Page 19 of Rescued By the Alpha SEAL

"Security consulting. Training facility. Safe haven." I open the passenger door for her, more out of habit than chivalry. "Depends who's asking."

She climbs in, eyes narrowed slightly at the vague answer. "And if I'm asking?"

"Then it's where we're going, and that's all you need to know for now."

I close her door before she can push for more, circling around to the driver's side with measured steps.

My boots crunch in the fresh powder, laying tracks that I mentally note will need to be covered when we return. No sense leaving easy trails for whoever might be watching.

The truck roars to life, heat blasting through vents that haven't been cleaned since I bought the thing six years ago. We pull onto the snow-packed road in silence, trees closing in around us.

Through the corner of my eyes, I watch her.

Not obviously, but with the peripheral awareness I've honed over years of missions where looking directly at your target meant giving yourself away.

She's doing the same thing—memorizing the route, logging landmarks, noting each fork in the road and how long it takes to navigate between them.

Tracking exits. Always tracking exits.

"Why Iron Hollow?" she asks suddenly, breaking the silence as we pass the weathered wooden sign marking the town limits.

I consider my answer carefully. "It's quiet."

"Nowhere's that quiet without a reason."

A smile almost tugs at my mouth. Almost. "You're right about that."

She waits for me to elaborate. I don't.

I can’t help but glance at her, noticing the way the morning light catches the different shades in her chestnut hair.

The Forge appears ahead, nestled against the tree line like it grew there—three connected buildings of weathered stone, steel, and reinforced glass, arranged around a central courtyard. The massive forged-iron sign over the gate reads simply:

THE FORGECome broken. Leave forged.

I pull into the gravel lot and cut the engine. "Stay close," I instruct, not looking at her as I exit the cab. "Don't wander."

"I'm not a child," she mutters, sliding out her side.

"No," I agree, "you're a target. Different problem. Same solution."

I lead her through the main entrance, tension coiling between my shoulder blades as we cross the threshold.

The Forge is more than a building to me. More than a business. It's sanctuary. Brotherhood. Redemption. And I'm bringing an unknown quantity straight into its heart.

Knox Walker spots us first.

He's by the map wall, cleaning his rifle with the methodical precision that's made him our overwatch specialist. His dark eyes flick from me to Sloane, then back to me.

This man knows exactly how many steps it takes to reach any exit. How many breaths between a threat and a trigger pull.

Every movement calculated, controlled.

I know that look in his eyes. The silent question. The warning.We don't bring strangers here.I give him a subtle, almost imperceptible shake of my head—a silent command to stand down.

Knox won't challenge me. He'll watch. Wait. Gather intel like the ghost he's trained to be. And if Sloane proves to be a threat, he'll have a solution before any of us see it coming.

That's why he's our shadow. Our failsafe. The one who sees what others miss.