Chapter 77 Morgan
Morgan
Dawn came too soon.
The new safehouse was a flurry of quiet activity—boots thudding softly on the worn floorboards, gear shifting into packs, Cyclone muttering over his laptop one last time before shutting it down. Every sound felt amplified in the gray morning light, like the house itself knew we wouldn’t be back.
Ruby sat at the table, clutching a mug of tea she hadn’t touched. Her braid was messy, her hoodie too big, but her eyes were sharp and watchful. She didn’t ask questions. She didn’t have to. She knew what it meant when men moved like this—like shadows already halfway into battle.
I stood near the window, fingers twisting together, my body buzzing with restless energy I couldn’t shake. Last night’s terror still lived under my skin, and yet layered over it was the memory of Damian’s arms, his kiss, the vow he’d breathed against my hair. The contrast left me raw, exposed.
Damian came up behind me, the faint scuff of his boots giving him away. He slid a hand around my waist, warm and steady. “You didn’t sleep,” he murmured.
“Neither did you.”
His mouth curved into the smallest smile. “Fair.”
I leaned back against him, just for a moment, letting myself take in the weight of him, the way his chest rose and fell like nothing—not even the fight waiting for him—could shake him. “Be careful,” I whispered.
His grip tightened. “Always.” Then, softer: “But I’ll be more careful knowing you’re waiting.”
My throat closed, my eyes stinging, but before I could answer, Cyclone cleared his throat from across the room. “We’re set. We’ve got a window of about four hours before they shift locations. If we don’t move now, we lose it.”
Damian’s arm fell away, and suddenly the space between us felt too wide. He moved back into commander mode—checking gear, giving orders, that edge in his voice that made every man snap to attention.
Ruby caught my eye. “He’ll come back,” she said quietly.
I nodded, but my heart twisted. Because I wanted to believe it with everything I had—but I also knew what it meant to love a man who lived in the line of fire.
When they finally filed toward the door, Damian paused, his eyes locking on mine. In front of everyone, he didn’t hesitate—he cupped my cheek, bent, and kissed me hard enough that I would know he was coming back.
But I didn’t care. I kissed him back, gripping his vest like I could hold him here. When he pulled away, his forehead rested against mine. “I’ll come back,” he said simply.
And then he was gone, the door shutting behind him, leaving me in the silence with Ruby and a house that suddenly felt far too empty.