"Close to the Caldwells?"
"They've been friends for decades. Harrison, Warren, and my father used to play poker together every Thursday night."
Ronan filed that away. Harrison Montgomery. Warren Caldwell. Daniel Bennett. Three men at the center of Blossom Springs, bound together by history and circumstance. One of them was still standing.
"He seems well-liked."
"He is." Lila smiled. "One of the good ones."
"Caleb's leaving tonight," Ronan said. "Flight out of Tampa at nine."
"I know." Lila traced patterns on his palm. "He told me this morning, while you were getting coffee."
"What else did he tell you?"
"That you're impossible. That you've never stayed anywhere longer than six months. That he's been watching you throw yourself into danger for a decade, and this is the first time he's seen you want something for yourself."
Ronan thought about that. About Caleb, who had been his handler and his conscience and the closest thing to a friend he'd allowed himself for six years. Who had tracked his movements across three continents and pulled him out of situations that should have killed him. Who was walking away tonight, back to a world Ronan was choosing to leave behind.
"What did you say?"
"I told him you weren't impossible." She looked up at him. "Just stubborn."
"There's a difference?"
"Stubborn means you don't quit. Impossible means you can't be reached." Her hand tightened on his. "You're not impossible, Ronan. Not anymore."
A float covered in blue hydrangeas rolled past, trailing children with candy bags. Somewhere down the street, a brass band was playing something that might have been “Sousa”.
"I don't know how to do this," he said. "Stay in one place. Build something. Be someone who isn't running toward the next mission."
"Neither do I." She shifted closer to him. "I've spent five years running, too. Just in a different way. Toward answers instead of away from them."
"So we figure it out together."
"We figure it out together."
The parade kept moving. The crowd kept cheering. And Ronan Cross, who had spent twelve years in the shadows, sat in the Florida sun and let himself believe that maybe—just maybe—this was where he was supposed to be.
Caleb found them at Sarge's Sandbar that evening.
The deck was crowded with centennial revelers, but they'd claimed a table near the railing where the noise faded into background static. The sun was dropping toward the Gulf, painting the water in shades of copper and gold.
"Figured you'd be here." Caleb dropped into the empty chair and accepted the beer Ronan slid toward him. "One last sunset before I go."
"You could stay. See what happens next."
"I know what happens next. Paperwork. Depositions. Six months of lawyers arguing about jurisdiction and evidence chains." Caleb took a long drink. "That's your world now. Mine is somewhere else."
Ronan understood. The work didn't stop just because one operation ended. There were other towns, other threats, other people who needed someone to fight the battles they couldn't fight themselves. That had been his life for twelve years. It would be Caleb's for as long as he chose it.
"Thank you." The words felt inadequate. "For everything."
"Don't get sentimental on me, Cross. I might start to think you've gone soft."
"I have gone soft. That's the whole point."
Caleb's mouth twitched. "Yeah. I noticed."
