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I could see it—her porch, her garden, a swing for kids we hadn’t named yet, a life we’d build brick by brick.
The man who’d lived for war was gone, faded to a shadow I didn’t need, replaced by someone who wanted mornings with her, nights with her, a future that didn’t end in blood.
Atlas clapped my shoulder, his grip firm. “You’re doing good, Noah.”
I smirked, shoving the deed back in my pocket. “Don’t get soft on me.”
He laughed, deep, rare. “Too late.”
We headed back to the truck, the sun climbing higher, the island alive with gulls and the promise of something new.
I thought about the CIA, their deal, the hunt for 77 that’d keep us sharp, keep us moving.
Ryker was already planning—safehouses, contacts, a network to root out 77’s remnants.
Marcus was itching for action, his laugh still ringing from Kiawah, ready to dive back in.
Atlas would hold us steady, like always, his calm the glue that kept us from breaking.
And me—I’d hunt, I’d fight, but I’d come home toher, to Hallie Mae, to the life we’d carve out in this quiet corner of the world.
The war wasn’t over, but for the first time, I wasn’t running toward it—I was running toward her, toward peace, toward a chance to be the man she saw when she looked at me.
I climbed into the truck, Atlas beside me, and started the engine, the road stretching back to Charleston, to her.
This was it—a new life, a new fight, a new love that’d outlast the blood and the bullets.
And I was ready.
29
HALLIE MAE
The ride back to Charleston was quiet, the kind that wraps around you like a soft quilt, giving you room to just be. Anna drove, her hand steady on the wheel, the other resting easy in her lap. She didn’t fill the silence with chatter, and I was grateful. Words felt heavy today. Instead, soft classical music—strings and a gentle piano—hummed through the speakers, its aching beauty letting me feel without having to think too hard. It fit her, I realized. Anna, the harpist, carried grace in her quiet.
Outside, the Lowcountry rolled by—marsh grass catching the golden light, palmettos standing tall, and then the elegant sprawl of downtown Charleston easing into view. Cobblestone streets. Iron balconies. Old churches holding their ground against a sky painted with the last of the afternoon’s colors.
My daddy was in the ground now. The final amen had been spoken. The casserole dishes were packed away. It was over. And somehow, I was still standing.
I carried that truth as we pulled up to DominionHall, its solid walls oddly comforting. The first time I’d walked through those doors, it was all chaos and fear. Now, it felt like something else. Like a home.
Anna parked and turned to me, her voice soft. “You okay?”
I nodded. “Getting there.”
Her smile said she understood better than most. “You need anything—text me.”
“I will. Thank you.”
She pulled me into a quick hug, no fuss, just steady warmth, before I stepped out. Inside, the estate was calm, the frenetic energy of the mission faded, replaced by a low hum of things settling. I made my way to Noah’s room, heels dangling from my hand, my feet sore, my heart a little less raw than it had been at dawn.
I didn’t expect him to be there.
He’d ridden back with Atlas earlier, said he had something to handle. He’d kissed my forehead, brushed his thumb down my cheek, and promised he’d see me soon.
But stepping into that room, I felt him everywhere. His scent clung to the sheets. His jacket hung over the chair. Scuffed boots sat by the bed, like he’d peeled them off in a rush.
I slipped off my dress, trading it for cutoff shorts and one of Noah’s soft black tees, washed my face, and let out a breath I’d been holding for days. And then, I smiled.