"I'm going into a situation I might not come back from," Lark said bluntly. "One he might not come back from. How is that brave? How is loving someone when you might lose them anything but stupid?"
“My husband is going with you, and neither one of us is dumb.” Henley cocked a brow and raised her hand. “Loving someone despite the risk—even knowing the risk—is the most human thing we can do." Henley stepped closer, her voicegentle but firm. "You've spent your whole life in survival mode. Keeping everyone at arm's length so it won't hurt when they leave. But that's not living. That's just... existing."
Tears pricked at the corners of Lark’s eyes. "What if I tell him and then something happens? What if?—"
"What if you don't tell him, and something happens anyway?" Henley countered. "What if you let fear rob you of the chance to be completely honest with the man you love? Which regret would be easier to live with?"
The question hit Lark like a physical blow. She thought of all the connections she'd kept shallow because it felt safer. All the time she'd wasted building walls instead of bridges.
"I don't know how to do this," she whispered. "I don't know how to be the kind of person who gets to keep the people she loves."
"You learn," Henley said simply. "One day at a time, one choice at a time. You choose love over fear. You choose connection over safety. You choose to trust that you're worthy of the love he's offering you."
They walked back toward the cabins, Lark's mind churning with everything they'd discussed. As they approached the cluster of buildings, she could see Kawan on her cabin's porch, dressed and ready for the day, two fresh mugs of coffee in his hands.
"He's waiting for you," Henley observed.
"He always is." The realization hit Lark with stunning clarity, and she stumbled to a stop. All these years, all her fears about people leaving—Kawan never had. Not really. Even when she'd pushed him away, he'd found ways to orbit back into her life. Patient, persistent, present.
"That's what love looks like," Henley said gently. "Not grand gestures or perfect words. Just showing up. Being there. Choosing someone every day."
Lark nodded, her throat tight with emotion. "Thank you."
"For what?"
"For listening." Lark squared her shoulders, feeling something shift inside her chest—a loosening of the tight knot of fear she'd carried for so long. "And for reminding me that I'm stronger than I think."
"You always were. You just needed to believe it." Henley smiled. “Be safe, and stay in touch. I’ll always be here for you.” Henley turned and headed back toward her office.
Lark rounded her shoulders and put one foot in front of the other.
Kawan looked up as she approached, his face breaking into that easy smile that had been breaching her defenses for years. He held out one of the mugs, and she accepted it, their fingers brushing in the exchange.
"How'd it go?" he asked, settling beside her on the porch steps.
"Good," she said, actually meaning it. "Really good."
He studied her face, those perceptive eyes cataloging every detail. "You look... different."
"Different how?"
"Lighter, maybe? Like you've been carrying something heavy and finally set it down."
The observation hit her hard. That was precisely how she felt—like she'd been holding her breath for years and could finally exhale.
"Something like that," she murmured, leaning into his solid warmth. She wanted to tell him everything—about the session with Henley, about the realization that had been building in her chest like the sunrise. About how much she loved him, how sorry she was for all the time she'd wasted being afraid.
But she wasn’t sure she could do it right now. Even though she’d heard every word Henely said, she still wanted to wait until this mission was behind them and they were both safe. Sheowed him that much—the chance to hear those words when the possibility of goodbye wasn’t shadowing them.
"The team's gathering in twenty," he said, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "Final briefing before we head out."
"I know." She turned in his arms, studying his face with the same intensity he'd shown her. Memorizing his warm brown of his eyes, the strong line of his jaw, and the small scar above his left eyebrow from a training accident years ago. "Kawan?"
"Yeah?"
"When this is over..." She paused, searching for the right words. "When we come back, we need to talk."
Something flickered in his expression—hope, maybe, or recognition. "About what?”
