Hey everyone!

Finally posted two new Crossfire chapters 😎 Hope you were waiting for these!

The plot reaches a breaking point, splitting the narrative into two high-stakes parallel lines. While Lexa, driven by intuition and professional duty, heads to the port to intercept a dangerous shipment linked to the "Strathmore" case, Clarke finds herself in mortal peril.

The bathroom was tiny. The mirror, too truthful. A bruise was spreading on her temple like ink stains on paper-pale skin. Her hair was slicked back at the temple, a sticky track of blood had already turned into a pink stripe. A nurse had left wet wipes on the shelf—they smelled of alcohol. Clarke wiped her skin, suppressing a grimace. Alcohol is deceptive: it promises cleanliness, but brings a burn. The tap water came out too briskly; she reduced the pressure, pressed a wet gauze pad to her temple.

Clarke took off the hospital gown; the fabric rustled like paper being torn carefully, but torn nonetheless. She took a quick shower, dried her hair. Put on the blouse. The jacket settled on her shoulders and added stiffness—not protection, but form. Trousers with their familiar fit. Her feet slid gratefully into the flats. Her hair was gathered into a low bun. No lipstick. Just concealing the pallor with foundation, two dabs of a sponge, so she wouldn't look like a ghost on camera.

Hey guys, the update didn't take long to arrive, did it? Yesterday I had my first day off in a long time where I did absolutely nothing and just relaxed... it was amazing.

📖 Read it on AO3

You’re so beautiful when you’re composed,” she said quietly. “And when you’re not. But tonight—especially. Let them see the form. The essence is mine. Lexa smiled in that almost invisible way only Clarke knew. She stepped half a pace closer, as if testing the boundary, and brushed her knuckles lightly against Clarke’s shoulder. Clarke froze for a second, breath caught, something tightening low in her stomach. “I’ll come back,” Lexa said. “I’ll be waiting,” Clarke replied.

Tomorrow I'm posting new chapters for one of the works. We're moving toward the finale faster and faster!

And if you haven't read it yet, now is the perfect time to start (I promise, this one will drive you crazy). There's SO MUCH tension and drama, and also sexy Lexa in a riding outfit (sometimes).

📖 Read it on AO3 Thorns and Crowns

The open arena was steeped in silence. The air was brittle as glass—dry, thin, with the metallic taste of snow already settled on the mountainous. Colorado didn’t give you a choice—you either hardened, or you broke.Lexa moved in the saddle as if she were part of August. He went in an extended trot, each stride the result of minute weight shifts, the faint tension of her calves. Beneath her—honed power, trained in precision. No passion, no improvisation. Only control. Now, as the sun tilted toward the horizon, she was finishing the session. Sand crunched under the hooves. August moved perfectly, like a Swiss mechanism.At the edge of the arena stood Anya—in a gray parka, narrow-faced, sharp-cheekboned, with eyes like ice. “You ride like the whole of Europe’s chasing you,” she said in crisp English with a faint Russian accent.Lexa slowed the gelding and came to a halt.“My family is behind me.”Anya smirked. She held a training plan on a tablet and a metal flask of coffee.“Softer through your core,” Anya’s voice cut from the rail. “Right now you’re not a rider, you’re a skeleton on a stick.” Lexa bit her tongue. Collected the horse. Shifted into shoulder-in. August responded willingly, almost with relief. And yet—it was still cold mechanics, as always. She worked without feeling. “Better. But you still ride like they’re judging you, not the pair of you. Your back isn’t a shield. It’s a language.”“I’ve been judged my whole life,” Lexa shot back, never breaking rhythm. Anya didn’t reply. She stood, leaning against the metal rail, watching with that habitual detachment. Upright posture, knitted hat, Russian severity. She was one of those who didn’t touch, didn’t pity, didn’t ask outright. And that was exactly why Lexa stayed with her. Thirty minutes later, after finishing transitions and a series of leg-yields, Lexa dismounted and led August toward the stables without a word. Anya walked beside her, hands in her pockets, her stride precise, almost masculine. “Good today. Better than Friday. Less control, more feel. But you’re still thinking before you breathe.”“Habit,” Lexa replied. “It’s safer that way here.”“Tomorrow’s an early start,” Anya said. “They’ve put you in the first three for the exhibition. Profile test. Not just technique—expression. The horse can do it, but you hold him back.”“He’s too sensitive.”“He’s a mirror. You’re frosted glass.”Lexa stopped sharply.“Just say you think I’m not emotional enough.”Anya raised an eyebrow.“I’m not talking about emotion. I’m talking about truth. You sit in the saddle like it’s armor. It’s meant to hold you, not hide you.” They reached the exit. The air smelled of manure, cold metal, and the cottony scent from the stalls. “Did you dream of England?” Anya asked suddenly. “Last night.”Lexa froze. Glanced at her from the corner of her eye.“I’ve never told you about Clarke.”“You haven’t. And you think your control is made of steel. But, Lexa—I’m Russian. We know how to listen to pauses.”“It doesn’t change anything,” Lexa said quietly. Silence hung between them like snow in the air. Autumn here smelled of hay and ice. “She stayed there,” Lexa said at last. “Like everything I can’t afford. I made my choice. The past doesn’t have a visa for the Olympic team.”“And do you have one?”Lexa turned away.“I will.”Anya nodded.“Then don’t forget what you’re doing this for. Or who you’re trying to erase.” She left first, leaving Lexa alone—alone with the horse, the shadow in her chest, and fingers trembling on the reins.

Senator Clarke Griffin struggles to keep her balance between personal tragedy and political pressure.

SWAT Sergeant Lexa Graves gets pulled into the story deeper than protocol allows.

They stand on opposite sides of the law, yet are forced to work together.

Where there should only be rules and procedures, something begins to grow — something that breaks every boundary.🔥

📖 Read it on AO3