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CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

P hones rang off desks. A police radio crackled.

The loud hum of voices filled the big open lobby as the wedding party and half the town’s emergency volunteers scrambled to coordinate the search.

Paul moved through the chaos of City Hall like a man on a mission, his gaze laser-focused on Birdy, who sat at a small round table by the window.

For the first time that he'd known her, she was still. Silent. A porcelain cup was clutched between her hands like a lifeline.

Paul crossed to her, weaving past volunteers, ignoring the worried glances being thrown his way. When he reached her side, he saw the cup was empty. She was just holding it, not even realizing.

He knelt down in front of her. Gently, he pried the empty cup from her fingers. He set it on the table and replaced it with a fresh, steaming one from a passing volunteer. When his fingers brushed hers, he found them cold and trembling.

Birdy lifted her head to find his gaze. Her eyes were too wide, too bright, full of emotions she wasn’t letting fall. She clasped his fingers, desperate and vulnerable, and he didn’t hesitate. Paul sank fully onto one knee, his hands enclosing hers.

“I'm here,” he said quietly. “We're going to get through this. We're going to find them.”

For a long, suspended heartbeat, she just looked at him. Then she nodded, a tiny, broken motion. Then she did something that Paul would have never expected.

Birdy Chou bent her head and burrowed into his chest like she could hide there. Paul wrapped his arms around her tightly, fiercely, feeling the delicate trembling that ran through her body. She smelled of honey and mint and… strangely, a little like his dad.

She was still in her dress. He was still in his suit. The lace of her wedding dress crinkled under his palms. His tie felt strangling around his throat.

This wasn’t how this day was supposed to end.

Paul pressed a kiss to the crown of Birdy's hair and let himself dream for half a second. He dreamed of standing with her in front of the town clerk, of slipping a ring onto her finger, of signing the papers that made her his, not by necessity but by choice.

He wondered how late City Hall stayed open.

They had a big mission to complete: finding Beverly and the baby.

Paul didn't doubt for a second that they would.

The kids couldn't have gotten that far. One thing he didn't want to let slip through his fingers was ending this day without making Birdy Chou his wife.

“It’s okay,” he murmured as she shuddered in his arms. Paul tightened his hold. “I've got you. I'm here. I’m strong enough for both of us.”

Birdy shifted, pulling back just far enough to look up at him, her eyes searching his. “Because you have to?”

Paul brushed a stray hair that dared defy her bun. “Because I have to what?”

That stray wasn't alone. Other wisps of hair had escaped her bun to frame her face. They softened her features, making her looking both vulnerable and lovely.

“You said once that the strong don’t show up to be heroes. They show up because someone has to.”

“I did say that.”

“You showed up. Even after I pushed you away.”

Paul cupped her face, his thumb brushing the soft curve of her cheek. “I’m not here because I have to be, Birdy. I’m here because I want to be. I want to be with you.”

Birdy sucked in a trembling breath. Her shoulders relaxed. A few more tendrils of her hair fell from the loosening hold of her bun.

In that moment, Paul felt like he had all the time in the world. Closing hours in City Hall could come and go. Birdy Chou had just granted him forever.

“Love isn’t protecting someone from challenges,” he said. “It’s standing beside them in the fight.”

She leaned her forehead against his, breath warm and mingling with his. That closeness, the tender brush of skin, the way her eyes fluttered shut, it stole every last thought from Paul’s head except kiss her .

“I’m a really good fighter,” Birdy whispered.

Paul let out a quiet chuckle, rough with affection, and brought both hands to cradle her face. Her skin was soft against his palms, but he could feel the tension humming beneath it. Energy. Fire. The storm of her.

“I will always have your back,” he said. “Even when I disagree with you.”

“I’m never wrong.”

“Whatever you say, dear.”

His thumbs traced the curve of her cheekbones. Her lashes lifted, and their eyes locked. Her mouth was a breath away from his.

Paul leaned in, a fraction closer, drawn like a tide to the shore. Like her mouth was the answer to every ache in his body. Her hands slid up his chest, curling into his lapels.

A crash of the front doors broke the moment. Zeke’s mother stormed into the lobby like a winter squall. “You called the police on my son! My son is trying to protect his child. And you—you people—are conspiring to take her away. I’ll have all your jobs! Every single one of you!”

Birdy stepped forward first, spine straight, chin high. Paul followed instantly, his instincts screaming to put himself between her and the fury barreling through the doors. But this wasn’t a war she needed shielding from—this was a stand they needed to take together.

So he didn’t step in front of her. He stepped beside her. He reached out and laced his fingers with hers. Her hand, warm and steady, tightened around his without hesitation.

Before either of them could speak, the mayor stepped forward, his voice calm but iron-clad.

“Ma’am,” Teddy said crisply. “You are in a public building. A place of civil service and support. If you raise your voice again or continue to threaten these professionals, I will personally escort you out. And I won’t need a badge to do it.”

The woman sputtered, her gaze bouncing around the room, searching for backup—and finding none. Everyone stood firm. Everyone stood with Paul and Birdy.

The next sound in the room was a shrill one. It wasn't Zeke's mother. It was Paul's phone.

Some instinct told him it was best he took a look at the caller ID. So he did. The name on the face of the phone read Unknown Caller .

That same instinct that told Paul to look at the phone told him to answer it.

“Winters,” he said, voice tight.

There was a beat of silence. Then a voice, low and tense.

“It’s Zeke,” the boy said. “I—I need help.”