Chapter 36
Thirty-Six
R uth’s days blurred together in a quiet rhythm of recovery. Each morning, Noah and Paul helped her through simple exercises to rebuild her strength—slow walks around the house, carefully guided by Noah’s steady hand, followed by small meals to keep her energy up. Every movement felt heavier than it should, her limbs sluggish, as if she were walking through thick fog.
She hated feeling weak. Hated how dependent she had become.
Noah, sensing her frustration, was patient but firm. “You’re doing better,” he reassured her as she rested after another slow lap around the living room. “Two days ago, you could barely stand without swaying.”
Ruth sighed, shifting against the couch cushions. “Doesn’t feel like progress.”
Paul handed her a bottle of water. “It is. Your body’s just catching up to everything it’s been through. Give yourself time.”
Time.
That was all anyone kept telling her. That she needed time to heal. Time to adjust. Time to remember. But time stretched endlessly in the darkness, making every moment feel like an eternity.
When she was awake, Noah never left her side. He guided her through basic tasks, encouraging her to eat, keeping her mind engaged with quiet conversation or reading. He never rushed her, never let her frustration turn into despair.
But when she slept, he slipped away.
* * *
Late at night, when Ruth’s breathing had evened out in the steady rhythm of sleep, Noah moved to the small desk in the corner of the room. He ran a hand through his hair, exhaustion pressing against his skull, but he forced himself to focus.
Fairchild .
The name alone made his jaw tighten with anger.
His notebook was filled with pages of scribbled notes, mapping out every illegal crime Fairchild had committed—extortion, bribery, conspiracy to commit murder. With each piece of evidence, the case against him grew stronger.
But something was still missing.
Ruth’s blindness wasn’t just from her injury—Paul had made that clear. Her mind was blocking something. Something so terrifying, she couldn’t bear to see it.
Noah flipped back through the pages of his notes, scanning the names of individuals who had access to her office before the attack.
Her. Dylan Grant. Matt. Melanie. Blake Ellison.
Who among them had the power to terrify her into shutting down her own mind?
He clenched his fists. He couldn’t push her—Paul had warned him about that. But the moment they were safe at the Blackwell Institute, the moment he took down Fairchild, he would find out what Ruth had seen.
And God help the person responsible.
Outside, the wind cut through the trees, sending branches rattling against the windows. Inside, the fire crackled low in the hearth, casting long shadows against the log walls. Ruth lay curled up beneath layers of blankets, her breathing steady but still too shallow for his liking.
Noah sat at the edge of the bed, thinking about the ham radio in the corner of the living room. Low-tech, old-fashioned. Safe. They couldn’t stay off the grid forever. Ruth’s family had to be losing their minds. And the bomber, whoever the hell they were, was watching them.
The longer they stayed hidden, the longer their enemy had to set the next trap.
Noah gritted his teeth and inhaled sharply through his nose, but before he could go to the radio, Paul’s voice broke the silence, “You’re thinking too loud.”
Noah glanced up to see his brother standing in the doorway, arms crossed, expression unreadable. Paul didn’t wait for an invitation. He stepped inside, pulling up a chair across from him. His eyes flicked to Ruth, softening for just a moment before they landed back on Noah. “We can’t stay off the grid much longer.”
Noah exhaled slowly. “I know.”
“She’s stable, but she’s not okay.” Paul’s voice was low, even. “She needs to go home.”
Ruth needed her family. Needed doctors with better equipment than the barebones medical supplies they had out here. Needed answers about what she could and couldn’t get back. But taking her home meant exposing her again.
“Blackwell Institute,” Noah murmured, almost to himself.
Paul nodded. “It’s the safest option. They will keep the media away. They have the security. The resources. She needs it, Noah.”
Noah ran a hand down his face, feeling the exhaustion creeping in. “If the bomber’s watching them, we could be leading them straight to her.”
“You think they don’t already know she’s alive?” Paul shot back, voice sharp but not unkind. “You think they’re just sitting back, waiting? No, Noah. They’re planning their next move. And we need to be ahead of it.”
“Are you sure you weren’t a cop in some past life?” Noah dragged in a breath, his fingers flexing against his thigh. He hated that Paul was right.
“I need to make the call,” Noah said finally. “I’ll be quick. Not many details. Just a heads-up.”
Paul’s gaze darkened. “And then?”
Noah swallowed hard, his eyes flicking to Ruth’s sleeping form. “Then we take her home.”
* * *
When morning came, Noah was beside Ruth again, guiding her through her steps, coaxing small bites of food past her lips, reading softly to her when the silence became too much. He never spoke of the long nights he spent unraveling the web of corruption that had nearly destroyed her.
