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Jude

T he moment the cuffs snapped around his wrists, I felt something lift.

Not the fear.

Not the anger.

The weight.

The constant second-guessing. The need to look over my shoulder. The nights spent wondering if I’d see him in my dreams.

He was real now.

And caged.

River walked him toward the transport van. Cyclone stayed behind.

He turned to me, blood on his knuckles, breathing hard.

And when his eyes met mine, I saw it all there.

The rage.

The relief.

The love.

I walked to him, slow but sure, and wrapped my arms around his waist.

He held me like I was the only thing keeping him standing.

“You okay?” he asked quietly.

I nodded. “I am now.”

We stood there in the clearing, the storm finally passed.

And for the first time in years, I wasn’t looking over my shoulder.

I was looking ahead.

With him.