Sid started packing up his tools. "I should head out. Grace wants me home for dinner, and I've got to shower off about three pounds of swamp water first."
"Thank you for this," Ronan said. "I'd still be staring at the dock, wondering where to start."
"That's what neighbors are for." Sid hoisted his toolbox. "Same time next Saturday?"
"I'll be here."
Sid nodded to Lila as he passed, and she watched him go with a thoughtful expression.
"He's good for you," she said when his truck had disappeared down Lake Road. "Having someone who understands."
"He thinks I'm still waiting for something bad to happen."
"Aren't you?"
Ronan looked at her. She stood barefoot on the grass, the late afternoon light catching the gold in her hair, and he thought about all the ways he'd learned to guard himself. All the walls he'd built. All the exits he'd always kept in sight.
"I'm trying not to," he said. "It's harder than I expected."
"I know." She moved closer, took his hand. Her fingers were cool despite the heat. "I spent five years waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting for someone to figure out what I knew, what I was doing. It becomes a habit."
"How do you break it?"
"I don't know if you do. I think you just... build new habits on top of it. Better ones." She looked at the skeletal dock, the piles of lumber, the cooler, the tools, and the evidence of a day's work. "Like this. Building something instead of tearing it down."
"Sid says Quinn might have work for me. Construction security."
"Would you want that?"
"I don't know. I've never had a job that didn't involve classified briefings and operational security protocols." He squeezed her hand. "But I'm willing to find out."
She leaned into him, her head finding the hollow of his shoulder. They stood like that for a while, watching the light change over the water.
"The district attorney called today," she said quietly. "They've set a date for Warren's trial. February twelfth."
"That's sooner than they expected."
"He waived his right to delay. His lawyers are pushing for a speedy trial—they think they can suppress enough evidence to create reasonable doubt." Her voice hardened. "They're wrong."
"You sound sure."
"I am. My father's files are meticulous. The forensic accounting is solid. And the medical examiner's testimony about the drugs they used—" She stopped, took a breath. "They're not getting away with it. Not this time."
Ronan pulled her closer. He thought about what Sid had said—that you couldn't put your life on hold waiting for threats that might never come. That surviving the war wasn't the same as winning it.
"February twelfth," he said. "I'll be there."
"You don't have to?—"
"Yes, I do." He turned her to face him, his hands on her shoulders. "This is what I'm here for now. Not missions. Not operations. This. You. Whatever comes next."
Her eyes searched his face. "You mean that."
"I bought a house with a collapsing dock. I spent all day pulling up rotted boards with a guy I barely know. I'm thinking about taking a job that doesn't require a security clearance." He let himself smile. "I've never meant anything more in my life."
She kissed him then—not soft, not gentle, but fierce. Like she was trying to prove something. Or maybe just claiming it.
When she pulled back, her eyes were bright.
