We’re back at the ranch by 01:12.
She doesn’t let go the whole drive.
At the main house, I carry her inside and set her on the kitchen counter.
She’s shaking, full-body tremors.
I grab a warm cloth, wash the blood from her lip, her cheek. She leans into my touch, eyes closing.
“I fought,” she whispers. “I tried to fight with the techniques you taught me. The elbow. The stomp. I got one good hit with the skillet.”
Pride swells in my chest. “I know. I saw the dent.”
She smiles. It’s small and shaky. “I screamed for you.”
I cup her face. “I’ve got you now.”
Tears spill over. I kiss them away. Then I hold her for hours. The team fixes the door to my cabin and cleans up the mess.
I take her back, and we sit wrapped in each other on the couch, her head on my chest, my arms around her like I can shield her from the world.
I whisper against her hair.
“I’ll never let you out of my sight again.”
She nods, fingers curling in my shirt.
“I know.”
And for the first time since I lost my team, I believe I can keep that promise. She’s mine, and I’m hers.
Nothing is taking her from me.
Not ever.
Chapter twelve
Megan
The cabin is quiet in the way only early mornings can be, with soft light slipping through the blinds, the faint crackle of last night’s embers in the fireplace, the steady rhythm of Aaron’s heartbeat under my cheek. I’m curled against his side on the couch, legs tangled with his, his arm heavy around my shoulders like he’s still afraid I’ll disappear if he lets go. His fingers trace slow, absent patterns on my arm—circles, lines, little hearts he probably doesn’t even realize he’s drawing.
I don’t tell him I notice. I don’t want him to stop.
The laptop is open on the coffee table, screen still glowing with the final draft of the article. I added the last paragraph at 3:17 a.m., while Aaron slept beside me, his breathing deep and even. The words came slowly, each one heavy with the memory of zip ties cutting into my wrists, the chemical burn in my lungs.
I read it back now, in the daylight, and my throat tightens.
On the evening of January 10, 2026, as this reporter was preparing to publish, three armed men forcibly entered the secure location where I was under protection. They subduedme, bound me, and attempted to remove me for the purpose of silencing this story permanently. I was rescued within hours by a private security team. The attempt on my life is the clearest possible evidence that the corruption detailed in this article is not merely financial; it is deadly. The people responsible must be held accountable. Not just for the money they stole, but for the lives they were willing to take to protect it.
I hit send.
The article goes to Laura, it’s encrypted and includes every attachment, every timestamp, every piece of proof. Subject line:FINAL – FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE. No Embargo.
I close the laptop. The click feels final. Like closing a door on a chapter of my life, I never want to reopen.
Aaron stirs beside me. His hand stills on my arm.
“You sent it?”
