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The jungle breathed around them, humid, dense, alive with whispers. Every leaf, every snapped twig, every subtle shift beneath her boots carried meaning.

Lechuza crouched low near the trail, fingers brushing a broken branch. The disturbance was faint but fresh. A sign.

Bagh moved silently behind her. Ryū flanked the opposite side, his tension radiating like static electricity.

“Three days in this goddamn jungle,” Ryū muttered under his breath. “Lechuza, we have nothing. There’s no trail. No signal. No sign of him.”

“Then we keep moving.”

“You can’t hunt a ghost,” he snapped. “Even you have limits.”

“He’s not a ghost,” she said, rising smoothly. “Herrera is alive.”

She didn’t need their agreement. But Bagh gave it anyway, with a small nod that said everything without a word.

Ryū stepped closer. “You don’t know that. You just want him to be. Because if he’s alive, you don’t have to stop.”

She turned, slow and deliberate. Her stare locked on his.

She stepped closer and even though Ryū held his ground, he twitched.

The talons in her golden gaze extended.

“No prey escapes the owl.”

Bagh exhaled softly. Approval. Understanding.

But Ryū wasn’t finished. His voice dropped, quieter now, as if peeling away layers she hadn’t invited him to see. “This isn’t about the mission anymore. This is about what he did to you.”

Silence threaded between them.

“You think because he watched instead of touched, it matters less?” Her voice didn’t rise. It coiled, lethal and low. “You think I stay because of vengeance?”

“I think you’re unraveling.”

“No,” she said coolly. “You just don’t like that I won’t fall apart for you.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it?” She stepped in, close enough that her voice dropped to a cutting whisper. “You want me broken. So, you can patch me up and feel strong. You want the story that makes you a better man.”

Ryū flinched.

“He caged me. He humiliated me. He tried to shatter me for show. But I’m still here.” She turned, voice sharp and final. “Leave.”

“What?”

“Both of you.”

Bagh shifted. “Lechuza?—”

Her gaze cut like a blade. “If you don’t believe, then you aren’t listening.” Her blood hummed with instinct and precision. Her breath was slow. Measured. Controlled. “I can hear his breathing, feel his heartbeat… and when I find him, his blood will flow.” She tilted her head slightly. “The mission will be complete… and so will I.”

She vanished into the trees without another word.

A long silence followed.

Crouching just beyond the foliage, she watched Ryū drag a hand over his face, muttering, “She’s going to get herself killed.”

Bagh’s mouth curved faintly. “Maybe.” He paused, something flickering in his eyes. That shared warrior spirit. The kind of silent understanding only those forged in battle could recognize. He slung his rifle over his shoulder and disappeared into the underbrush after her.

That stubborn Ryū hesitated.

She saw it, that hitch in his breath. What their sacred oath did to him. He was born in shadow, forged in silence, loyal to the end. There was no give in any of them when it came to the vow.

She smiled and turned away as his curse floated after her, low and rough and resigned.

She didn’t have to hear it.

She knew what he’d said.

As one.

They moved in her shadow now, dark ghosts, silent and sure. One of a kind. Forged through smoke and adversity. Each of them could stand alone. Each could fight alone.

But together…

They were Shadowguard.

Quinn stood with her back braced against the cool bathroom tile, the heated spray now only a memory. The water was off, but she still felt droplets slither down her skin, and Dagger’s searing touch seemed to burn through every inch of her body. She kept her eyes shut, willing her heart to slow. The air felt thick with steam and with something heavy, weighty.

She’d made love to him, not just with her body, but with everything aching and unresolved inside her. It hadn’t just been physical. God, it hadn’t even been close. He was in her blood now, tangled in every thought, etched into the quiet spaces of her heart where no one else had ever dared to go.

