Mark curses and draws his weapon. “Watch them,” he barks to the two men by the door.
I time it perfectly. As one steps toward Mia, I wrench my hands free and launch myself at him. I ram my shoulder into his gut, sending him sprawling. “Mia, go!” I yell.
She scrambles to her feet, and I grab her hand. The second guard lifts his gun— a shot rings out.
His body drops.
I spin.
And there he is.
Rhett. In full tactical gear, eyes wild and locked on me. He rushes toward us, and the second he’s close enough, he grabs me and pulls me to his chest. “I’ve got you,” he murmurs into my hair. “I’ve got you.”
“Rhett,” I gasp. “Mia?—”
“She’s okay,” he says, nodding at Thorne, who’s covering Mia with his rifle as the team sweeps the warehouse. “We’re getting you out.”
There’s chaos all around us—shouting, footsteps, agents yelling orders—but I don’t hear any of it. All I hear is Rhett’s heart pounding against mine. All I feel is safety.
“We have to go,” he says, lifting me into his arms like I weigh nothing. “Come on.”
Mia clings to me, and we don’t let go until we’re both loaded into the SUV, the doors locked, and the compound fading into the distance. We’re safe. And we’re together.
I lean against Rhett’s chest, my eyes brimming. “Thank you.”
He presses his lips to my temple. “I told you I’d protect you. I meant it.”
And I believe him. With everything I have.
Back at Haven 7,the fire pops and hisses in the stone hearth, sending little sparks dancing up the chimney like they’re trying to escape into the night. I watch them for a second, the way the light flickers across the rough-hewn beams overhead, turning everything soft and golden. Safe.
I’m tucked into the corner of a big leather couch, one leg folded under me, the other stretched out so my bare foot brushes the edge of the thick rug. His thigh is pressed solidly against mine—warm, steady, there—and I don’t move away. I don’t want to. Every once in a while his pinky grazes the side of my hand where it rests between us, not quite holding, but not quite letting go either. It’s enough to make my pulse do that stupid, fluttering thing it’s been doing around him for days.
Across from us, Mia is buried under the navy blanket Harper threw over her earlier. She’s cradling one of the oversized mugs in both hands, the steam curling up and brushing her cheeks pink. The hot chocolate smells like vanilla and comfort, and every time she takes a sip her eyelashes flutter like she’s tasting something holy. She catches my eye and gives me that small, tired smile—the one that saysI’m still here, we’re still here—before dropping her gaze back to the baby toes peeking out from under the blanket.
Kayley’s on the other end of the sectional, legs curled sideways, Aidan sprawled across her chest like he owns it. His tiny fist is knotted in the collar of her shirt, mouth slack and open in that perfect baby way. Every few minutes she dips her head andpresses her lips to the top of his downy head, breathing him in like he might disappear if she doesn’t.
Harper’s in the armchair closest to the fire, knees drawn up, Poppi dozing in the crook of her arm. The romance novel is open on her lap, but she hasn’t turned a page in ten minutes. Instead she’s staring into the flames, one hand absently stroking the baby’s back in slow, soothing circles. The light catches the blonde streaks in her hair, making it glow. She looks… peaceful. Not the forced kind. The real kind. The kind we’ve all been chasing.
I let my eyes drift over them again—over the scatter of burp cloths and pacifiers on the coffee table, the half-eaten plate of cookies someone (probably Harper) baked at three in the morning, the way the cabin smells like pine and woodsmoke and milk and us. All of us.
My chest gets tight, but not in the bad way. Not the way it used to when everything felt like it was closing in. This is different. This is full.
This place—Haven 7—was never supposed to be permanent. Just walls. Just a defensible position. Just somewhere to survive until the next move, the next fight, the next evacuation. But somewhere between the first sleepless night and tonight, it changed. The walls stopped being barriers and started being… home. Not because of the reinforced steel or the lookout towers or the stockpiles. Because of this. Because of them.
Because Rhett’s quiet strength is sitting right beside me, solid as the ridge line outside. Because Mia’s soft laugh still finds its way into the room even when she’s half-asleep. Because Kayley would burn the world down before she let anything touch that little boy on her chest. Because Harper keeps making us foodand folding tiny onesies like it’s the most important mission we’ve ever had.
Because I’m here, too. Not running. Not hiding. Just… sitting. Breathing. Belonging.
I glance sideways at Rhett. His jaw is relaxed, eyes half-lidded as he watches the fire. When he feels me looking, he turns his head just enough that our gazes lock. No words. He doesn’t need them. The corner of his mouth lifts—barely—and his pinky hooks around mine.
And just like that, the realization settles deep in my bones, warm as the hearth.
This isn’t just a fortress anymore.
It’s home.
And somehow—through every scream, every gunshot, every night I thought I wouldn’t make it to morning—I found my way here.