"On the charge of assault with a deadly weapon, we find the defendant guilty."
"On the charge of destruction of government property, we find the defendant guilty."
"On the charge of sabotage, we find the defendant guilty."
"On the charge of attempted murder, we find the defendant guilty."
The words wash over me like a wave. Guilty. On every count. Hutchins' face goes gray, his shoulders slumping. His attorney puts a hand on his arm, but he shakes it off.
The judge thanks the panel and moves to sentencing. Dishonorable discharge. Federal prison time stretching into decades. Hutchins' military career ends in disgrace, his toxic beliefs thoroughly rejected by the institution he claimed to be protecting.
I feel no triumph watching him being led away in restraints, his wrists bound behind his back as guards escort him from the courtroom. Just exhaustion and relief that it's finally over. That I can move forward without constantly looking behind me. That justice, for once, actually worked the way it's supposed to.
Devlin and I leave the legal building in silence. The afternoon sun is warm on my face, a stark contrast to the climate-controlled chill of the courtroom. Duke is waiting in the back seat of Devlin's truck, tail thumping when he sees us approach.
When we're alone in the vehicle with Duke's panting filling the silence, Devlin turns to me.
"What are we doing?" he asks quietly. "You and me."
The question hangs between us. I could deflect, keep things light, avoid committing to anything. But I'm tired of running from things that matter.
"I don't know exactly," I admit. "But I know I don't want to stop. Whatever this is, I want to keep figuring it out with you."
Devlin's jaw tightens. Then he reaches across the console to cup my face with one calloused hand, his hazel eyes intense.
"I love you," he says.
My heart hammers against my ribs. "I love you too. And I'm done letting the past make decisions for my future."
"Good." He leans in to kiss me, right there in the parking lot with Duke watching from the back seat. When we pull apart, we're both breathing harder. "So what now?"
I think about my father who died too young, about Tyler who never got the future we planned, about all the loss I've carried. And I think about the choice I'm making right now to honor their memories by actually living instead of merely surviving.
"Now we build something," I tell him. "And we stop apologizing for wanting it."
Duke barks from the back seat, approval clear in the sound. Devlin laughs, and I realize I'm smiling too—not the careful, guarded expression I've worn for years, but something real. When he starts the truck and pulls out of the parking lot with my hand still in his, the future stretches ahead of us like uncharted territory.
I don't know what comes next. But for the first time in years, I'm ready to find out.
EPILOGUE
DEVLIN
Six months after Hutchins' conviction, I stand in my commanding officer's office holding orders that should feel like recognition but instead feel like a complication.
"K9 Unit Command at Joint Expeditionary Base Tidewater," Major Brandt says from behind his desk, studying my reaction. "Virginia Beach area, where the Chesapeake Bay meets the Atlantic. Premier facility for integrated special operations—SEALs, MARSOC, joint counter-terrorism training. They want you to build their K9 program from the ground up."
The orders are clear. PCS—permanent change of station, though "transfer" would fit better on the paperwork—effective in a month. Promotion to Senior Master Sergeant and specialized command position. Recognition for the work I've done at Ridgeway, for the security improvements implemented after the investigation, for Duke's performance record. Everything I've worked toward, handed to me on official Air Force letterhead.
And leaving Andi behind isn't part of the plan.
We've spent six months building something that works. Not crisis-forced proximity, but an actual relationship with rhythm and trust. She moved into my quarters two months ago, her coffee mug next to mine in the cabinet, her wild curls on thepillow beside me every morning. Duke has fully adopted her as pack. Maggie saves me the good pie when I stop by the diner. This is home, and the Air Force is asking me to choose between that and advancement.
"This is an opportunity you've earned," Brandt continues, still watching me. "Tidewater is where the best operators train. You'd be working with SEAL teams, Marine Raiders, EOD specialists. Building a K9 program that supports elite warfare."
"Yes, sir." I keep my voice level while my mind runs calculations—distances, timelines, whether asking Andi to uproot her career makes me selfish or just honest.
"Before you start worrying," Brandt says, his mouth lifting slightly, "Lieutenant Colonel Cain mentioned O'Rourke received something today too. She asked me to coordinate the timing of this conversation."
