Each touch is a celebration of what we’ve found in each other’s arms.
Each kiss is a promise.
Each command given and obeyed a step further away from the shadows of her past.
And afterward, as we lie tangled together on the mat, her body curled against mine like she belongs there, I hold her as though she’s sacred. Because to me, she is.
TWENTY-TWO
Mason
Evening findsus in the war room, the entire team assembled for what feels like a turning point. Forest stands at the head of the table, his massive frame casting shadows in the dimmed lighting. Skye and CJ flank him, their expressions grave. Mitzy runs point on tech, multiple screens displaying data that illuminate her face in blue-white light.
The Cerberus team completes the circle: Cooper, his injured leg now supporting his weight without visible discomfort, Martinez, unusually serious without his customary smirk, Jackson, cleaning his nails with a tactical knife, Ryan, stone-faced and ready.
And Willow, sitting beside me, her spine straight, her eyes clear. No longer the frightened woman who stumbled through a Montana blizzard seeking escape. A warrior in her own right now, preparing for the final battle.
“We’ve narrowed our options,” Forest begins without preamble. “Based on the evidence and Willow’s decision, we’re taking this to court. Full disclosure. Full testimony.”
“Timeline?” Cooper asks, leaning forward.
“Two weeks,” Skye replies. “We’ve established back-channel communication with a federal prosecutor we trust. He’s preparing the groundwork now.”
“Security?” Ryan’s question is directed at CJ, who taps his tablet in response.
“Three-layer protocol. Cerberus on the inner ring, Guardian operatives in the middle, and outer. Extraction plans for every scenario.”
Mitzy picks up the thread, her fingers moving across her keyboard as she speaks. “The evidence has been authenticated, encrypted, and distributed to secure servers across four continents. Even if something happens to the physical drive, the data survives.”
“And Reynolds?” I ask, my hand finding Willow’s under the table.
In answer, Mitzy loads a satellite photo onto the main screen. Steffan Reynolds, immaculately dressed in a tailored suit, ascends the steps of what appears to be a government building. A senator walks beside him, their heads bent in conversation.
“Pentagon,” Forest identifies the location. “Three days ago.”
“He’s not hiding,” Skye observes. “He’s reminding us who he knows.”
“Who he thinks will protect him,” CJ corrects.
The image changes to another—Reynolds at a charity gala, smiling for cameras, a blonde woman on his arm who is decidedly not Willow. The date stamp shows it was taken just yesterday.
“Already replaced you publicly,” Mitzy says to Willow, her voice gentle despite the harsh reality. “Classic narcissist move.”
Willow stiffens beside me, but when I glance at her, there’s no hurt in her eyes. Only cold determination. “Good,” she says. “Let him think he’s won. It’ll make his fall that muchharder.”
Forest nods approvingly. “We hit him, we better not miss. Once we go public, there’s no going back.”
“Then let’s make damn sure we don’t,” Willow says, her voice steady and strong.
I look around the table at these people who have become her protectors, her allies, her family. At the woman beside me, who has faced her worst nightmare and chosen to fight back. Who is preparing to stand before the world and speak truth to power, regardless of the cost.
She isn’t running anymore.
And I’ve never been more proud to stand beside her.
Forest is about to continue when Mitzy’s tablet begins flashing red. She doesn’t look alarmed—more intrigued, her head tilting slightly as her fingers fly across the screen.
“What?” Forest demands, instantly alert.
