One of the younger members—a prospect whose name I can’t remember—approaches with a first aid kit.
I let him press gauze against the cut on Dalla's throat while I hold her, watching the white fabric slowly turn red.
"Shallow," he says, examining the wound with surprising expertise. "Won't need stitches, probably. But she's lost some blood. Shock might be setting in."
"Hence the hospital," I say flatly.
He nods and backs away.
I carry Dalla out of the farmhouse and into the fading afternoon light.
The sun is setting, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink.
Beautiful. Peaceful.
The yard is littered with shell casings and the bodies of Solveig's perimeter guards—four more, taken down by our men as they tried to flee or fight back.
None of them made it far.
The Raiders are efficient when they're motivated.
And they were very motivated today.
She curls against my chest, her face pressed into my neck, her hand resting on her stomach.
Protecting our baby, even now.
Even after everything she's been through, her first instinct is to shield the life inside her.
I'm struck, suddenly, by how much I love her.
It's a physical sensation—a tightness in my chest, a burning behind my eyes.
This woman.
This fierce, stubborn, beautiful woman who looked at a broken soldier from Dublin and saw something worth loving.
She's carrying my child.
She was going to tell me tonight, make it special.
And instead she spent the day being tortured by a madwoman, terrified not for herself but for our baby.
"I love you," she whispers, as if reading my thoughts.
"I love you too." I press a kiss to the top of her head, breathing in the scent of her hair beneath the blood and sweat. "Both of you. More than I know how to say."
"I was so scared." Her voice cracks. "Not for me. For the baby. She said she was going to—" She can't finish the sentence.
A sob tears from her throat, and she buries her face in my chest.
"Shh." I hold her tighter, wishing I could take the memories away.
Wishing I could undo the hours of terror she endured. "She's gone now. She can't hurt you. She can't hurt either of you. I made sure of that."
"You killed her."
"Yes." I don't feel guilty about it. I don't feel anything except relief that it's over. "I'd do it again. A hundred times. A thousand times. Anyone who threatens you or our baby—I will put them in the ground. That's not a threat. That's a promise."
