Rodney’s smirk faltered.
Barrington met Mary-Ann’s gaze and gave a single, respectful nod. “Well done.”
Then they were gone. The echo of their steps faded, but the gravity of what had passed lingered, sharp, irrevocable, and finally hers to hold.
*
Silence returned likea tide.
The warehouse seemed larger without Rodney’s presence, the air colder now that the immediate danger had passed. Mary-Ann stood where she was, the folio still pressed to her chest, her hands aching from the force of her grip.
Quinton turned toward her slowly. His knuckles were scraped raw. A cut bled along his temple. But his eyes, his eyes were only on her.
“Are you hurt?” he asked, voice low.
She shook her head. “You came.”
“I had to.”
Her lips trembled, but she said nothing.
He took a cautious step closer. “I didn’t know. About the Order. About the plans. I thought… I thought I was a casualty of war. But I wasn’t, was I?”
Mary-Ann released a shaky breath and offered him the folio. “They planned it. Your capture. Everything. To get you out of the way. So Rodney could take over. So I would—”
She couldn’t finish.
Quinton didn’t look away as he took the folio. He opened to the chart, then the report. His shoulders stiffened as he read.
“They erased me,” he murmured. His hands shook. Three years lost. And all of it planned. “Like I was never meant to return.”
She looked at him then, truly looked. “That’s what they do.”
He closed the folio with care. “They wanted to rewrite your future. They didn’t count on you rewriting it back.”
Mary-Ann blinked. “You believed in me once. Then you stopped.”
“I didn’t stop.” His voice caught. “I buried it. Because I thought it was the only way to protect you. But I was wrong.”
She waited.
Quinton stepped forward again, slow and sure. “I’ll never ask you to stand aside. Or to be silent. If we do this, if we face what’s left, it will be together. On your terms.”
Her throat burned.
He reached for her hand, gently. “Say the word, and I’ll walk away. But if you still want me—”
“I do,” she whispered.
He nodded once. “Then I’m yours. No more lies. No more orders. Just us.”
She didn’t speak. But this time, she didn’t let go of his hand.
She thought of every time she’d waited for him, every silence she’d endured. This wasn’t the reunion she’d once imagined. But it was honest. It was hers. And she wasn’t letting go.
Chapter Thirty-Three
It was Friday,and calm had returned to Sommer-by-the-Sea. The lamps in Barrington’s study burned low, casting long golden shadows across the leather-bound reports on his desk. Outside, night still clung to the windows, though morning could not be far. Mary-Ann sat opposite Barrington, the folio between them, its red ribbon frayed but untouched.
