"That's not necessary?—"
"Yes, it is." He sets his bags down, turns to face me. "Let me keep you safe, Fallon. The way it needs to be done."
The quiet authority in his voice brooks no argument. I carry my suitcases to the main bedroom, a space barely larger than the guest room but with a queen bed instead of a double. The window overlooks the backyard, a small patch of grass leading to a privacy fence.
When I return to the living room, Holden's setting up his laptop on the breakfast bar, creating a makeshift command center. His tactical vest hangs on the back of a chair, weapon secured but accessible.
"This is surreal," I say, sinking onto the couch. "Last week I was living alone in my apartment. Now I'm in base housing with a SEAL as a roommate because multiple people want me dead or want to steal my research."
"Not a roommate." Holden's voice is quiet but firm. "A protector. There's a difference."
"Is there?" I meet his eyes across the small space. "Because this feels a lot like we're playing house, even if the circumstances are terrible."
Something flickers in his expression. Heat, awareness, acknowledgment of the intimacy this arrangement creates. "We're keeping you safe. That's what matters."
Rain begins to fall, drumming on the roof in a steady rhythm. The house feels smaller with both of us here, more intimate despite being larger than my apartment. Nowhere to hide from the awareness building between us, from the reality that we're going to be living together in close quarters until the threats are neutralized.
"I should unpack," I say, needing space to process everything. "Get settled."
Holden nods but doesn't move, watching me with those steady gray eyes. "Fallon? We're going to figure this out. All of it."
All of it. The threats, the danger, the complicated feelings developing between us. I want to believe him, want to trust that this arrangement won't implode spectacularly when professional boundaries keep eroding.
Instead I just nod and retreat to the bedroom.
An hour later, my clothes are put away and my laptop is set up on the small desk by the window. I've changed into comfortable clothes, leggings and a soft sweater, trying to create some sense of normalcy in this very abnormal situation.
My phone buzzes with a text. Unknown number.
You looked beautiful presenting today. Those men don't appreciate what they have. But I do. Soon, Fallon. Soon you'll understand we're meant to be together.
Ice floods my veins. Bruce. He was there. Watching. Maybe in the audience, maybe monitoring security feeds, but present enough to see me present findings to base leadership.
"Holden!" My voice comes out sharper than intended, carrying down the hallway.
Footsteps sound immediately, and he appears in my bedroom doorway. "What's wrong?"
I hold up my phone, hands shaking. "Unknown number. It’s a text message."
Holden crosses to me, taking the phone to read the message. Every muscle in his body goes rigid. "Whoever sent this was at the briefing. Either physically present or they have access to security footage."
"It's him." I say softly. "It has to be Bruce. The way it's worded, the possessiveness?—"
"Probably." Holden's already pulling out his own phone, dialing. "But we need to verify before we assume." He puts the call on speaker. "Commander Hartwell. We have a problem. Dr. McKay received a threatening text from an unknown number." A pause while he reads the message aloud. "Content suggests the sender was present at today's briefing or has access to security footage. Dr. McKay believes it's Tanner based on the language pattern."
"I'll pull the footage," Hartwell's voice comes through crisp and focused. "Cross-reference everyone present with our background checks. If Tanner has someone feeding him information, we'll find them. Send me the screenshot."
"Already done." Holden ends the call, then sits beside me on the bed. Not crowding, just close enough to ground me. "Commander Hartwell's on it. If this is Tanner, we'll have proof. If it's someone else, we need to know that too."
"It's him," I whisper, staring at the phone. "I know how he writes. The way he talks about me and what men don't appreciate. That's Bruce."
"You're probably right." Holden's hand finds mine, warm and solid. "But until we confirm it, we treat this as a separate threat. You're on a secure military base with controlled access and a SEAL who's not letting you out of his sight. Whoever's sending these messages can't get to you here."
The fierce protectiveness in his voice, the absolute conviction that he can keep me safe, makes something crack open in my chest. All day I've been holding it together. Professional in the meeting, composed during questioning, calm when Rexford circled like a shark scenting blood. Even packing up my life and moving to a strange house, I kept my composure.
But sitting here in this anonymous bedroom with rain hammering the windows and Bruce's words glowing on my phone screen, I'm done pretending I'm fine.
"I don't want to do this alone anymore," I say quietly.