Dagger had held steady through every broken piece, every push and pull, every jagged edge of grief she tried to keep between them. He hadn’t quit. Not once. Now, standing in the wreckage of her own defenses, she couldn’t ignore the truth. She didn’t want to quit on him either. Not now… maybe not ever. Her limbs still trembled from the shattering release he’d drawn from her, but the ache inside her chest had nothing to do with pleasure. It was something deeper, an aftershock not just of desire, but of longing, of love, of terrifying hope. Beneath it all, a storm brewed, wild, unpredictable, and entirely his.

God, she was drowning in them all.

A soft rasp of cloth caught her attention. Slowly, she peeled her eyes open to see Kade, not the SEAL, but the man, holding out a towel, his expression caught between concern and something darker. She didn’t know what to call that look. Anguish? Fury? Longing? Probably a combination of all three, etched so deep it made her chest tighten. It shook her more than she wanted to admit. Seeing him like that, unguarded, raw. It scraped something open inside her. He wasn’t supposed to look at her like that. Not with that kind of ache, that kind of desperation. Not like she was something he could lose. Yet… it stirred something dangerous in her. Something real. Because part of her didn’t want to look away. Part of her needed to know she could still be seen like that. Needed to know that someone, he, felt that deeply.

She was hyperaware of the shift in his breathing when she took the towel from his hands. The room was silent except for the drip of water from the showerhead. Her pulse thundered in her ears. She clutched the towel around her body, grateful for even that thin barrier.

His voice came low, rough. “You okay?”

A shuddering breath left her. “I…don’t know,” she admitted, eyes flicking anywhere but his. She felt his gaze linger on her face as she tucked a stray, wet curl behind her ear. Every nerve in her body was still alive with the memory of his mouth on her, but now the weight of reality pressed in.

They’d crossed a line she’d sworn she’d never cross. Not just the physical one, they’d done that already, again and again, each time chipping away at the fragile boundaries she’d tried to keep between them. But this… this was something else. This was the line that mattered. The one drawn not on skin, but somewhere deeper, in the places she’d promised herself no one would ever reach again.

Her heart beat too fast, uneven and unsettled, as if it already knew what she refused to say aloud. She could still feel the imprint of him on her body, the heat of his touch lingering like a brand. But it wasn’t just her skin that trembled anymore. It was her guard. Her resolve. Her certainty that she could keep this thing with Dagger contained.

She didn’t know how to breathe through the way he looked at her, didn’t know how to brace against the way he made her feel.

That terrified her more than anything else.

Because she knew what came next. She could feel it rising between them like a tide, inevitable, unstoppable. A reckoning, something that could break them. God, it was coming, and she didn’t know how to stop it.

The earthquake had already hit. The wave was already crashing. There was no outrunning it now, no shelter, no high ground, no escape from the force bearing down on her. He was going to say it. He was going to talk about Brian. When he did, everything she’d buried, everything she’d fought so hard to keep contained, was going to come surging to the surface.

She wasn’t ready.

But it didn’t matter anymore. The tide was already swallowing her whole, and Dagger was the one dragging her into the deep.

“I’m going to grab some clothes,” he said finally, as though that were a normal, casual statement. As though everything between them wasn’t as charged as lightning.

Quinn nodded jerkily, not trusting her voice. She slid along the wall until she reached the small stool near the sink, unable to stand on her own two feet much longer. Her mind was a blur of images. Brian’s face, Dagger’s hands, her own reflection in the mirror, eyes full of ashes for what she needed to leave behind and that spark, that whisper of flame, reigniting into a second chance… with Dagger. Did she have the courage to burn?

She heard the rustle of fabric as Dagger tugged on the pants she’d stripped from his body. Part of her wanted to command him to leave, escape from the onslaught of feelings. Another part of her begged him to stay, to help her piece together the woman she thought she was from the woman she was becoming.

That war raging inside her flared hotter the moment he turned back, jaw taut. “Quinn.”

She dragged her gaze up. His eyes burned with a truth so fierce it was almost unbearable, honesty laced with longing, and just beneath it, the shadow of desperation. Her stomach clenched painfully. This man was more than she’d ever let herself see. She’d used her anger to blind herself, but now it was all laid bare.

