I sink down onto a stone wall, suddenly exhausted beyond measure. My dress is torn and bloody. My feet hurt from running in heels I lost somewhere in the wine cellar. The pearl collar at my throat—still intact—is the only thing that feels right.
Grace comes and sits beside me, wrapped in a blanket someone provided.
"Thank you," she says quietly. "For what you did. For all of it."
"You don't need to thank me." I take her hand. "What happened tonight wasn't about you. It was about power and politics and men who think women are property. But you're not property. You never were."
"I thought I was safe." Her voice breaks. "I thought they couldn't find me anymore. But they always find us, don't they?"
"Not always." I squeeze her hand. "You survived Boko Haram. You survived tonight. You're stronger than they'll ever be."
"Because of you. You saved me three years ago. You saved me again tonight."
"No." I turn to face her. "You saved yourself three years ago by surviving what they did to you. You saved yourself tonight by being brave enough to trust that help would come. I was just the catalyst."
She hugs me hard, and I hold her while she cries. Amara joins us, wrapping her arms around her daughter, and the three of us sit there in the freezing night while emergency vehicles arrive and chaos swirls around us.
Fitz appears with blankets and coffee. "Come on," he says gently. "Let's get you both checked out by the medics."
"I'm fine," I protest, but he's already helping me up.
"You're bleeding, you're bruised, and you're going into shock. You're not fine." His voice is firm but gentle. "Medical check, then we're getting you somewhere warm and safe. No arguments."
Grace looks between us. "Do you ever get tired of him being right all the time? I think it would be exhausting."
"It is," I confirm, but I'm leaning into Fitz's warmth, letting him guide me toward the ambulances.
Hours later, we're in a small hotel down the mountain. The resort is a crime scene now, and guests are being relocated. Fitz has secured us a suite with actual security, including two of Sawyer's team who arrived within an hour of our escape. The Swiss police arrested most of the remaining terrorists at the resort. Three died in the explosions they set. The leader—the man I shot—didn't make it. Fitz told me that without emotion, but I saw the relief in his eyes.
I'm clean, bandaged, and wearing borrowed clothes. The pearl collar is still at my throat—Fitz checked it obsessively,making sure the clasp wasn't damaged, that none of the pearls were cracked.
"It's fine," I assured him for the tenth time. "It survived. We survived."
Now I'm lying on the bed, exhausted but too wired to sleep. Fitz paces the room, five steps, turn, five steps back. His shoulders are rigid.
"Stop," I finally say. "You're going to wear a hole in the carpet."
He stops, turns to face me. "Do you have any idea how terrified I was?"
"Probably about as terrified as I was watching them drag you away."
"It's not the same." He sits on the edge of the bed, not touching me. "Jordan, when that gun was pointed at you, when I thought—" His voice cracks. "I can't lose you. I won't survive it."
"You're not going to lose me." I reach for his hand. "I'm right here. Stubborn as ever."
"Too stubborn. Too brave. Too willing to throw yourself in front of bullets for people you barely know."
"That's who I am, Fitz. It's who I was when you met me. You can't be surprised that I?—"
"I'm not surprised. I'm furious." He finally looks at me, and the raw emotion in his eyes steals my breath. "You gave me your word. You looked me in the eye and said you'd follow my lead. And you broke that promise twice."
"I did." I sit up, ignoring the protest from my bruised body. "And I'm sorry, but?—"
"There is no 'but,' Jordan. We have rules. I enforce them because I love you, and I will not watch you die." His voice drops into that dominant register that makes my spine straighten automatically. "We had an agreement. You broke it. And now there are consequences."
"Fitz, we just survived a hostage situation. Can we maybe postpone the disciplinary discussion?"
"No. We can't. Because if we postpone it, you'll think I'm not serious. You'll think the rules don't matter when things get dangerous. And that's when they matter most."
