Epilogue
Two weeks later…
The corral fence was warm beneath Sage’s forearms.
Late sun spilled across the ranch in slow gold, catching on dust, saddle leather, the rails, the edge of the barn roof.
The day had started hot and stayed that way, but the evening was taking the bite out of it inch by inch.
The air smelled like hay, horses, dry earth, and coffee someone had forgotten on the porch behind him.
Buckshot sat at his boots, tongue lolling, one spotted ear flipped inside out like he’d lost a fight with the breeze.
Sage looked down at him.
“You look ridiculous.”
Buckshot thumped his tail once against the dirt.
“Yeah, I know. Same.”
The dog sneezed.
Sage huffed, then turned his gaze back toward the arena.
Across the corral, Micah sat stiffly in the saddle of a patient brown mare, hands too careful on the reins, shoulders too tight, expression locked somewhere between determination and silent murder.
Black rode beside him on a dark gelding, relaxed in a way that looked unfair.
One hand loose on the reins. Back straight. Hat low. The bastard made it look easy.
Micah did not.
“Stop laughing,” Micah called without looking over.
Mac laughed harder from where he leaned against the fence ten yards down.
Noah stood beside him, arms folded, grinning like he’d been waiting all day for this exact entertainment. “Nobody’s laughing.”
Mac wiped at one eye. “I’m absolutely laughing.”
“I can hear you,” Micah muttered.
Black angled his horse closer, voice low enough that Sage couldn’t catch every word, but the shape of it was obvious. Calm. Direct. No wasted syllables.
Micah listened, jaw set, then adjusted his heels.
The mare took one smooth step sideways.
Micah grabbed the saddle horn.
Boston, perched on the second rail like gravity was optional, brightened. “Oh, that was elegant.”
Micah pointed at him without turning his head. “I will throw something at you.”
“From up there?” Boston asked. “Bold.”
Seth laughed from the shade near the barn, shoulder pressed to Frost’s side. Frost had one boot up on the lowest rail and the expression of a man pretending he wasn’t enjoying every second.
“Give him a break,” Seth said. “He’s doing better than Frost did.”
Frost’s head snapped toward him. “Excuse me?”
“You tried to intimidate the horse.”
“It looked shifty.”
“It was eating grass.”
“Exactly,” Frost said. “Too casual.”
Sage smiled before he could stop it.
Buckshot barked once, sharp and delighted, then sprang up like he’d decided he was personally responsible for horse training.
“Nope.” Sage hooked two fingers in his collar before the dog could launch himself into the arena. “You are not helping.”
Buckshot leaned hard into his collar before settling down.
Beyond the corral, the ranch kept moving.
A truck rolled slowly past the main drive. Someone shouted near the equipment shed. A door slammed somewhere behind the row of cabins. Life, irritating and loud and stubborn as hell, kept going like it had never once asked permission.
Syx crossed the yard with a limp he was pretending didn’t exist, one hand pressed lightly to his side when he thought no one was watching. Winter followed him, arm in a sling, scowling like the fabric had personally insulted him.
“You’re favoring your left,” Winter said.
“You’re in a sling,” Syx shot back.
“Observation isn’t limited by injury.”
“Neither is bitching, apparently.”
Memphis appeared behind them with a bottle of water and shoved it into Winter’s good hand. “Drink that before you pass out and make me carry you.”
Winter glared at him. “I’ve been shot.”
“Again,” Memphis said.
“That’s not my fault.”
“Seems like a pattern.”
Sage’s mouth twitched.
Somewhere near the main house, Ashley’s voice carried—bright, animated—cutting through the open air as she talked over Cookie about something that sounded like it involved weapons and dinner at the same time.
Cookie barked back, half laughing, half offended. “You are not bringing that into my kitchen.”
“I’m just saying, it would be efficient—”
“No.”
Sage didn’t look that way.
Didn’t need to.
Jade’s funeral had been handled three days ago.
Small. Quiet. No spectacle.
Sage hadn’t said much.
Neither had Law.
Some things didn’t need a lot of words pressing against them.
Both Ashley and Rook had come back to the ranch to meet with Viper that very same day.
Near the far pasture gate, Viper crossed with a phone to his ear, expression unreadable, posture sharp enough to make even the horses mind their business.
He paused long enough to look toward the corral, taking in Micah on horseback, Black beside him, Sage at the fence, Buckshot sitting on his foot like a claim.
Viper gave one nod.
Sage gave him two fingers back.
Then Viper moved on.
Erebus had already slipped out again sometime after the op ended. No announcement. No goodbye circle. Just gone, like smoke under a door.
Typical.
Sage looked back to the arena as Micah finally got the mare moving in a slow, careful circle.
Black rode alongside him, close but not crowding.
Good.
That was how Black did everything with Micah.
Close enough to catch him.
Far enough to let him try.
Sage understood that more than he wanted to.