And Ruth never asked.
All she knew was that when she reached out, Noah was always there.
* * *
Four weeks after they arrived at the home in the Black Hills, Noah sat on the edge of Ruth’s bed, gently holding her hand as he spoke. “I have everything I need,” he said carefully. “Fairchild is finished. I’m going to radio Brad tonight and make the arrangements to take you home.”
Ruth’s fingers tightened around his. “Home,” she whispered. The word felt both comforting and terrifying.
“You’ll be safe,” Noah reassured her. “We’ll be at the Blackwell Institute. Tristan and James will take over your care. Sophie will be there, and I’ll ask Alex to bring your mom. I’ll ask the rest of the family to hold off until the next day.”
Ruth swallowed, nodding. “I want to go home,” she admitted, though there was a slight tremor in her voice.
Noah squeezed her hand. “It will work out.”
* * *
Late that night, Noah adjusted the frequency, his fingers steady as he turned the dial on the ham radio. The static crackled, then settled into silence before he pressed the transmitter.
Noah: Sentinel, this is Guardian, do you copy?
There was a pause, then a familiar voice came through, slightly distorted but clear.
Brad: Guardian, this is Sentinel. Copy loud and clear. Give me your status.
Noah: We’re ready to move. We leave tomorrow at first light. Heading to Blackwell.
A brief silence. Then, a relieved exhale from the other end.
Brad: Understood. Blackwell will be secured. Medical will receive. Momma Bear and Guardian2 will be ready. Medical will also be waiting. ETA?
Noah: Eight hours, give or take.
Brad: Good call. Any new concerns?
Noah glanced toward the closed bedroom door, thinking of Ruth, of her fragile state, of the memories she had yet to face.
Noah: Package remains damaged. Multiple long-term concerns.
A long silence followed before Brad responded, his voice grim.
Brad: We’ll be ready. Safe home, Guardian.
Static crackled, then the line went dead. Noah sat back. The cabin was silent except for the soft crackling of the fire and the distant rustling of the wind through the trees.
Noah and Paul finished packing, tucking away everything except what they needed for the night. Noah showered and went to check on Ruth one last time.
He wasn’t expecting to sleep. His mind was too full—plans, calculations, what they were about to do. Taking her home meant exposing her again. But keeping her hidden meant she wouldn’t get the care she needed.
Then, a whisper. “Noah?”
He moved to her, the bed creaking under his weight. “I’m here.” He didn’t have to ask what she needed. He just went to her.
She was still tucked beneath the blankets, her blind eyes blinking toward the sound of his voice. She wasn’t afraid, but there was something else in the way she held herself, something tentative.
He reached for her hand. She squeezed it. “Can I ask you something?” Her voice was quiet.
“Anything.”
A pause. Then, softer this time: “Noah… did we ever make love?”
His throat tightened. He should have expected it. Her memories were shattered, scattered like pieces of glass she was trying to fit back together. Still, hearing her ask, knowing she didn’t remember what they had shared felt like a blade sliding between his ribs.
He swallowed, squeezing her fingers. “Yes.”
Her lips parted slightly, her blind gaze searching his face as though trying to see what she could no longer physically witness. Then, a whisper, raw and full of something that cut deeper than any physical wound: “I’m broken.”
Noah’s chest ached.
“I can’t see, Noah. I—I don’t know if I ever will again.” Her voice cracked. “Are you… are you taking care of me out of obligation?”
God.
He couldn’t take it. His hand curled around her cheek, his thumb brushing the delicate skin beneath her blind eyes, brushing the tears away. “No, Rae.” He leaned in, his forehead resting against hers. “Not out of obligation.”
His voice broke, but he let it. “I love you.”
Her breath hitched.
“Blind or sighted.”
She shuddered, her lips trembling. Then she reached blindly for him, her hands finding his jaw, his neck, his shoulders. She touched him like she was trying to memorize him, trying to carve him into her world that had gone completely dark.
And he let her.
He held himself still, letting her explore, letting her understand him in a way no one else ever had. Her fingers drifted lower, trailing down the solid line of his throat, pressing lightly over the steady thrum of his pulse.
"Noah," she whispered, voice raw, uncertain.
He caught her hand in his, kissing the center of her palm. "I'm here."
Her body softened, her tension unraveling beneath his touch. He leaned in again, brushing his lips over her forehead, her cheek, the corner of her mouth—slow, reverent, taking his time. Letting her feel everything.
She turned into him, her lips seeking his, and this time when he kissed her, it wasn’t tentative. It wasn’t restrained. It was deep, slow, unwavering.