Suddenly, she needed air, space, anything. Her chest felt too tight. “I have to get dressed,” she muttered, hugging the towel. She pushed past him, intending to reach her bedroom. But his hand on her arm stopped her in place.

“You don’t get to shut me out again,” he said quietly.

A tremor worked through her. "Let go."

But her voice wavered, thin and splintered because somewhere inside, a part of her wanted the opposite. Wanted him to hold on. To hold her together.

His grip didn’t loosen. Not yet. He searched her face, eyes burning with something fierce, something unshakable. "That’s not what you want."

She flinched. “Don’t tell me what I want.”

His jaw flexed, but he didn’t rise to the fight. Instead, his voice dropped lower, rougher, hitting deeper than she was ready for. “Then say it. Say you don’t want me.”

The air between them crackled, charged and suffocating. She couldn’t refute it. She’d just proven to him how much she wanted him. He saw too much. Saw that this wasn’t just about him.

He let go then, but not like she’d asked. Not like she’d won. He did it slowly, deliberately, his fingers trailing away like he could still feel her, like he knew she could still feel him.

When he finally spoke, it wasn’t about them. It was about the one thing she wasn’t ready to face.

“You’re the one who has to let go, Quinn.”

She didn’t have to ask what he meant. Brian. The ghost between them. The man she’d spent years mourning, years blaming, years using as a shield between her and the very thing she felt with Dagger right now.

Her chest squeezed so tight she couldn’t breathe. She wasn’t ready for this. For him. For any of it.

She shot him a glare, but it lacked heat. "You think I haven’t tried?" Her voice broke, thin and shaking. "You think I haven’t done everything I can to move on?"

"No, I don’t," he said, eyes hard. "Because you haven’t. You drank to forget. You blamed me to survive. You called it grief, but it was hiding. You never faced what losing him actually meant, you buried yourself in guilt and called it love."

The tension radiating from him didn’t abate. "We’ve moved beyond hiding, beyond deflecting, beyond running."

"Then what do you want, Kade? To force me into a confession? A vow? For God’s sake, Brian hasn’t even—" Her breath seized, tears threatening to blur her vision. "He hasn’t been gone that long, and I—I slept with you."

"He’s been gone a long time, Quinn. But you’ve kept him alive by pretending your grief means you loved him enough. It doesn’t. You didn’t mourn him, you made him a barrier so you’d never have to feel the truth."

She flinched like he’d struck her, blood pounding in her ears. "Don’t talk about him like that."

"Why? Because it’s disrespectful? Or because it forces you to see he wasn’t the man you keep pretending he was?"

Her nails bit into her palms. "That’s not fair."

"No. What’s not fair is what you’ve done to yourself. You’re punishing yourself for surviving. You’ve been punishing me for standing beside you when no one else did."

She sucked in a breath, tears prickling. "Stop it."

"No." His chest rose and fell with each ragged breath. "We both need to let him go, Quinn. We have a right to…live. We didn’t die that day…he did."

Her grief and rage twisted into one unrecognizable knot. She slammed her palm against the counter, rattling a small stack of toiletries. "You think it’s that easy?" she nearly shouted, voice raw. "To just decide I’m allowed to be happy? That I can choose you over my husband’s memory without feeling like a monster?"

His jaw clenched, knuckles whitening at his sides. "Brian’s memory is one thing. But you’re shackled to guilt and anger. It’s strangling you, and us. I’m done playing scapegoat."

That struck a tender nerve, and she felt a rush of defensive heat surge up her spine. "You’re the one who put yourself in that role. You kept hovering, trying to save me from myself!

"Because you were drowning," he shot back, voice rising. "Every time I tried to pull you out, you slapped me away. Do you know how that felt? Like I was paying for loving you. Like I was some dirty secret?—"

"You donated sperm for my children, damn it!" she cried, tears streaking her face. "Do you know how twisted that is for me? You watched me marry him, you— God, did you want me back then too?"

He froze, eyes glittering with pain. "Yes."

