Bookshelves line the walls—volumes I devoured during sleepless nights, seeking escape in someone else’s story because I couldn’t survive in my own. Half of them are unfinished. Just like me.
The weapons rack stands bare now, stripped for the mission. Custom-built, each piece once a promise of control, a way to keep the world at bay. Now, it’s a hollow frame.
Like ribs without a heart.
The kitchen gleams with steel and solitude. I taught myself to cook in that space. Quiet routines. Precision. Control. A ritual to keep the darkness at the door. No one else ever sat at the island. No one else ever tasted what I made until she stood barefoot, licking sauce off her finger, and smiling like I wasn’t broken.
The bed still holds the shape of her. Sheets tangled, warmth lingering. Last night, I wrapped myself around her like a man anchoring his soul. Held her like I could hold back the nightmares. For one night, I wasn’t a soldier or a monster.
I was human. And alive.
My chest tightens as my gaze lands on the bathroom door. That wall knows every inch of her. Every ragged breath, every whispered plea. I lost myself in her there. Found something I never thought I’d feel again—a need that wasn’t about pain.
I turn slowly, taking inventory of everything I built to survive.
The underground tunnels that took months to dig with my own hands. My escape plan carved into the earth. The armory, hidden beneath layers of reinforced steel, stocked well enough to supply a black-ops team. The comms center—my lifeline to every operative in the field, encrypted to ghosts.
All of it, meticulously designed. All of it mine.
And yet, none of it matters now.
Not when they’re hunting her.
Not when my world has narrowed to the single, blistering purpose of rescuing her.
“Ten minutes to departure,” Ryan announces, breaking my reverie.
I take one last look around. This place served its purpose. It gave me what I needed: isolation, safety, and time to process. But it was always a retreat, not a life. A pause, not an ending.
With Willow, I have purpose again. A mission beyond mere survival. A reason to step back into the world I left behind.
The cabin will remain, of course. A fallback position. A resource for future operations. Perhaps even a place to return to someday, under different circumstances.
But it’s time for my self-imposed exile to end.
Willow looks up as I approach, her eyes finding mine with that uncanny ability to see past my barriers.
“Everything okay?” she asks softly.
“Yes,” I tell her, surprised to find it’s not a lie. “It’s time to go.”
She scans me for injuries, for signs of what happened in the shed.
“How did it go?” she asks.
I hesitate, unsure how much detail to share.
“We got what we needed.”
“Drake?” Her gaze is too perceptive, seeing past the professional mask to the violence beneath.
“You don’t need to worry about himanymore.”
Understanding dawns in her eyes. She doesn’t ask for confirmation, doesn’t seek reassurance that her abuser still lives. She nods once, accepting what needed to be done.
“We’re moving,” I tell her, crossing to where she sits. “Reynolds has more resources than we anticipated. We need to get you and that evidence to safety.”
“Where?” Fear flickers across her face, quickly mastered. “How?”
