“And they built all this,” she said quietly.
“They built everything.” His voice softened. “They tried for years to have kids. Three miscarriages before I came along. Doctors told them not to expect much. When I finally made it to term, they called me their miracle.”
Annie turned fully toward him. “That’s a lot to carry.”
“It is,” he admitted. “They raised me to believe that life is something you guard. That if God gives you a gift, you don’t waste it. After Lily…” His jaw tightened. “After Lily, I thought maybe I wasn’t cut out for protecting anyone at all.”
Annie’s fingers brushed his hand. He didn’t look down, but he closed his grip around hers.
“And now?” she asked.
Jack exhaled slowly, letting the night air fill his lungs. “Now I think I spent years misunderstanding what strength really is. I thought love was the liability. I thought attachment was what got people killed. But watching you—seeing what you’re willing to face, what you’re willing to risk for the truth—I think I had it backward.”
She waited.
“Love doesn’t make people weak,” he said quietly. “It’s what gives them a reason to stand when everything else tells them to run.”
They fell into a silence that felt anything but empty. Outside, a faint mechanical sound drifted up the mountainside.
Jack stiffened, lifting the binoculars from the sill.
Below them, headlights flared to life.
“They’re moving,” he murmured.
Annie stepped closer, her shoulder brushing his arm as she peered through the glass. “Away from the house.”
Jack watched carefully as the vehicles turned onto the winding road and began their descent. He studied the spacing between them, the pace, the deliberate lack of urgency.
“They’re leaving,” he said, though he didn’t allow himself relief. “At least they want us to think they are.”
“Do you believe it?”
“I believe they didn’t come all this way to walk off empty-handed,” he replied. “Which means whatever they’re planning, it isn’t over.”
They stood there until the lights disappeared entirely, until the mountain swallowed every trace of movement. Only then did Jack lower the binoculars.
“We’ll give it time,” he said. “If they’re staging something, they’ll get impatient. And if they really are gone, we move carefully. First light.”
“And then?” Annie asked.
“Then we go after what Eleanor left behind,” Jack said. “We find out exactly what Richard Mitchell and his friends were hiding. And we make sure this ends the right way.”
“With the truth,” Annie said.
“With justice,” he corrected softly.
They turned back into the cabin, the small lantern throwing long shadows across the stone walls. Jack studied her face in the dim light, the quiet courage there, the exhaustion she refused to surrender to. Four years ago, he had walked away from this woman because he had believed distance could protect them both.
Tonight had proven how wrong he’d been.
“Annie,” he said, stopping her before she reached the table.
She looked up at him.
“I don’t know what happens when this is over,” he said. “But I know I’m done pretending that what we share is something I can keep at arm’s length. Whatever comes next… I want to face it with you.”
Her expression softened, something steady and unafraid settling in her eyes. “Then we’re on the same page.”