Buckshot leaned harder into his leg, and Sage glanced down. “What?”
The dog stared up at him.
Sage scratched behind his ridiculous, flipped ear.
“I’m still here,” he muttered.
Buckshot wagged his tail.
Yeah.
He was.
Footsteps came up behind him, familiar before they were close.
Sage didn’t turn.
Didn’t have to.
A moment later, Law stopped beside him and held out a cup of coffee.
Sage took it, their fingers brushing around the warm paper.
No spark of alarm.
No instinct to shift away.
Just heat, calluses, and presence.
“Thanks,” Sage said.
Law rested his forearms on the rail beside him, close enough that their shoulders almost touched. “He improving?”
Sage looked back at Micah, who had gone stiff again while Black corrected something with a low murmur.
“No.”
Law’s mouth moved, not quite a smile.
“But he hasn’t fallen off,” Sage added. “So that’s disappointing.”
Law huffed quietly.
Buckshot stood, shoved his nose against Law’s boot, then sat on both their feet with the confidence of a dog who had survived worse and now owned the whole damn ranch.
Sage took a sip of coffee.
The taste was sweet, hot, familiar.
Around them, people moved. Laughed. Argued. Healed badly and loudly and in pieces.
Sage stayed at the fence.
Law stayed beside him.
And for once, Sage didn’t feel the pull to disappear.
Law leaned into the rail beside Sage and let the weight of the place settle the way it always did when he gave it a second.
Late light stretched long across the corral, catching on dust and leather and the slow shift of horses moving through the arena. The worst of the heat had passed, but it still lingered in the air, warm and steady, as the day eased toward evening.
The ranch was a hub of activity—voices carrying from the house, the steady rhythm of hooves in the arena, laughter cutting across the yard—but none of it pressed in on the space between them. It just…existed around it, part of the same moment instead of competing with it.
Sage stayed by his side with a loose hold on his coffee, Buckshot planted firmly against his boots like he’d decided that was where he belonged. Sage didn’t shift him away. Didn’t step back from the contact. Didn’t angle himself out of it the way like he would have before.
Law let his gaze rest there for a second longer than he needed to.
A few months ago, Sage would have found a reason to move away from him.
Not obvious. Not enough for anyone else to call it.
But Law would have seen it.
A step back. A turn of the shoulder. Something small that created space without making it look like he was doing it on purpose.
He didn’t see that now.
Sage tracked the arena instead, attention steady on Micah working the horse through another careful pass, Black riding just off his shoulder, close enough to guide without taking over.
The rest of the noise—Mac and Noah laughing, Boston throwing commentary, Frost and Seth folded into their own space—filtered through without pulling him out of it.
He was here.
Not halfway out.
Not braced to leave.
Just…here.
Law took a slow sip of his coffee and let that settle where it landed, something quiet and solid that didn’t need to be named out loud.
“You gonna tell him he’s riding like shit,” he said after a moment, tone easy, more observation than question.
Sage huffed, the sound low and familiar. “He already knows.”
“Fair.”
The conversation didn’t need anything more than that.
Mac shouted something that made Micah snap back without losing his seat. Boston whooped like it was a victory worth celebrating. Black didn’t react at all, just adjusted his pace and let Micah find the movement himself.
Law watched it without really focusing on it.
His attention stayed where it mattered.
Sage looked pensive.
“What’s on your mind?”
Sage glanced at him, that slow smile showing up—real this time, not deflection.
“Nothing,” he said. “Just…this.”
Law nodded once, the motion small, almost automatic, but it settled something anyway.
He shifted his weight slightly, closing the space between them without making a point of it, his shoulder brushing Sage’s in a way that felt deliberate without being forced.
Sage stayed close.
That told Law everything.
“What about you?” Sage asked, turning just enough to meet his gaze.
Law met it easily.
Steady.
“Me?” His gaze slid over Sage, the curve of his face, his lips. Sage flushed. “A nap?”
Sage choked out a laugh.
Law let out a slow chuckle and rested more of his weight into the rail, letting the moment stretch. It was true, he’d keep Sage glued to his side and most of the time in bed if he had the choice.
He’d spent most of his life moving where he was needed, stepping in and out of places without letting anything anchor him longer than the job required. It had always made sense—clean, efficient, necessary.
This was different.
What he had with Sage wasn’t temporary.
And certainly not something he’d ever walk away from.
He glanced at Sage again, taking in the white blond hair lifting in the breeze. The way he held himself without that constant edge of readiness to bolt, without the quiet withdrawal that used to sit just under everything.
Still sharp.
Still watching.
But present in a way that hadn’t been there before.
Law let his shoulder settle fully against Sage’s this time, not testing it, not questioning it—just placing it there and leaving it.
Sage pressed closer.
Law didn’t move.
Didn’t look for a reason to.
Didn’t find one.
Right here.
That was where he stayed.
THE END