Page 7

As the plane descends, a crackling announcement over the intercom welcomes us home. The word resonates deep within me—home—a place that feels both distant and achingly familiar, a concept I can almost touch but never quite hold.

My fingers trace the bruises on my wrist, barely visible now but still tender, as memories of Kazakhstan flash through my mind: the acrid smell of overheating metal, the warning klaxons of the failing fusion reactor, Hank’s strong arms pulling me through the chaos while Gabe covered our retreat.

I look at them now, seated on either side of me. Their warmth is a steady presence that both comforts and unsettles me, equal parts anchor and temptation.

My chest tightens with an emotion I’m not ready to name.

Hours earlier, when my trembling fingers couldn’t manage the buttons of my filthy shirt, they helped me with such gentleness—Hank’s careful hands steadied me while Gabe undressed me. They stripped down to their briefs to help me shower, their movements tender but professional.

There had been something in their eyes, in the careful way they avoided letting their hands linger on my breasts or… other parts .

Hank’s head is tilted back, eyes closed, but probably not sleeping. There’s a lethal alertness to him. Gabe’s reviewing something on his tablet, the glow illuminating his familiar frown of concentration. The screen flickers occasionally, and he taps it until the display settles.

The memory of steam, bare skin, and unspoken tension hangs between us, electric and unresolved. Unfinished business lies between the three of us—touches that lingered a breath too long, moments when professionalism wavered, and then the times when something deeper flickered in their eyes.

The air feels thick with everything we haven’t dared to acknowledge.

When the plane touches down, reality crashes back. Soon, we’re taxiing toward a private hangar, and the moment is slipping away—this precious bubble where I can dream of something forbidden.

I may be one of the few world-leading experts on nuclear fusion and quantum entanglement, but it’s time to be Ally Collins again—daughter of tech billionaire Robert Collins and two-time kidnapping survivor.

Bitter laughter catches in my throat.

What are the odds?

At least Malfor wanted me for my brain, to force me and the others to build his fusion reactor, unlike the monsters from several years ago who saw me as nothing but a billionaire’s daughter to be used as a pawn in a deadly game.

Small comfort.

Passengers stir, gathering sparse belongings. A small crowd waits outside—families, officials, and medical personnel. My pulse quickens, but not from the anticipation of seeing my father.

Ahead of me, Hank and Gabe shift into their professional personas, all business as they prepare to escort me off the plane. But I notice how they position themselves—Hank slightly ahead, Gabe behind, forming a protective wedge around me that feels as natural as breathing.

“Ready?” Gabe asks softly, close enough that I feel his breath on my ear. My skin prickles with awareness.

“Let’s get you to your father,” Hank adds, his voice gruff with something that might be more than professional concern.

Stepping off the plane, the cool air carries a hint of rain. Hank’s hand rests lightly on the small of my back, steadying me on the steps. Given my still-shaky legs, it’s necessary, but the touch sends electricity shooting through me.

Gabe follows close behind, his presence a shield against the curious stares of the waiting crowd. I scan the faces in those gathered and spot my father standing a bit apart from the others, his hands clasped tightly in front of him. His usually composed expression is marred by worry lines and dark circles under his eyes.

He sees me, and we stare at each other across the distance. Then he strides purposefully toward me. I brace myself, unsure of what to expect.

The tension between us has been a constant dance since my undergraduate years when my rebellion against constant surveillance ended in kidnapping and disaster. I ditched my security detail, convinced I could have one normal college night out. Instead, I ended up in the hands of people who sought to use me against my father.

That was years ago, but it still haunts him.

Now, here we are again, though Kazakhstan was different. No amount of security could have prevented Malfor from taking me… us. They wanted Dr. Whittman and me for our minds, not our family connections—specifically, they wanted Dr. Whittman’s expertise in nuclear fusion and my theoretical innovations in quantum entanglement.

Still, the familiar worry lines on my father’s face reveal the tension from trying to protect a daughter who publishes groundbreaking papers in quantum physics but can’t seem to follow basic security protocols.

All I’ve ever wanted was a normal life—to be judged for my research, not my last name. To grab a coffee without a security team scanning the café first.

Unfortunately, normal isn’t an option when you’re a Collins, something Dad has accepted, but I still fight, even after everything .

He’s not a bad father; he’s just overprotective, and that causes friction between us.

He supported my decision to attend Cornell, beamed with pride at my dual engineering and physics degrees, and never once suggested I ride on his tech empire’s coattails. Beneath his pride in my academic achievements, however, he struggles with the fact that his brilliant, headstrong daughter keeps putting herself in harm’s way.

The irony isn’t lost on me—I can calculate fusion containment fields in my sleep, but somehow, I convinced myself I was invincible enough to ditch my security team.

When my father reaches me, he crushes me in a fierce, unrelenting hug. At first, it’s awkward—he’s never been one for overt affection—but then his arms tighten, his grip almost desperate. His shoulders shake, his breath shudders against my hair, and I feel it—his fear, his relief, his overwhelming need to hold me close, as if letting go means losing me all over again.

