was still processing.

Not the words—she could handle words.

The weight behind them. The bond. The way he’d said he’d wait, and somehow made it sound like a promise rather than a resignation.

The sound of the shower turning on gave her something else to focus on.

She let her eyes wander absently to the half-open wardrobe as Lucas emerged a few minutes later, a towel around his waist, another running through his wet hair.

She blinked.

Okay. That was new.

His body had always been lean, built for speed and sudden violence—but now there was something different. More bulk. More cut.

Defined abs. Broader shoulders. A new heaviness to his frame that wasn’t just muscle. It was power, reshaped and redistributed. The system had done more than just keep him alive. It had rebuilt him.

He looked dangerous than usual.

And somehow, still like Lucas.

She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

Ten minutes passed. Maybe fifteen.

When he stepped out again, dressed in black slacks and a fitted grey shirt still damp at the collar, she was still on the bed, unmoved. Processing.

Lucas arched a brow as he rolled his sleeves. "You okay there, Beauty?"

She tilted her head slightly. "You bulked up."

"Noticed that, huh?"

"Hard to miss."

Lucas smirked. "Try not to stare too hard. You might fall for me."

"Too late for that," came a dry voice from the doorway.

William.

Impeccably dressed, as always. Perfect posture, silver hair combed back, tablet in hand.

He didn’t smile. He never did.

"Master Lucas," William said, "Your guest is waiting. Five miles out. He sent no official signal, but he let his presence be known. He says his name is Kai."

Lucas’s jaw tightened, just a little. "He came in person?"

"On foot," William replied. "Deliberately slow. As if to give us time."

Ava shifted upright, voice even. "I saw him."

Lucas turned. "What?"

She nodded once. "In the Market Mind. Your system pulled me in while you were unconscious. Threadspace opened. He was there."

Lucas took a single step forward, something cold tightening in his posture. "He spoke to you?"

"Yeah. Friendly, but poking around."

"What did he want?"

"Information," she said. "On you."

William glanced between them but remained silent.

Lucas exhaled through his nose, slow and deliberate. "And you told him?"

Ava met his gaze without flinching. "That you were at Bai Manor."

Lucas didn’t respond right away.

Then: "Of course you did."

She shrugged. "You call him a friend. I called his bluff."

Lucas turned away, hand brushing through his hair.

He didn’t say anything for a few long seconds. Then he moved.

Across the room, toward the tall standing cabinet in the corner. He keyed in a biometric lock with his palm and waited. The doors hissed open to reveal an array of clothing and gear—sleek, matte black. Armor-grade. Hardened leathers reinforced with flex-plates and thermal seals. His outpost gear.

Biker-class tactical wear. Efficient. Intimidating.

Lucas began slipping on the armor piece by piece. The gloves clicked into place with soft magnetic seals. Chest rig. Bracers. Boots.

When he turned, his silhouette had changed. Lean had become lethal.

Ava watched from the bed for a beat, then sighed and stood, grabbing her hoodie off the back of the chair. She pulled it over her head and adjusted the hem with a practiced tug.

Lucas glanced once more at William—silent, waiting, unreadable in the hall—then turned back to Ava.

Without asking, he took her hand.

His grip was warm, firm, and sure, fingers lacing through hers with zero hesitation. Ava blinked but didn’t pull away. He tugged gently, and they walked together down the corridor, quiet footfalls echoing off the stone and steel.

They didn’t speak as they moved through the manor—through security locks, past flickering wall-mounted lights and floor sensors that lit up in their wake. She didn’t ask where they were going. She already knew.

The transport hatch hissed open as they approached. The lift platform had already descended and locked in place. Two bikes waited at the center—sleek, matte black, humming faintly with pre-charged cores. The kind of vehicles that didn’t exist on the official military registry. Clean. Fast. Silent.

Ava let out a breath. "You keep two bikes ready?"

"Of course I do," Lucas said. "You think I’m going to walk five miles in this weather?"

She gave him a side-eye. "You could have mentioned that sooner."

He smirked and handed her a helmet.

She stared at it like it had personally insulted her.

"Ugh. Heavy." She turned it over in her hands. "I hate these things. They always make my neck feel like I’m hauling bricks."

"It’s carbon-core titanium. Lightest one in the bunker."

"It still sucks."

"Safety first, Beauty."

"I swear, if I get helmet hair, I’m filing a grievance."

Lucas grinned and turned toward his own bike. "Duly noted. I’ll have William process it through HR."

The engine purred to life beneath her, smooth and low.

Lucas kicked his ignition.

Two black wolves, ready to run.

And together, they rode out.

Lucas swung a leg over his bike with smooth precision, the core engine humming beneath him like a held breath. He glanced back once at Ava.

She adjusted her helmet with a grumble, slid the visor down, and kicked her ignition.

Then they were off.

The hatch doors split open with a hydraulic hiss, and twin beams of light split the gray, ash-streaked morning. The road outside the Bai perimeter wasn’t a road at all—just terrain worn thin by time and occasional patrol. Patches of shattered pavement gave way to cracked dirt and black rock, the scars of old quakes running like veins beneath the surface.

The bikes handled it with ease, but the ride wasn’t smooth. They weaved between jagged debris and skeletal remains of forgotten outposts, the wind cutting sharp across their path, ash curling in low spirals.

Ava rode behind, trailing a quarter-mile. Just enough distance to follow without casting shadow.

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