"Bruce." The name comes out flat, certain.
"Maybe. Or someone else with the same goal." I take the mug from her hands before she drops it, setting it on the porch railing. "Commander Hartwell wants you in a safe house until we identify the threat."
Her eyes flash, green fire replacing shock. "No."
"Fallon—"
"No." She steps back, arms crossing over her chest. Defensive posture that screams she's done being told what to do. "I have meetings scheduled today. Research presentations to finish. Data analysis that can't wait. I'm not hiding. I'm not stopping my work. And I'm not letting whoever's doing this dictate how I live my life."
The frustration that's been building since I found the brake lines spills over. "This isn't about dictating anything. It's about survival."
"By removing every decision from me?" Her voice rises, carrying an edge I haven't heard before. Fury mixed with fear and exhaustion. "By treating me like I can't assess danger?"
"You're not assessing danger. You're ignoring it." I force my voice to stay level, measured, even as everything in me wants to shake her until she understands. "Someone cut your brake lines. On a secure military base. While you were sleeping feet away. This isn't theoretical threat, Fallon. This is someone trying to murder you."
"I know that!" The words crack through the morning quiet. "I know someone wants me dead or wants my research or both. I've known that since my boat exploded. But hiding won't stop them. It'll just delay the inevitable and destroy my career in the process."
"Your career won't matter if you're dead."
"And my life won't matter if I'm too afraid to live it."
The argument slams into a wall. We stare at each other across the porch, both breathing hard, both dug into positions that feel like survival. She's fighting for autonomy after years of losing it. I'm fighting to ensure she lives long enough to exercise it.
"I can't protect you if you won't cooperate." The admission comes out rougher than intended, showing too much of what I'm feeling.
"I never asked you to protect me." Her voice gentles slightly but doesn't soften. "You were assigned. And I'm grateful, Holden. I am. But protection doesn't mean removing my agency. It doesn't mean making every decision for me."
"Even when those decisions put you in danger?"
"Even then." She holds my gaze, unflinching. "Because they're mine to make."
The forensics team works around Fallon's vehicle, photographing evidence and collecting samples. The officer stands nearby, radio crackling with base traffic. And we're frozen on the porch in a standoff neither of us can win.
"What if we compromise?" I offer finally, tactical retreat disguised as negotiation. "Enhanced security. Armed escort when you leave the house. But you maintain your work schedule, keep presenting findings, stay as close to normal routine as possible."
She studies me, weighing sincerity against manipulation. "You mean that? Or are you just saying what I want to hear until you can convince me otherwise?"
"I mean it." And I do, even though every instinct screams to lock her down until the threat is neutralized. "But you have to work with me, Fallon. That means informing me of your schedule, accepting security protocols, and trusting that I'm not trying to dominate you. I'm trying to keep you breathing."
The tension in her shoulders eases fractionally. "Okay. We can try that."
Relief crashes through me so hard I nearly reach for her. Nearly pull her close and promise nothing will hurt her while I'm alive to prevent it. But the distance we're supposed to maintain is already paper-thin. Touching her now, with emotion running this high, would shred what's left.
"I need to brief Commander Hartwell," I say instead. "Update her on the situation and security plan."
"And I need to get ready for work." Fallon picks up her coffee mug, hands steadier now. "Because someone destroying my vehicle isn't going to stop me from doing my job."
The stubborn determination in her voice should frustrate me. Instead warmth spreads through my chest, pride mixed with exasperation mixed with the growing certainty that Griff was right.
I'm in love with her.
The realization lands with quiet certainty. Not a sudden revelation but a truth I've been avoiding. Somewhere between watching her catalog destroyed research with scientific precision and listening to her stand her ground against armed protection, I fell.
And falling for someone I'm supposed to protect is the worst possible tactical decision I could make.
Fallon turns to go inside, then pauses at the door. "Holden? Thank you. For finding the brake lines before I drove. For offering compromise instead of orders. For staying."
She disappears into the house before I can respond. Leaving me on the porch with forensics processing attempted murder and the weight of feelings I can't act on pressing against my ribs.
