"I'm going." His voice is flat, final. "Court-martial me if you want. But I'm stopping them."
Hartwell studies him for a long moment, then nods. "Gear up. Briefing in one hour." She looks at me. "Dr. McKay, we'll need your statement when you're cleared."
"She's coming with me," Holden says.
Both Hartwell and I stare at him. "What?"
"Fallon knows these waters. Currents, tides, coastal geography better than anyone on my team. If these operatives are using her research to plan an approach, she can provide tactical guidance we don't have." Holden's hand finds mine again. "She stays on the support boat. Out of the line of fire. But we need her expertise."
Hartwell considers this, pragmatic enough to recognize value when she hears it. "Dr. McKay, are you willing?"
Am I willing to help stop the people planning to use my research to attack Tidewater? To turn my work on protecting the coast into a weapon against it?
"Yes," I say without hesitation. "I'm willing."
Holden's expression shows relief and concern in equal measure. "You stay on the support vessel. You don't leave that boat for any reason."
"I understand."
"I mean it, Fallon. You provide intel and you keep yourself out of danger. That's the deal."
I press my palm against his chest, feeling his heartbeat strong and steady. "I'll stay put. But you need to come back to me. Whatever happens out there, you come back."
"Always." He kisses me, quick and fierce. "Let me get geared up."
A nurse finds me in the corridor while Holden's with his team, making final preparations. Bruce Tanner is asking to see me. She makes it clear I don't have to go, her expression carefully neutral, giving me every out. But curiosity and the need for closure pull me toward his room despite every instinct screaming to keep my distance.
Bruce looks terrible. Face swollen from Rexford's beating, bandages covering stitches, monitors beeping steady rhythms. When he sees me standing in the doorway, something like shame crosses his battered features.
"Fallon." My name comes out raspy. "Thank you for coming."
I stay near the door, maintaining distance between us. "The nurse said you wanted to talk."
"I’m told I need to apologize." He shifts carefully, wincing with pain. "For everything. The calls, showing up at your apartment, making you feel unsafe. I was stalking you. I can see how you saw it that way. I’ve been going to therapy—mandated by the department—and I’m only now beginning to see how messed up it was."
The admission costs him something. I can see it in the way his hands shake, the shame darkening his expression. Part of me wants to rage at him for years of fear and looking over my shoulder. Another part recognizes genuine remorse when I hear it.
"I’ll take out another restraining, and I won’t let this one expire," I say firmly. "You don't contact me again. You don't come near me. Ever."
"I know." His voice is barely a whisper. "I'm sorry, Fallon."
I nod acknowledgment and leave before emotion gets complicated. Bruce is my past. Holden is my future. And right now, my future is gearing up for a dangerous ocean raid.
Holden's already in tactical gear when I find him. Black wetsuit, weapons secured in waterproof housing, face camouflaged for night operations. He looks dangerous and competent and so focused it makes my breath catch.
His team surrounds him. Real SEAL operators, men whose names I've heard him mention. Kowalski, compact and quick-eyed with a reputation for getting in and out undetected. Pike, tall and lean with a sniper's stillness. Esposito, broader through the shoulders, demolitions expert. Reynolds, the medic, checking medical kits with methodical precision. This is his actual team, the men he trusts with his life.
They nod at me with the easy acceptance of warriors who trust their commander's judgment.
"Ready?" Holden asks, eyes scanning my face for hesitation.
"Ready."
The support boat is smaller than I expected, equipped with communications gear and monitoring equipment. The Coast Guard operates it. A professional team briefs me on protocols and procedures while Holden's team prepares for insertion.
Night falls complete and dark as we motor offshore. No moon, cloud cover thick, waves choppy from lingering storm effects. Perfect conditions for SEAL operations. Terrible conditions for anyone trying to spot a small boat in the open ocean.
But I know these waters. Studied them, mapped them, spent years understanding how currents move and tides shift and coastal geography affects everything from wave patterns to sediment distribution.