For all the times I’ve pushed back against his protectiveness, for every battle over my independence, he’s still my dad—the man who checked my advanced calculus homework and bought me circuit boards instead of dolls. Right now, he needs to hold me, and I need to feel his love.

“I’m so glad you’re safe,” he whispers, the unspoken words lingering between us— please stop making me worry like this.

My throat constricts. “Me too.”

How do you tell your father you finally understand his fear? That being brilliant doesn’t make you bulletproof?

He releases me, his gaze intent, searching my face. “We’ll get you home. Whatever you need, we’ll make it happen.”

A breath shudders through me, my fingers tightening briefly at my sides before I turn toward Hank and Gabe, who watch from a respectful distance.

Reluctant to let them fade into the background, I reach out, my hands finding theirs with a familiarity that surprises even me. I draw Hank forward with my right hand, feeling the calluses on his palm and the gentle way his fingers curl around mine.

“This is Hank.” My voice is steadier than I feel. Then I pull Gabe closer with my left hand, his thumb brushing across my knuckles in a way that might seem accidental but sends electricity shooting through me. “And this is Gabe. They’re the ones who got me out. Both times.”

My father’s eyebrows lift slightly at that detail, but he steps forward and offers each of them a firm handshake. Letting go feels wrong—my palms ache for their warmth the moment I release them.

“I can’t thank you enough for bringing my daughter back.”

“Just doing our job,” Hank replies modestly. Still, his eyes flick to mine for a fraction of a second, holding secrets from Kazakhstan—that moment in the shower when professionalism warred with something deeper.

Gabe smiles, and the same heat fills his gaze, although he keeps it carefully banked. “Your daughter is a strong woman. We’re glad we could assist.”

The words are professional, perfect for my father’s ears, but I don’t miss the undertones, the weight of everything unspoken thrumming in the air.

A sleek town car idles nearby—Dad’s always prepared. All I have are the borrowed clothes on my back, nothing else to show for the ordeal except bruises and memories.

Before I can follow my father to the waiting town car, Hank steps forward, his voice low—measured, but gentler than usual.

“There’s a standing offer to bring you to Guardian HQ. Medical check. Debrief. Whatever support you need.” His eyes search mine. “It’s routine. No pressure.”

My dad cuts in before I can answer. “She’s been through enough. She needs rest, not another interrogation.” His hand tightens on my shoulder. “I’ll make sure she has what she needs at home. If Guardian HRS requires anything, they can contact me directly.”

I look between them. Two very different kinds of protectiveness—one rooted in blood, the other in fire and fallout .

And part of me, the part that still aches in ways I can’t describe, wants to say yes. Wants to stay in their world just a little longer.

I hesitate, the weight of unsaid words pressing against my ribs. This is where we’re supposed to part ways. Where I’m supposed to slip back into my old life, safe and secure, but nothing about me feels the same anymore.

My gaze lingers on Hank and Gabe, who pulled me from the darkness—twice. There’s something unfinished between us, something I’m not ready to let go of. But with my father watching, with the car waiting, the best I can manage is a weak, “I’ll be in touch.”

It feels wrong.

Inadequate.

Like closing a book before reaching the final page. My fingers twitch at my sides, itching to reach for them, to hold onto something real before I step into a world that suddenly feels too small.

Before I can second-guess myself, I reach for Hank first. His arms come around me, steady, restrained—but there’s heat beneath the careful control and a fraction of hesitation before he lets go.

Like he’s considering something.

Like he’s holding back.

Then I turn to Gabe. His hug is just as brief, but where Hank holds tension, Gabe holds promise. His cheek brushes my temple as he pulls away, the touch so fleeting it could be accidental.

But I know better.

Nothing about them is accidental. Not the way their eyes track me. Not the way their movements feel effortless—like they know how to navigate a woman between them.

And I can’t stop wondering what that would feel like.

“We hope so,” Gabe murmurs, warmth in his tone but something darker in his gaze. An invitation.

Hank nods, his voice rough, unreadable. “Take care of yourself, luv.”

A simple goodbye. But the way it settles in my bones, the way my skin still tingles where they touched me—this doesn’t feel like an ending. It feels like a beginning.

If I’m brave enough to take the next step.

I settle into the car, closing the door with a dull thud. My father slides in beside me, already pulling out his phone to handle the logistics of whisking me back home. I watch Hank and Gabe through the window until they disappear from view. A quiet emptiness settles in my chest, but I push it aside. There’s so much to process, so much to confront.

Then it hits me—a sudden realization that chills my blood. My USB was in the pocket of my clothes. I changed out of them on the plane and left them behind in my rush to shower off the dust of the steppe. My heart seizes.

“Dad, wait—” My voice catches, and he pauses, one hand mid-text. “I… I forgot something.”