Even from three stories up, I can see the way he's standing—hands in pockets except for the one holding the phone, shoulders set with the kind of determination that says he's not leaving until I come down.
"You said two years," I manage, but my voice is breaking.
"I know what I said."
"It's only been six months."
"I know."
"Colt—"
"I couldn't stay away." The words come out rough, raw. "I tried. I made it six months. That's—" He stops. "That's all I could do."
My vision blurs, and I realize I'm crying. Tears mixing with the smile I can't control. "You're going to get me kicked out of the program."
"Then we'll figure something else out."
"That's not how witness protection works?—"
"I don't care." His voice gets quieter. More intense. "I spent five years choosing wrong. I'm done with that. I'm choosing you."
Through the rain and the distance, I see him lower the phone slightly, and I do the same, and we're just looking at each other across the space between us.
Six months.
Six months of being Emma Richardson in Portland while Colt Harrison was—where? California? Still with Guardian HRS? Did CJ terminate him? Suspend him? Is he even still an operator, or did saving me cost him everything?
I should ask. Should demand answers. Should be responsible and careful and think about the consequences.
But I'm already grabbing my jacket.
Already shoving my feet into boots.
Already taking the stairs two at a time because the elevator is too slow and Colt is outside and I've been waiting six months for this without even knowing I was allowed to.
The building door swings open, and rain hits my face, cold and sharp and real. He's still standing there across the street, phone in his pocket now, just watching me with those steady eyes that saw through every wall I tried to build.
I don't remember crossing the street. Don't remember the cars or the rain or the distance.
Just his arms coming around me, solid and warm and real.
Just his voice in my ear: "Hi,Magnolia."
Just the way I'm shaking—from cold or relief or six months of holding myself together finally cracking apart.
"You're here." It's all I can manage. "You're actually here."
"Told you I'd come."
"You said two years?—"
"I lied." His hand comes up, tangles in my wet hair. "Or I tried to convince myself I could wait two years. Turns out I can't."
I pull back enough to see his face. He looks tired. Thinner than I remember. Dark circles under his eyes, as if he hasn't been sleeping well. But he's here. Real. Solid.
"CJ?" I ask.
"Suspended pending psych eval. Then reinstated with conditions." A ghost of a smile. "Turns out saving hostages is good for Guardian HRS’s reputation even when you violate every protocol to do it."
