I think of the mountain.
The vault.
The voice that shouldn’t exist.
Then I shake my head.
“No,” I say. “It explains too much.”
She leans into me, resting her forehead against my shoulder. “Then whatever comes next… you won’t face it alone.”
I wrap my arm around her instinctively.
“No,” I agree. “I won’t.”
Outside, the first light of morning spills over the Alps.
Roscov is dead.
Delta Five is free.
And somewhere in the shadows of a war that never really ended…
My past command just reached out from the grave.
24
Ronan
Location: Outer Banks, North Carolina
Six Months Later
The ocean is loud this morning.
Not the violent roar of combat zones or rotor wash — just waves breaking steady against the shore, gulls crying overhead, wind tugging at the porch rail.
Normal.
I never thought I’d trust a word like that again.
Lena is barefoot in the kitchen, hair pulled up messily, coffee mug in one hand and her tablet in the other. She’s already reading — already hunting a story — even though she promised herself a time off.
She looks up when she feels me watching.
Smiles.
That smile still hits me harder than any explosion ever did.
“You’re staring again,” she says lightly.
“Still here,” I answer.
She softens instantly, understanding the weight beneath it.
“I plan to be,” she says. “Annoyingly so.”
I cross the room and kiss her — slow, unhurried, full daylight pouring over us. No urgency. No countdown.
