Epilogue
SEBASTIAN
I’ve always preferred being the one watching.
Running the cameras meant I didn’t have to be seen. Not really. From behind a screen, no one could judge the scars, or the stiffness in my movements, or the way silence comes easier than small talk. The monitors gave me control.
Distance.
Safety.
But Micah never minded the distance. He looks straight into the lens, knowing I’m there. He wants me there.
“Enjoying the view, Security?”
His voice crackles through the speaker, lazy and teasing, as he putters around in our suite upstairs. The corner of my mouth lifts before I can stop it. For the first time in months, he doesn’t sound as if he’s in pain or exhausted. Just warmth. Challenge.
Happiness.
I turn back to the screens, checking the perimeter feed before allowing my attention to return to his screen again.
It’s not the kind of relationship most people would understand, one built on observation, half conversation and half silence, but it works for us.
Micah likes being seen now, at least by me, and I like the steadiness that comes from knowing exactly where he is.
After Travis, it took time for Micah to reach this point. For weeks, the feed from our suite stayed dark, the system locked out at Micah’s request. I didn’t argue. I’d have let the whole network go dark if that’s what he needed. Anything it took for him to regain his autonomy and sense of self.
Then, one night, the feed blinked to life. Just for a moment. Long enough to catch him padding barefoot through the living room, mug in hand, glancing toward the camera before disappearing out of frame.
After that, it became a pattern. Every time I worked the night shift alone, the suite feed would come back online for an hour or two. Never a word about it from him, just a quiet connection to reestablish communication in the way Micah does best, on his own terms.
He says it’s about safety, that he likes knowing I’m keeping watch.
But when he looks into the lens like he’s doing now, smiling just for me, I know it’s something else. It’s trust. The kind I stopped believing I’d ever earn.
Micah leans closer to the camera, the faint curve of his lips visible even through the grain of the feed.
“I’ve got a surprise for you tonight,” he says, dropping just enough into his old, patented purr to pull a shiver down my spine.
Clearing my throat, I activate the communicator for our suite. “Should I be worried?”
He laughs softly, that low, unguarded sound I’d missed during the worst weeks after the warehouse. “Not unless you hate being spoiled. Come up as soon as your shift ends, okay? No detours.”
“Bossy,” I murmur, but my chest warms.
Confidence has always suited him best.
“Don’t keep me waiting,” he shoots back, green eyes flicking toward the lens again.
Before I can respond, the feed cuts to black, the screen going dark in a single flicker.
A groan escapes me, then a quiet laugh. For so long, I practically lived in the security room at Rockford Manor, but now I find myself watching the clock more and more, eager for my shift to end. To escape this tiny box of monitors to be with my Omega.
I let my head fall back on the leather headrest, the seam digging into my scalp.
The ceiling tiles are clean, no spiderwebs or dust, and the overhead fluorescents have been dimmed to a gentle twilight.
I flex my hand on the console, feeling the indentations left by hours of routine sweeps.
All is quiet in the manor, and for the first time, I consider cutting back my hours.
There’s no reason, unless we’re in crisis mode, for me to work.
It’s my own micromanaging and internalized fear that if I’m not keeping watch, something will go wrong.
My therapist tells me I need to work on letting go and trusting others to man the helm.
We have staff for a reason, and now I have a reason not to lock myself in this box.
The door to the security room hisses open behind me, and I don’t have to turn to know who it is. Only one person in this house wears high heels.
“You’re still here?” Milo’s expression carries a mixture of amusement and exasperation as he steps up beside me, balancing a mug of coffee in one hand and a tablet in the other.
His fiery hair catches the dim light, the color almost surreal against the sterile glow of the monitors.
“It’s after ten, Seb. You planning to fuse yourself to that chair? ”
“Just finishing the last sweep,” I say, even though we both know it’s a lie. The feeds have been clear for hours.
Milo hums as he leans in, glancing at the monitor dedicated to mine and Micah’s suite. “Shoot. He’s gone dark again?”
A grin spreads over my lips. “He’s putting together a surprise for me.”
“That’s good progress.” He leans a hip on the desktop. “Saint says he’s doing well in his self-defense classes, too.”
“Yeah, it’s helping.”
Jade had been grumpy that Micah rejected his offer of self-defense lessons.
But when he found out it was because Saint had already claimed the right, he’d decided to tag along to learn moves his mentor, my cousin Caleb, hadn’t already taught him.
The friendship between the two Omegas shouldn’t have come as a surprise.
Jade’s every bit as protective of my mate as Saint and I are. Shared trauma will do that.