The single syllable felt like a loaded bullet. Quinn’s heart lurched, and she nearly doubled over from the impact. “All that time,” she whispered brokenly, the truth sending a tremor through her chest. “All that time, you felt?—”

"From the minute I met you," he said, voice tight. "I never acted on it while he was alive. But yeah, I loved you. I still do. That tears me up inside, okay?"

She could hardly breathe. Images flashed through her mind. Brian’s controlling smile, Dagger’s unwavering support, the realization that she’d always compared the two. Had she really been drawn to Kade all along, even while wearing Brian’s ring?

She shook her head, tears sliding down her cheeks. "Oh, God," she whispered. "How can I even look at myself now? You must hate me for never seeing it."

"Hate you?" His laugh came out strangled. "Quinn, I’ve hated the way you keep yourself chained to a ghost. But I never hated you. I hated what Brian did to you, how he clipped your wings and then left you to crash."

Her tears came faster, blurring the sight of him. "He wasn’t all bad," she insisted, gripping the towel like her life depended on it. "I loved him. I don’t want to erase him. I just…I don’t know how to move on without feeling like I’m betraying him."

Silence beat for a moment, heavy and suffocating. Then Dagger dragged a hand over his face, frustration etched into every line. "You can remember him without letting him dictate your future." His voice was softer but still pulsed with an undercurrent of anger and hurt. "You have a choice, Quinn. Either live in the past or live now."

She swallowed hard, heartbreak shredding her insides. "What if I can’t do either?"

He stared at her for a long moment. Then he blew out a breath, stepping back as if her words had finally winded him. "Then you’ll lose both."

Her lips parted in a silent sob, a wave of panic tightening her chest. She wanted to reach for him, to make him understand that she was terrified, not indifferent. But the words tangled in her throat.

Dagger’s eyes flicked to the door, muscles clenched so tight she thought he might snap. "This isn’t over," he said hoarsely. "But I can’t stand here waiting for you to decide you want me, not if it means burying yourself in guilt again tomorrow."

Trembling, Quinn managed a tiny nod. She couldn’t even form a coherent response. The weight of her choices, Brian’s memory, her own self-loathing, and this impossible love for the man who’d just shattered every lie she’d clung to, threatened to swallow her whole.

He stood there another heartbeat, gaze locked on her tear-stained face. Then, with a low, pained curse, he turned on his heel and stormed out. The door slammed behind him, rattling the walls.

The sudden silence pressed in like a vise. Quinn squeezed her eyes shut, tears streaming unchecked as she sagged against the counter. Her heart pounded so hard it hurt. The truth was out, raw and ugly. She’d loved a man who wasn’t right for her and ignored the one who might have been all along.

She sank to the floor, towel clutched around her shaking body. She could still feel the ghost of Dagger’s hands on her skin, the echo of his words reverberating in her mind. We both deserve to live. But in that moment, she wasn’t sure if she knew how.

Because admitting he was right meant walking away from the anger that had defined her and from the safety of a grief she now saw for what it was. Her final shield against a terrifying truth.

It was easier to blame Dagger than face herself. But now the shield was gone, left in pieces at her feet. Only the shattered remains of her guilt, her love, and her trembling hope remained.

Quinn finally rose, finally got dressed. After the heated clash with Dagger, she’d dragged on a loose shirt and cargo pants, put on socks and laced up her boots. She felt too exposed, even barefoot, too wound up to think beyond covering her damp skin. Every nerve still bristled from their argument, her body hummed with a mixture of fury, confusion, and a traitorous longing to run after him. Yet her mind screamed that she wasn’t ready to face him again. Not yet. Quinn still couldn’t calm the tremor in her hands. She sat cross-legged in the middle of the bed. It hadn’t worked. His touch lingered, the memory of his voice and the press of his body seared into her mind.

I thought if I let go of my anger, I’d betray Brian. That had been her mantra for so long. But it felt hollow now. Dagger had ripped open a deeper truth. She was using anger as a shield, because acknowledging her feelings for him, and the flaws in her marriage, was far more terrifying.