He savored her, the way she tasted, the way she sighed against him, the way she pressed closer, like she needed more of him, like she didn’t want the distance anymore.
Neither did he.
His fingers skimmed over her skin, following the curve of her back, the delicate line of her spine. She was so soft beneath his hands, so warm, and when he slid his fingers beneath the hem of her shirt, her breath hitched.
But she didn’t stop him. She pulled him closer.
Noah took his time, peeling away the layers slowly, like he was unwrapping something precious, something that belonged to him alone.
And when she lay beneath him, bare and vulnerable, he didn’t rush. His lips followed the path of his hands, worshipping her the way she deserved, whispering her name against her skin as she trembled beneath him.
She was his. And he would make sure she knew it.
She gasped softly as his hands roamed lower, her body arching instinctively, pressing into him. Her skin was warm beneath his fingertips, her body so responsive, so open to him.
He wanted to memorize every inch of her. His mouth traced down her collarbone, his lips pressing against the frantic beat of her pulse. She was alive. She was here. With him.
And, God, he loved her.
Her breath staggered, her nails scraping gently against his shoulders, her body pressing closer, seeking him. Needing him. “Noah.” His name slipped from her lips, barely a whisper, but it shattered him.
Noah groaned softly, his forehead pressing against hers as he lined himself up with her, every movement slow, deliberate. He watched her, even if she couldn’t see him—watched the way her breath caught, the way she clung to him, the way she let him in.
And when he finally pushed inside, he did it with the utmost care, with love, with everything he felt for her pressing between them.
She gasped, her hands fisting the sheets. “Noah…” Her voice cracked, her body trembling, and he knew she remembered this. Maybe not completely, maybe not in full detail. But her body knew. Her heart knew.
As he moved inside her, slow and deep, letting her adjust, letting her feel him in every possible way, he felt the moment she let go. She finally stopped fighting the memories. She gave in to the moment, to them.
This wasn’t just making love. It was a promise. A vow that no matter how much she forgot, no matter how much she lost, he would always be the one to bring her back.
Her legs wrapped around him, pulling him closer, deeper, her body fitting to his like she had never been meant for anyone else. And she hadn’t.
She was his.
His hand slid to the back of her neck, holding her there, his lips brushing against her ear. “I love you, Rae.”
A soft, broken sob slipped from her throat, but she held on to him tighter, kissed him deeper, moved with him, like she could finally feel everything she had been searching for. When she fell apart beneath him, gasping his name, trembling in his arms?—
He knew she had found it.
She had found him.
When he lay beside her, when he held her with a reverence he had never felt for anyone else, he did it with patience, with devotion, with love.
Because she wasn’t broken.
She was his.
And no matter what happened next, no matter how dark the world stayed, he would always be her light.
* * *
The morning air was cool and damp, the scent of earth and thawing winter creeping in through the cracked window. The quiet hum of the engine filled the space between them, steady and unbroken, just like the rhythmic crunch of tires against wet pavement.
Ruth sat beside Noah in the back seat, her fingers resting lightly on his forearm. She wasn’t holding on tightly—just enough to feel him there. Just enough to keep herself anchored.
She had never been so aware of her blindness as she was now. Each turn, each shift of the road beneath them felt strange, disorienting. She had always read the world through her eyes, and now she was left to feel it instead. How do you adjust to losing a sense that defined so much of who you were?
She swallowed hard, tilting her head toward him. “Tell me what it looks like.”
Noah was silent for a second, then she felt him shift slightly, his voice low and steady. “The trees are still bare from winter, but you can see the first signs of spring. The grass is waking up—patches of green starting to push through the frost. The sky is gray, but the clouds are thin, letting in streaks of sunlight. It’s that in-between time—cold, but you can tell warmer days are coming.”
Her lips curved into a small smile. “Sounds peaceful.”
“It is.”
But even as he said it, she felt the tension settling over them again. The closer they got to Waverly County, the more she felt it pressing in. She could feel Noah’s tension too—the way his muscles tightened slightly beneath her fingers.
Coming home should feel safe. So why did she feel like she was about to step into the unknown? Her fingers twisted together in her lap, the restlessness inside her growing. And then—a warm, solid hand slid over hers, threading their fingers together. Noah.
His voice was low, meant only for her. “You’re not alone.”
Her throat tightened. No, she wasn’t.
She nodded, unable to speak, but she squeezed his hand just the same.
“We’re at the main gate to the Institute.” The car slowed, tires crunching over gravel as they turned onto the long, winding driveway leading to Blackwell Institute. A place of safety. A place where she could heal. Or at least that was what everyone told her.
