“I used to think life had to be perfect before you could ask someone to spend the rest of it with you,” he said, voice steady, honest. “That everything had to be safe and certain. But then you walked back into my life and reminded me that some things—some people—are worth choosing in the middle of the storm.”
Her breath caught, shoulders lifting faintly.
“You’re the calm in mine,” he continued. “You’re my home, Norah Winslow. And I don’t want another day to go by without you knowing that I’m choosing you. Every morning. Every night. Every mission. Every part of whatever comes next.”
He reached for the small box he’d been carrying for weeks, tucked into the inner pocket of his jacket like a secret he was almost afraid to believe in.
Norah’s eyes widened.
He opened it.
A simple ring. Classic and elegant.
“Marry me,” Marshall whispered. He probably should have phrased it like a question, but he wasn’t giving her extra room to refuse.
For a heartbeat, she just stared down at him, eyes shining like wet stars.
Then she let out a choked laugh that sounded like joy breaking open. “Yes,” she breathed. “Marshall—yes.”
The relief that swept through him was sharp, overwhelming. He slid the ring onto her finger, hands shaking just slightly, and she pulled him in with a kiss that was warm and sure and absolutely full of forever.
When they finally broke apart, she rested her forehead against his. “You’re really stuck with me now.”
“Best decision I ever made,” he murmured.
Then, Marshall’s phone buzzed in his pocket.
He frowned, pulling it out. No number. No routing information. No digital fingerprint at all—just an anonymous incoming message that bypassed every normal protocol.
Norah caught the shift in his breath. “Marshall?”
He opened the text.
Read it.
Read it again.
A slow, impossible, heart-punch of hope spread through his chest.
Congrats. Miami looks good on you both.
You better wait a while longer—I'm not missing the wedding.
Marshall’s breath shuddered out of him—half laugh, half prayer answered.
Norah’s eyes widened. “Is that?—?”
“Yeah.” His voice thickened. “It’s him. Sneaky little—” He ran to the edge of the rooftop, as though he would catch Jackson dangling from a rope, eavesdropping on them. He looked outover the water and saw the red lights of a small boat moving across the water in the dark. Was that Jackson?
Only his brother would come close enough to risk a message. Only Jackson would keep it light to hide what it cost him. Only Jackson would send a line that saidI see you. I’m alive. Keep going.
Norah pressed a trembling hand to her mouth, tears bright with relief. “Marshall...”
He pulled her into his arms, holding her tight as the weight he’d carried for six months finally—finally—shifted.
“He’s alive,” Marshall murmured into her hair. “He’s coming back. He’s .. . okay.”
Not home. Not safe. Not finished.
