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Late that night,Noah adjusted the frequency, his fingers steady as he turned the dial on the ham radio. The static crackled, then settled into silence before he pressed the transmitter.

Noah: Sentinel, this is Guardian, do you copy?

There was a pause, then a familiar voice came through, slightly distorted but clear.

Brad: Guardian, this is Sentinel. Copy loud and clear. Give me your status.

Noah: We’re ready to move. We leave tomorrow at first light. Heading to Blackwell.

A brief silence. Then, a relieved exhale from the other end.

Brad:Understood. Blackwell will be secured. Medical will receive. Momma Bear and Guardian2 will be ready. Medical will also be waiting. ETA?

Noah: Eight hours, give or take.

Brad: Good call. Any new concerns?

Noah glanced toward the closed bedroom door, thinking of Ruth, of her fragile state, of the memories she had yet to face.

Noah: Package remains damaged. Multiple long-term concerns.

A long silence followed before Brad responded, his voice grim.

Brad: We’ll be ready. Safe home, Guardian.

Static crackled, then the line went dead. Noah sat back. The cabin was silent except for the soft crackling of the fire and the distant rustling of the wind through the trees.

Noah and Paul finished packing, tucking away everything except what they needed for the night. Noah showered and went to check on Ruth one last time.

He wasn’t expecting to sleep. His mind was too full—plans, calculations, what they were about to do. Taking her home meant exposing her again. But keeping her hidden meant she wouldn’t get the care she needed.

Then, a whisper. “Noah?”

He moved to her, the bed creaking under his weight. “I’m here.” He didn’t have to ask what she needed. He just went to her.

She was still tucked beneath the blankets, her blind eyes blinking toward the sound of his voice. She wasn’t afraid, but there was something else in the way she held herself, something tentative.

He reached for her hand. She squeezed it. “Can I ask you something?” Her voice was quiet.

“Anything.”

A pause. Then, softer this time: “Noah… did we ever make love?”

His throat tightened. He should have expected it. Her memories were shattered, scattered like pieces of glass she was trying to fit back together. Still, hearing her ask, knowing she didn’t remember what they had shared felt like a blade sliding between his ribs.

He swallowed, squeezing her fingers. “Yes.”

Her lips parted slightly, her blind gaze searching his face as though trying to see what she could no longer physically witness. Then, a whisper, raw and full of something that cut deeper than any physical wound: “I’m broken.”

Noah’s chest ached.

“I can’t see, Noah. I—I don’t know if I ever will again.” Her voice cracked. “Are you… are you taking care of me out of obligation?”

God.

He couldn’t take it. His hand curled around her cheek, his thumb brushing the delicate skin beneath her blind eyes, brushing the tears away. “No, Rae.” He leaned in, his forehead resting against hers. “Not out of obligation.”