“No. She doesn’t.” Zach looked straight ahead, jaw set but his voice gentle. “He’s looking for a way out. Krueger. He floated it this morning, hints about Sahel activity. He’s angling for leverage.”
Dante didn’t move. But something behind his eyes darkened.
“Ian, Ford and I are working it. Trying to box him in, but…” Zach stopped. “That’s not why I’m out here.”
Dante turned his head slowly. “Then why?”
Zach’s expression softened just enough to shift from soldier to something older, deeper. A man who remembered what pain like this felt like… and survived it.
“Walk with me.”
They didn’t say much as they moved down the side path. Birds called softly overhead. A generator thrummed somewhere nearby. Life continued like it didn’t know the world had nearly ended for someone inside.
They reached a small clearing. Zach sat on the low stone ledge. Dante followed.
Zach said, “My wife, Saoirse…”
Dante’s brow furrowed faintly. “She’s head of New York legal.”
Zach looked down at his hands. “Before that. She was kidnapped and sexually assaulted. She was an inch from dying. Right out from under me. No warning. It tore her up physically and emotionally. But she healed. Grew stronger than I thought possible.” He paused. “Me? As she grew healthy, I fell apart.”
Dante said nothing, but he was listening now.
“I thought I had to carry all of it,” Zach continued. “Be strong enough for both of us. Never show her the cracks. Never slow down. And it almost cost me the only thing I couldn’t afford to lose.”
“O’Reilly, New York’s clinical director, sent me to someone. I didn’t want it—until I fell apart in an elevator and couldn’tmove.” His eyes bore into Dante’s. “Gave me a place to say all the things I didn’t want her to hear. Eventually, we both went. It saved us.”
Dante looked away, jaw tight. His thumb rubbed once against the scar on his palm. “It’s not about me right now.”
“I know,” Zach said. “But it still hasto be. At least a little. You’re carrying fire and grief like they’re oxygen. But if you hollow yourself out, she’s going to wake up to ashes.”
Dante’s shoulders dropped—barely, but it was enough.
Zach leaned forward, elbows on his knees, voice low and certain. “You love her. That’s clear. But don’t lose yourself in the rage. If you do… Krueger still wins.”
The air between them went quiet. Dante nodded once, like the truth had landed.
Zach rested a hand on his shoulder. “I’m always here. You fall, I catch. That’s how we do this.”
RECOVERY ROOM 2B – 1642 HOURS
The light was soft when Shannon stirred. It wasn’t the sharp fluorescent kind from the ICU. Midafternoon sun angled through the window blinds, striping the bed in quiet light.
The ache hit first. Not a sharp bolt but the dense, heavy pull of everything: her hip, her ribs, her lungs. Pain like someone laid concrete over her chest and called it healing. She shifted and winced.
A voice came from beside her. “Easy.” Dante wasstill there. New chair. More scruff. Same eyes.
His hand found hers without hesitation. “You’re okay. You're out of surgery. They fixed the hip. Hunt said you were a pain in the ass to intubate.”
Her throat worked once, and then again. This time, no vent. No tube. Just dry breath and weight.
“You stayed,” she rasped.
“I’m not going anywhere.” He offered her a cup of water.
Her fingers curled weakly into his, and she sucked on the straw. Memory returned in fragments. The cockpit. The fog. Mara’s voice cutting in and out. Her panic. The sound of Mara’s helmet slamming against the windshield.
Shannon's body tensed. “Mara,” she whispered. “Where is she?”
