Henley’s eyes were kind. She didn’t crowd. She didn’t press. She stood beside Lark, leaning against the railing as they each alternated between staring at each other and the beautiful landscape.
“Kawan has told me a little about you,” Henley said after a long moment.
“I’m not sure how I feel about that.”
Henley smiled. “Kawan doesn’t let things out often. He’s slow to process and even slower to share. However, it’s obvious he cares about you based on the way he lights up when he speaks of you.”
Lark wasn’t sure how to respond to that, so she chose to say nothing—at least about Kawan and his comments. “I’m worried about Specs.”
Henley followed her gaze. “I understand why,” Henley said. “First thing will be to make sure she’s comfortable and supported.”
“She doesn’t need support.” Lark fisted her hands. “She needs answers. A target. Something concrete to focus her mind, and I’m not talking leisurely walks filled with endless scenery.”
“What she needs right now is rest. A solid breakfast. And space from what just happened.” Henley gestured toward the path that curved around the porch and disappeared into the trees. “Walk with me?”
Lark hesitated for a moment, but for reasons she couldn’t name, she followed.
At first, they moved in silence. The gravel crackled underfoot. The sun filtered through the pines, dappling the ground, and a horse whinnied in the distance.
Henley didn’t ask questions. Didn’t offer platitudes. She walked like someone who didn’t need to fill every inch of air with noise, and usually, Lark valued and respected that. But in this moment, it drove her bonkers.
“Specs… she’s drowning. I know she needs to find a way through this, but one of those ways is for us to let her do what she does best. Otherwise, she’s gonna implode.” Lark stared atSpecs as she slumped in the chair while Jupiter rose, nodded to some other woman, and disappeared inside the building.
“You’re not wrong about drowning and imploding, but focusing on mission-oriented tasks right now for Specs isn’t going to be the thing that pulls her from the bottom of the pool,” Henley said quietly. “And it’s not helping you either. Not this time. Not in these circumstances.”
Lark’s jaw tightened. “I know how to function under pressure. I know how to keep moving. I always have. That’s what survivors do.”
Henley paused about thirty feet from the porch. She turned and smiled gently. “And when does that stop being enough?”
Lark blinked. “Excuse me?”
“You keep moving forward. I get it. One foot, then the other. Mission to mission. Loss to loss. I see that a lot here at The Refuge. It’s common and often necessary.” There was no accusation there—just words strung together in a kind and compassionate manner. They weren’t meant to hurt. Or judge. They just were. “But eventually, forward stops becoming progress. It just becomes hiding. Running. Avoiding.”
“I’m not doing that,” Lark said. “I’m standing right here—facing what the world has tossed at me. I’ve always faced it. Head on. Eyes open. And more importantly—I accept it.”
“Maybe you accept that life isn’t fair. That life is filled with death, and that’s unavoidable.” Henley tilted her head. “But that’s armor, Lark. A shield to protect you from everything you’ve tucked behind it. All your wounds might be patched up, but eventually, what little that holds them together will open, and you won’t be able to sidestep that pain anymore.”
Lark’s breath hitched. “You don’t know me, and that’s a lot of nothing words wrapped in sunshine meant to crack through something in me that doesn’t exist.” Her hands formed fists repeatedly, squeezing hard, searching for the familiar resistanceof the stress ball that wasn't there.. “I deal with things in the moment. When they happen. Then I let them go. Simple as that.”
“I’ve seen a hundred people like you walk through those doors. And I’ve watched every single one come to the same crossroads.” Henley took a slow step forward. “So, tell me… what scares you more? Feeling the weight of their deaths—reallyfeeling it? Or taking off that armor and tending to all the wounds you've stitched shut underneath—the ones that have never gotten enough air to heal?”
The question hung there like thick smoke—circling and choking Lark.
Before she could answer—before she could even try—Henley inched closer. “You’re a strong woman, Lark—a good person who cares deeply. I can see that. But what you see in Specs is what everyone around you can feel radiating off you,” she said. “I’ve scheduled an appointment for us tomorrow afternoon.” Henley held up her hand when Lark opened her mouth to protest. “Not in my office. I didn’t think that would work for you, so I thought maybe we could go for a walk. Or just sit outside by the animals, whichever you prefer. We don’t have to talk, if you don’t want to. However, think about what you’re asking Specs to do.” And just like that, she turned and walked away, her footsteps crunching softly back toward the main building.
Lark stood frozen.
Not angry. Not panicked.
Just… gutted.
She didn’t want to dive into endless emotions that wouldn’t do her any good. Discussing them wouldn’t solve anything—at least, not for her. She’d agreed to come because Specs would unravel if they hadn’t. Specs wasn’t built for the odd combination of adrenaline and isolation. She needed to learn how to cope with being the one who survived while also moving forward. It was a delicate dance. Lark knew that, and she’dmastered it long before she’d entered the dark world of black ops.
The truth was, she’d buried those fucking feelings because if she hadn’t—she’d go mad. She pressed her palms against her thighs and regretted agreeing to come to The Refuge. She appreciated what this place had done for Kawan and his team. But it wasn’t going to bring back her team, find who betrayed them, or bring them to justice. Only action would do that.
She swallowed hard and looked out at the horizon. The sky stretched wide. Unforgiving. Infinite.
And for the first time in a long time, Lark Strattan didn’t know what the hell to do next.