The moment the car stopped, voices crashed over her like a wave. “Ruth!” Sophie’s voice cracked with emotion, thick with relief and something else Ruth couldn’t name.
Then, warm hands were on her face, trembling as they pulled her in. Her mom. “Oh, baby.” Her mother’s touch was familiar, grounding, but Ruth couldn’t stop the flinch, the way her body braced for impact before she even knew what was happening. Her mom must have felt it too because she pulled her in gently, her arms careful, trembling.
Ruth felt herself pulled from one embrace to another—Brad, Alex, Ethan, Tristan, James.
She may not have been able to see them, but she could feel them.
* * *
The heavy door to the study clicked shut behind Noah as he followed Ethan, Brad and Alex inside. The room was dimly lit, the fire in the grand stone fireplace casting flickering shadows against the dark mahogany walls lined with towering bookshelves. A faint scent of aged whiskey and fresh coffee lingered in the air, but no one moved toward the decanter on the side table. This wasn’t a meeting for drinks.
Tristan, James, and Paul were already seated, their expressions grave. Noah, Brad, Ethan, and Alex took the remaining seats, tension thick in the space around them.
Tristan, ever the composed one, leaned forward, his hands folded together. “Let’s get straight to it,” he said. “We agree with Paul, physically, Ruth is stabilizing. Her vitals are strong, her body is healing, and her strength is slowly improving. But she’s exhausted. Her body is still in recovery mode.”
“ Damn good call, Paul.” James had said it himself: finding the anticoagulant saved her life.
“I’ll hand-deliver it to the lab. See if we can find a fingerprint.” Brad shook his head.
Paul exhaled heavily, rubbing his forehead. “She sleeps constantly. Which is good, but it also means she’s not building back muscle tone. She needs physical therapy, a strict routine to regain stamina.”
James, usually the most optimistic, was uncharacteristically quiet. He adjusted his glasses before speaking. “Tomorrow, we will move her to the acute care unit. We will get a full panel of bloodwork and a CT scan.” He looked at Tristan. “It’s a good thing we invested in the scanner.” He ran a hand through his hair. “If her neurological scans are stable, and there’s no swelling, no bleeding, nothing to indicate permanent physical damage…”
Noah narrowed his eyes. “Then why the hell can’t she see?”
Paul hesitated, then leaned back, crossing his arms. “Noah and I talked about this. That’s where things get complicated.”
Alex, who had been silent up until now, let out a slow exhale. “Psychosomatic?”
James nodded. “We will have to confirm the exams are all negative. If that’s the case, then we will let our psychiatric team run a battery of tests.”
Ethan frowned. “So, you’re saying this could be mental?”
Paul nodded. “I think her mind is blocking her vision. It’s a defense mechanism.”
Noah ran a hand down his face, his frustration barely restrained. “So, she saw something so terrifying, so traumatic, her brain just shut down her vision to protect her?”
“That’s our best alternate theory,” James said quietly. “And if that’s the case, there’s no telling when or if she’ll get it back.”
Silence filled the room, thick and heavy.
Brad finally broke it. “So, what do we do?”
Paul looked at him seriously. “For now, nothing. Forcing her to remember could be dangerous. If her brain shut down her sight as a trauma response, suddenly unlocking those memories could break her completely. We have to let her come to it on her own terms.”
Noah clenched his fists. Every fiber of his being wanted to push, to get answers, to fix this. But what if pushing only made things worse?
Alex leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, his gaze sharp. “And what about Fairchild?”
Brad nodded grimly. “Noah says he’s found enough to take him down.”
Noah straightened, his expression carved from stone. When he spoke, his voice was ice-cold, every word a death sentence. “He’s done. Bribery, extortion, conspiracy to commit murder—we have more than enough to put him away for life.”
Brad reached for his phone. “I’ll call for the warrant.”
Noah held up a hand, stopping him. “Not just one. We need multiple, timed precisely. Fairchild’s security detail is tight. If we take him down, we need to take them all down.” His voice lowered, full of restrained fury. “The boss is compromised. And not just him. A lot of higher-ups.”
Alex stilled, the color draining from his face. “Tommy? Evan?” His voice barely carried the names, as if saying them aloud would make it real.
Noah exhaled slowly. “Tommy,” he confirmed, his throat tight. “And the mayor of Pierre, the deputy mayor of Pierre, and the fraud bureau chief in the DA’s office. Fairchild didn’t just have influence—he had control. There wasn’t a single part of state government he didn’t touch.”
Silence.
Alex’s hands curled into fists. “Jesus.”