If I stop blaming Dagger, I have to admit I might’ve wanted him all along.

Her throat constricted, guilt and longing warring within her. She saw images of Brian on the day he slid a ring onto her finger, his triumphant grin, how he used to tease her about being too serious. Then other memories intruded, instances where he dismissed her ideas, referred to her drawings as scribbles, or coaxed her away from opportunities in the name of “protecting” her.

Had she truly been blind to his faults? Or had she simply chosen not to see them because confronting them meant questioning her entire marriage?

A quiet sob escaped her. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, addressing Brian’s memory. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t the wife you thought I’d be. But maybe…you weren’t the husband I believed you were, either.”

The admission hurt, like ripping out a splinter that had been lodged under her skin for far too long. She bowed her head, her heart shredding, tears slipping down her cheeks.

Many moments later, when she could get past that monumental pain, she thought of Dagger. Thought about the look on his face, the way he refused to back down. That was him all the way. His only arguments with her husband had been about her, and now she saw it with such aching clarity. He was and always had been in her corner. More tears fell, but these were different because where her heart had been shredded, it was now mending. Because of him. Because he pushed her into facing something she’d refused, fueling her drinking to numb it all.

Moving on, choosing to live fully, didn’t have to erase Brian. Dagger was right. Brian didn’t own her present, especially from the grave. She could honor what they had while letting go of the anger that no longer served her. Because what that anger really did was hide the truth. She wanted Kade, that delicious self-sacrificing, stronger-than-steel man. She needed him. Facing that felt like the ultimate betrayal.

“Yet,” she whispered, picturing Dagger’s anguished expression, “I can’t keep punishing him. Or myself.”

Her chest clenched with another wave of tears. She thought of how Dagger looked earlier, fury and heartbreak etched into his face, telling her he was alive and so was she. We have a right to live. Those words echoed in her head, both condemnation and salvation.

Taking a shaky breath, she blinked away her tears, determination seeping in at the edges. She had to find the courage to face him, face them. Apologize for blaming him, for lashing out. Tell him she was done using Brian’s memory as a shield.

She wrapped her arms around her knees, heart still racing. Letting go of her grief didn’t mean forgetting Brian. Forgiving Dagger didn’t mean betraying her husband, it meant admitting that she wanted a future with the man she should have seen a long time ago.

A heavy exhale left her as she dropped her forehead against her bent knees. God, this is terrifying. But Dagger’s voice rang in her memory again, the hardness giving way to an unmistakable plea. I’ve loved you since the minute I met you. She’d felt it in his every kiss, every fierce touch.

She wanted to live, to love, to stop drowning in regret. Yes, she wanted Dagger. She wanted her children. Her career, which Dagger would always support. She wanted to stop punishing herself for not having everything figured out.

Her tears slowed, replaced by a gentle ache. It wasn’t the kind of pain that drowned her. It felt more like a purging, a sign that the wall of anger she’d used for so long was finally beginning to crack.

Pressing her hands flat against the blankets, she lifted her head and took a breath. “I won’t shut him out of my life,” she said softly, “but I won’t hide behind him anymore, either.”

The words sounded resolute, even if she still felt fragile. Because she knew there was no turning back from this. The next time she saw Dagger, she wouldn’t meet him with condemnation or denial. She would meet him with truth, and she’d finally see where that truth led them both.

A trembling breath escaped her, and for the first time in months, she allowed herself the tiniest seed of hope. Even if it hurt, even if it was frightening, she was alive, and maybe she not only deserved to be, but she needed to act like it. God, she released a soft sob.

Quinn dragged shaky hands across her cheeks, attempting to calm her frayed nerves. Dagger had left mere moments before, slamming the door so hard the walls seemed to vibrate with the force of not his anger, but his hope and his fear. She sat there torn between fury at him for pushing her and fury at herself for not being able to push back with anything more than denial.

