“No,” I agree. “It ends what you controlled.”
Lena’s voice comes through the comm, steady now. “International warrants are live. Multiple agencies en route. He’s done. Now come home.”
Good.
I turn away before Malenkov can say anything else.
Because his words don’t get space anymore.
Outside, the afternoon light spills across rusted tracks and broken concrete. The city hums in the distance—alive, untouched, moving forward.
Delta Five gathers around me—not close, not celebratory. Just present.
Whole.
“We good?” Aaron asks.
I nod. “We’re good.”
Somewhere behind us, Malenkov is being led away—no cameras, no audience. Just consequences catching up at last.
I take a breath.
Deep. Full.
Years of feeling guilty because I thought my men and the only woman I have ever loved were dead. I knew in my heart that it all had to be a lie.
Three years of planning.
Three years of promises kept alive by a stubborn refusal to let go.
It’s done.
“Let’s go home,” I say.
And this time—
No one is left behind.
Epilogue
Ronan
Location: Safehouse — Coastal Europe
Time: Two Nights Later
The room is quiet in the way only safe places are.
No alarms.
No maps.
No countdowns.
Just the steady hush of waves outside the open balcony doors and the soft glow of lamplight spilling across white sheets.
Lena stands near the window, hair loose down her back, wearing one of my shirts like it belongs there. Like she belongs here.