“I’ll call this into the DC branch. We need to protect you two, Noah.” Ethan reached for his phone. “We need to make deliberate moves.”
Tristan, who had been listening quietly, finally spoke. “And what about his people? The ones still in the dark, waiting to clean up his mess? Are we sure they’re no longer a threat to Ruth?”
Noah’s jaw clenched. “No.” His voice was hoarse, raw with frustration. “We don’t know who or what she saw before the bomb. We have no idea how deep this goes. Until she remembers, we’re literally flying blind.”
“Well, there is enough to take down Matt Brandt and Dylan Grant. Before we left town, Luke Andrews was working her secretary, Melanie. I don’t know what he has on her.”
Alex exhaled. “Shit, Dylan Grant was shot to death in his office.”
“Shooter?” Noah met Alex’s gaze.
Alex brought him up to speed. “No one reported hearing anything. There were only three people in the building at the time. Melanie is high on the list. She was one of the people in the building at the time of death. The shooter took out the secretary too. They were in a compromising position.”
Noah dropped his head into his hands. “I need to break it to Rae.”
The men in the room gave him a sympathetic look.
Brad exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand down his face. “Then we have two objectives. First, we take down Fairchild. Completely. We cut off the head of the snake. Second, we protect Ruth—because whatever scared her into the dark hasn’t gone away.”
Noah’s hands were clenched so tightly, his knuckles were white. Fairchild was still out there. His men were still out there.
But more than anything, Noah feared the moment Ruth’s mind broke open—when the memories rushed back, dragging her into whatever nightmare she saw that night.
Because once she remembered, nothing would ever be the same again.
* * *
The moment Ruth stepped into Sophie and Tristan’s home, warmth enveloped her. It wasn’t just the soft heat that chased away the lingering chill from their drive. It was the definition of home—the feeling of being surrounded by love, by family, by people who refused to let her break.
The scent of Sophie, vanilla and faint traces of lavender, drifted through the air, mingling with the crackle of a fireplace burning somewhere nearby. Plush carpeting softened her steps as Sophie and Charlotte guided her gently, one on each side, their hands firm but careful. She couldn’t see the grandness of the house, but she could feel it, remember it—the way the space breathed, open and luxurious, but still personal.
Her fingers brushed against cool marble as they walked, then warm wood as they turned a corner. Her mother gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “Almost there, sweetheart.”
She nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat.
Behind her, Noah, Paul, Tristan, and James murmured in low voices as they moved toward the study. Their conversation was important, about her and what came next, but right now, all she could focus on was the exhaustion holding her down like lead.
Sophie opened a door, and they led her inside a room where the air smelled crisp, like freshly laundered sheets. “It’s the guest room across from the master bedroom. You’re safe here.”
They sat her carefully on the edge of the bed. Charlotte knelt in front of her, brushing stray strands of hair away from her face. “Let’s get you cleaned up, honey. Then you can sleep, alright?”
Ruth barely had the strength to nod. They moved around her with quiet efficiency. She didn’t fight them when they helped her out of her travel clothes, replacing them with something soft and comforting. She didn’t flinch when they guided her to the adjoining bathroom, where warm water and the familiar scent of her sister’s favorite soap enveloped her.
She let them do it all—didn’t argue, didn’t insist she could manage alone. Because she couldn’t. And she didn’t have the energy to pretend otherwise.
By the time they helped her back into bed, exhaustion had fully taken hold. She sank into the mattress, feeling the plush blankets surround her. The pillow cradled her head, and she exhaled, the tension in her body finally giving way to something softer.
Charlotte pulled the blankets up around her, tucking them in like she used to when Ruth was a child. She pressed a kiss to her forehead, whispering, “Rest, baby.”
Sophie smoothed her hand over Ruth’s hair. “We have a monitor, so call out if you need us.”
Ruth’s throat tightened, but she managed to whisper, “Thank you.” She heard the door click shut, the sound too final, too empty. And suddenly—she missed Noah.
It didn’t make sense. He was just downstairs. But now—now she felt the distance between them like an ache. Her fingers curled into the blanket, gripping fabric instead of him.
They had made love before they left the safehouse. The memory of his hands on her skin, the way he touched her like she was whole, like she was still Ruth even without her sight, settled deep inside her.
He said he loved her.
She had believed it. Felt it. But would it hold true here? Back at home, when life moved fast again, when work pulled him away, when she wasn’t just the fragile, broken woman he had been protecting?
Would he still love her then?
Doubt crept in, curling around her thoughts, squeezing tight.
She loved him too. That was the one thing she was sure of. But was love enough when everything else had changed?