Page 105 of Tag (The Golden Team #9)

Aponi

T he safehouse had never felt this still. No alarms. No barking orders. No pounding adrenaline—just the low hum of the fridge inside and the distant trill of some bird waking as the sun started to rise.

I stood on the porch, hands wrapped around a mug I’d forgotten to drink from, watching the first streaks of sunrise spill gold across the desert. Every breath felt deeper now, like I’d been living on scraps of air until this moment.

I heard him before I saw him—the slow, purposeful tread of boots on wood. Tag stepped into the glow of morning, his eyes catching the light, warm and sure.

“We did it,” he said, stopping beside me.

I nodded, my voice barely above a whisper. “Chimera’s gone. For good.” Saying it out loud made my chest loosen, like someone had cut away the last binding around my ribs.

We stood there in quiet, letting the stillness wrap around us. Then his hand brushed mine—tentative at first, then certain. His voice dropped, rough with emotion.

“I love you, Aponi. I think… maybe I have since the moment I saw you. Even when I didn’t want to.”

The air caught in my throat. My heart thudded so hard I was sure he could feel it. “I love you too, Tag. You’re… home for me. The first real one I’ve ever had.”

His smile was small but fierce, like he’d just won the longest fight of his life. He pulled me in until our foreheads touched, the warmth of his breath mingling with mine.

“Then let’s make this our life,” he murmured. “No more shadows. No more running. Just you and me, facing whatever comes.”

I kissed him, slow and certain, the sunrise spilling over us in a cascade of light. It was the kind of kiss that anchored you, that said we survived , that promised forever .

Two weeks later, Faron and I made the drive neither of us had ever truly wanted to make. The house was smaller than I remembered, the paint cracked and peeling, the yard overrun with weeds. I was surprised she still had this house that was never a home.

She opened the door before we could knock. Same sharp eyes, same tired lines. Her gaze flicked between us, startled for a second, then guarded.

“So… you’re alive,” she said flatly.

“Yes, we are alive,” Faron said, his voice calm but edged. “No thanks to you.”

Her mouth pressed into a thin line. “I did what I could.”

“No,” I said quietly. “You did what was easy for you.”

Faron stepped forward, his tone final. “We didn’t come for an apology. We came to say goodbye.”

Something flickered in her eyes—regret, maybe—but it was too late. Tag’s presence at my back reminded me I didn’t need her understanding. I had my family now.

We turned and walked away. No slamming doors. No yelling. Just the clean break of walking out and not looking back.

When we reached the truck, Faron glanced at me. “Done?”

“Done,” I said, watching the house disappear in the rearview. Some doors don’t need to be slammed to be closed forever.

The weeks that followed blurred into something I’d almost forgotten could exist—quiet mornings, shared meals, laughter that wasn’t a shield for pain. The desert still carried the scars of what we’d been through, but here in our little corner of it, the world felt… possible again.

Sometimes I’d catch Tag watching me from across the room, that steady gaze that had once unnerved me now wrapping me in warmth. He didn’t need to say the words every time—I could feel them in the way he brushed my hair back, in the way his hand always found mine without searching.

We still kept our weapons close. The Golden Team would always be ready for whatever came next. But for now… for this moment… we’d carved out a life worth protecting.

As the sun dipped low over the horizon one evening, painting the sky in fire and gold, Tag’s arm slid around my waist.

“Ready for forever?” he asked.

I smiled, leaning into him. “Already started.”

And in his arms, beneath a sky that would burn and fade a thousand times, I knew we’d never stop choosing each other.