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Julia settled beside Ivy in the back seat, maintaining physical contact through their still-intertwined fingers. The adrenaline was ebbing, allowing pain to register more insistently.

"Did you get what you needed?" Morgan asked, eyes meeting Ivy's in the rearview mirror.

Ivy nodded, exhaustion evident despite her determined expression. "Everything. Knox's entire infrastructure acquisition plan. The compromised officials. All transmitted to federal authorities."

Morgan's brief smile was fierce with satisfaction. "Good. The Chief's been running interference, but federal backing will help when this all comes out."

"What happens now?" Ivy asked quietly.

Julia met her gaze, seeing past the bruising to the formidable mind and remarkable courage beneath. "Now we get you medical attention. Then secure debriefing with Chief Marten. Then..."

She hesitated, the future beyond tactical necessity suddenly uncertain.

"Then we figure out what comes next," she finished, the words inadequate but honest.

Ivy's fingers tightened around hers. "Together?"

"Together," Julia agreed, the single word carrying the weight of a promise she had never expected to make but now couldn't imagine withholding.

As they left the abandoned shipyard behind, Julia allowed herself one moment of unguarded truth: beyond duty, beyond protection, beyond professional responsibility, she had found something she hadn't known she was seeking.

Something worth breaking every rule for.

13

IVY

Ivy drifted through layers of consciousness, aware first of antiseptic sterility replacing the rust and salt of the shipyard. Hospital. The realization settled before her eyes could open, confirmed by the steady electronic beeping that measured her heartbeat with mechanical precision. A fluorescent hum replaced the sound of waves against abandoned docks. Wires and tubes tethered her where zip ties had been.

But when she finally forced her heavy eyelids open, she found the one constant that mattered: Julia, sitting sentinel beside her bed, spine straight despite obviousexhaustion, dark eyes fixed on the doorway as if Knox's men might materialize there at any moment.

"Hey," Ivy managed, her voice sandpaper-rough from CS gas and dehydration.

Julia turned immediately, her carefully maintained composure cracking at the edges. Her hand covered Ivy's, warm and solid and real.

"How long?" Ivy asked.

"Six hours." Julia's voice carried the rasp of someone who hadn't spoken in some time. "Dr. Mars says nothing's permanent. Bruised ribs, mild concussion, and dehydration."

The clinical assessment couldn't mask the emotion beneath. Julia's knuckles were bandaged, a butterfly closure held together the gash at her temple, and the shadow of a bruise bloomed along her jaw. But she was here. Alive. Present.

The door opened, admitting a woman in a white coat, Dr. Josephine Mars moved with the quiet efficiency of someone who commanded respect without demanding it.

"Dr. Monroe," she said, her smile genuine though professionally contained. "Good to see you conscious. I understand we have youand Detective Scott to thank for bringing down half the corruption in Phoenix Ridge."

"Just doing our jobs," Julia replied automatically.

Dr. Mars's eyebrow arched slightly as she checked Ivy's vitals. "Yes, I've heard the detective division has a new definition of 'jobs' these days." She adjusted something on the IV drip. "Chief Marten was quite creative explaining to the hospital board why two women with tactical injuries were being treated outside normal protocols."

Ivy glanced at Julia, who had the grace to look slightly abashed. "I might have insisted on certain…accommodations."

"Detective Scott refused to leave your side," Dr. Mars explained, her tone suggesting this was a significant understatement. "The standard procedure for protective detail is officer rotation every four hours." She checked Ivy's pupils with a penlight. "I believe her exact words were 'I'm staying with her if I have to handcuff myself to this bed.'"

Warmth bloomed in Ivy's chest, spreading outward despite the pain medication's dulling effect. Julia's hand remained onhers, thumb tracing small circles against her skin.

"Standard procedure seemed inadequate," Julia said quietly.

Dr. Mars's expression softened with understanding. "Well, Phoenix Ridge General Hospital has been known to make exceptions for exceptional circumstances." She made a note in the chart. "You're recovering well, Dr. Monroe. The CT scan shows no significant trauma beyond the concussion. With proper rest, you should be back to dismantling criminal empires in no time."