Epilogue
Jax
It’s disrespectful outside. The Texas sun beats down on the range until the air shimmers. My shirt sticks to my back—sweat runs into the crook of my elbow as I steady the rifle at my shoulder. Hot brass and scorched earth fill my lungs, the faint tang of sunscreen under it all.
Wind’s a bastard today—enough to play tricks if you’re not paying attention.
Deep breath. Squeeze. Don’t pull.
The shot cracks. Half a second later, the distant clang of steel answers. Hit.
1,100 yards.
I barely have time to reset before boots crunch on gravel—steady, unhurried.
“Not bad,” a voice remarks.
I don’t turn. Just smirk. “Didn’t take you for a spectator, Hale.”
Colton Hale steps up beside me. No rifle, no kit—just an Aegis T-shirt and cargos, arms folded. He should look sharper, more wired. Instead, there’s something settled about him, like he’s made some peace I haven’t heard the terms of.
“Not a spectator,” he says. “Just making sure you don’t embarrass yourself.”
“Keep talking shit, old man.” I reload.
“You’re what, five years younger than me?” he mutters.
“Exactly.” I line up the next shot. “Old.”
Bang. Clean at 1,200.
The wind kicks dust across the range. I adjust, exhale, squeeze—hit.
Then Hale says it. “I’m stepping out of the field.”
I lower the rifle, glance over. “What?”
He rubs the nape of his neck. “Niger was a wake-up call. I’m gonna be a dad. I want to be around for my kid.”
The words don’t land strange. They land right.
Hale is Hale—the best sniper Aegis has ever had, a guy who could hit a flea off a dog’s ass at a thousand yards without blinking.
Him walking away doesn’t make sense, until it does.
The tired in his eyes, the weight behind it, the pull between brotherhood and fatherhood.
I blow out a breath and nod. “Shit. Respect.”
He shrugs, like he doesn’t deserve it. “Yeah.”
“What are you gonna do now?”
“Callahan wants me running TOC. Frees him up to do boss-man shit.”
I snort. “You saying Callahan doesn’t belong in front of a screen?”
“You ever seen that man sit still for more than five minutes?” Hale shoots back.
Fair point. But Hale stepping down means changes.
“Why you telling me this?” I squint against the sun. “We’re not exactly friends.”
His look lands solid. “Because the team needs a sniper. And you’re a damn good shot.”
I blink. Of all the things I expected Hale to say, that wasn’t one.
“Really good,” he adds, quieter. “Maybe even better than me.”
I laugh under my breath. “Bullshit.”
“You tell anyone I said that, you’ll regret it.”
He drops his voice, serious. “Your ability was never the problem. It was your recklessness. You pushed too far, put the team at risk. But… you seem different now.”
We both know why.
Melina.
She hasn’t stopped calling. I haven’t picked up. Mason’s home. She doesn’t need me anymore. The thought sits like stone in my gut.
Fuck, I miss her.
Her laugh. Her smile. The way she pushes back, refusing to let me off easy. How it feels to hold her. How she looks at me as if I’m not just some reckless asshole. Like I could be better.
And God help me, she makes me want to be.
But watching her with him? That’s a kind of pain I can’t put words to.
So I stay away.
"Callahan signed off on?" I ask.
Hale nods. “Yeah. Steele, Demo, Bishop—they’re on board. Brooks too. Said you really stepped it up out there. And Mason—” Hale pauses. “It was his idea.”
That stops me cold.
Mason. The guy who hated my guts. The guy who wanted me gone. He wants me back on Alpha? He wants me close.
The heat presses down. The words sink in, heavy and light all at once.
Hale claps a hand on my shoulder. “Finish your rounds, Mercer.” He nods toward the targets. “Welcome back to the team.”
I roll my shoulders and settle behind the rifle. I am not only, I’m their sniper now, and I’ve got a feeling we’re gonna need one.
Niger set something in motion. Something bigger than the next mission. And for the first time in a long time, it feels like the real fight is just beginn