Her heart thundered, adrenaline still pulsing in her veins from their confrontation, and from what they’d shared in the shower. Her skin felt hypersensitive, each bead of moisture clinging to her threatening to send her into another wave of emotion she couldn’t name.

When a knock sounded at the door, her heart lurched. He’s back. She wasn’t sure whether to feel relief or sheer panic. She flew from the bed, her fingers hovering near the doorknob. Like he said, the time to run, hide, deny was over.

She inhaled a shaky breath and opened the door ready to live…with him.

Two unfamiliar men rushed in, crowding her before she could even draw breath to protest. One slammed the door shut behind them. Their grips felt like iron bands on her arms, causing her wound to throb.

“What—?” she managed, trying to yank free. “Who?—?”

Neither answered. One clapped a calloused hand over her mouth, stifling her shout. The other wrenched her wrists behind her, gripping them in a bruising hold. Heart thundering, Quinn attempted to struggle, but the men pinned her effectively.

“Let me go,” she mumbled against the palm clamped to her face, though it came out distorted and muffled. Her eyes darted around the small room in desperation. Where the hell was everyone?

“Shut it,” snapped the man holding her arms. With a swift jerk, he forced a strip of duct tape across her mouth.

She fought, adrenaline pounding, but he merely twisted her wrists into a makeshift zip-tie. She gasped through her nose as pinpricks of pain shot up her arms. One of them kicked her phone from the table, then stooped to snatch it.

No, no, no. Quinn’s stomach plummeted. Dagger…someone…

Fear hammered in her chest, but the men gave her no chance to shout. They half-lifted, half-dragged her out of the room and into the corridor. She stumbled, boots catching on the tile. A harsh grunt erupted from one of them as he swung her against his chest, keeping her upright yet utterly captive.

They hurried her through an unguarded side exit. The night air slammed her, hot and heavy, as though mocking her hope for rescue. Of course, no one expected this in a secure compound. She was hauled toward an idling SUV with dark-tinted windows.

Her captors shoved her in. She slammed down against a seat, breath exploding from her in a pained whimper. A pair of hands forced her torso upright. The overhead light flickered, illuminating a figure inside.

David Langford.

Quinn’s heart seized. The CEO of Aegis Force Solutions gave her a cold, triumphant smile, then snapped his fingers at the men. One passed him her phone.

“You and your boyfriend,” he drawled, “are going to regret humiliating me.”

Quinn glared at him over the duct tape, trying to push down the terror clawing at her throat. She wrenched her shoulders back, but the zip-tie refused to give.

Langford grabbed her phone and tapped the screen. His lips curved into a predatory smirk as he held it out. “Unlock it.”

She shook her head, refusing. He nodded to one of his henchmen, who responded by clasping her throat and tightening. He cut off her air supply that easily, and she struggled against the burning in her lungs. A gray veil dropped over her mind, wisping over her until she was going away, so far away.

“That’s enough,” Langford growled. He held out the phone. The man let go, and she gasped as air flowed into her lungs, pushing away the shadowed filaments. “The next time. I don’t stop him.” She couldn’t take the chance he was bluffing. Dagger would get her out of this. He would. Chest heaving, Quinn forced her trembling fingers around the phone, tapping her passcode under his watchful eye. The second it unlocked, he snatched it back. Her mind whirled. Who is he texting?

Langford’s smug expression told her all she needed to know. A cold dread settled beneath her rib cage. He’s setting a trap. The only person he’d need to lure was the one man she knew would come for her without hesitation.

Dagger.

Langford typed, eyes glittering. He’s going to walk right into it. I’m the bait. Quinn thrashed against the horror. Muffled screams buried beneath the duct tape. But rage burned brighter than fear now. I’m not just bait. I’m a spark. They have no idea what kind of fire they’re about to unleash.

Kade… Her heart fractured under the weight of dread. He’ll come for me. He’ll tear them apart with his bare hands. Please… don’t let him die because of me.

But her captors held tight. All she could do was stare while Langford used her phone, her most sacred connection to Dagger, to lay the trap.