She runs down the porch steps barefoot, not caring about gravel or cold or the fact that I probably look like something dragged out of hell.
I step out of the truck just in time to catch her.
She slams into me, arms wrapping around my waist, face pressing into my chest like she’s checking to see if I’m real.
I hesitate for half a heartbeat.
Then I fold my arms around her.
My hands slide into her hair, down her back, pulling her tight against me. She smells like soap and something sweet from the kitchen. She’s safe. Alive.
Mine.
“I’m here,” I murmur into her hair, my voice rough from smoke and death.
She pulls back just enough to look at me. Her fingers trace the soot on my cheek, the edge of dried blood at my collar.
More of Roark’s men were waiting when we left the warehouse. The battle was short, but intense. And none of the blood is mine.
“You walked through fire,” she whispers.
“For you.”
Her eyes shine, not with fear—but with something stronger.
“It’s over,” I tell her. “No one will ever use your name again.”
She exhales like she’s been holding her breath for years.
And when she kisses me, it isn’t desperate.
It’s certain.
I walked into hell tonight.
But I came back to her.
And this time, I’m staying.
EPILOGUE
DALLAS
Six months later
Snow falls slow and steady outside the farmhouse windows, dusting the fence posts and turning the mountains silver under the moonlight.
Inside, it’s loud.
Ford is arguing with Bronco about whether fireworks are necessary when we live in a valley that echoes like a damn cannon. Camille is laughing with Gemma’s mom who came up for the holidays. Ember is trying to keep Grayson from coloring the walls, and Anson stands in the corner with Ellie tucked against his side, watching the room like he’s cataloging exits out of habit.
In the middle of it all is Gemma.
Six months ago, her name was on a contract. Now it’s on a diploma.
The GLT shell company disappeared in a controlled implosion that never made headlines. Roark’s operation folded quietly without its head. And the world kept spinning.
But mine shifted on its axis.