Milo sets the tablet down, skimming through reports on the latest intel on the trafficking ring we’d dug up after interrogating Travis. “Saint says Gabriel keeps coming to the club he works at, trying to impress him.”
Whereas Micah had bonded with Jade, Milo and Saint had built up an easy friendship, both men enjoying tormenting my brother.
“It’s getting pathetic,” Milo continues. “The poor guy offered to buy Saint a new car to replace his sedan.”
That earns a quiet laugh from me. “If he’s smart, he’ll stop trying to court him like an Omega in a rags-to-riches romance novel.”
Milo snorts. “He won’t. And Saint enjoys turning him down too much to tell him to quit.”
I nod in agreement. My little brother never chooses the easy ones. It will be interesting to see how that plays out.
Milo taps my arm. “Clock out. You don’t want to miss the surprise your mate is cooking up for you.”
I exhale and stand, leaving my chair vacant. “You’re right. You have the watch.”
“Gladly.” Milo drops into my chair before it even stops spinning, already pulling up new data feeds with quick, practiced motions. “Go be human for a while, yeah? The rest of us can keep an eye on the world without you for one night.”
The hallway feels longer than usual on my way to the private wing. I tell myself not to rush, but my pulse gives me away. I’ve faced armed traffickers and organized syndicates without breaking a sweat, but somehow, walking to my own suite leaves my palms damp.
Part of me still worries about pushing too far, too soon. Micah’s healing hasn’t followed any timeline I could predict, and I’ve learned better than to mistake progress for permanence.
He hasn’t cammed since the warehouse, not even privately. Some days, I catch him watching the equipment with a look halfway between nostalgia and dread. I don’t push. He’ll decide if that part of his life still has a place in ours.
When he started taking suppressants after the attack, it gutted me, not because of the missed Heat, but because it erased my Mark.
My claiming bite faded, and even his pheromones felt muted.
Those months were harder than I’ll admit.
The bed felt too big. The suite too quiet.
We still touched, still slept side by side, but without the bond humming between us, something vital was missing.
Now, the Mark is back. Faint still, newly healed, and his scent has returned to normal.
He says he wasn’t ready before. That he needed to reclaim the choice for himself.
And he was right. When I received the Heat alert in the app, and a request that I take the week off to Mark him again, it wasn’t desperation that drove him.
It was trust.
The elevator doors slide open to our floor, and I step into the corridor, the quiet broken only by the soft hum of the manor’s heating system.
At our door, I pause to compose myself. Whatever’s waiting inside, I remind myself, this time he chose it. He’s steering us forward.
With a slow breath out, I push the door open to a wash of light and scent. Rosemary. Garlic. Potatoes crisped in the oven the way he knows I like them. My throat tightens before I even see him.
Candles flicker on the dining table, their glow catching in the dark green bottle of sparkling water standing between two plates. Micah recreated our first in-person date night together.
When my gaze settles on him, standing near the table, my pulse trips over itself. He waits for me barefoot, a silk blindfold in place, his whole body at ease. Candlelight glides over his skin and the deep emerald lingerie adorning him.
Micah’s hair falls over his cheek, the loose chestnut strands brushing the edge of the blindfold. His hands rest at his sides, not a hint of discomfort in his pose.
“I was starting to think you’d forgotten dinner,” he says softly, cocking his hip.
“Never.” The word leaves me rougher than I intend, half prayer, half disbelief.
His head tilts toward me. “Then come here, my Alpha. You’re off duty.”
The knot that formed in my chest the night I woke up from the crash to find Micah gone finally loosens.
I cross the space between us, drinking in the flicker of candlelight on his skin, the way the delicate lace hugs his hips, and the calm confidence in his posture.
The sight of him standing unafraid stirs a deep ache in my chest.
“You made me dinner,” I murmur, stopping close enough to feel the warmth radiating from his body.
“Well, Mrs. Bustly did, but I told her what I wanted,” he corrects, smiling. “I’m pretty sure she didn’t overcook the potatoes, though.”
A laugh escapes me. “I liked your overcooked potatoes.”
“Liar.” His lips curve higher. “But I appreciate it.”
Careful not to startle him, I reach up and untie the blindfold, letting the silk slip free. His lashes lift, revealing the vivid green of his irises. There’s no fear there anymore. Just the same kind of peace I’ve been chasing for both of us.
“You did all this for me?”
“For us.” He curls a hand in my sweater. “I wanted to show you that I’m okay. That I’m… me again. Or at least getting there.”
Emotion tightens my chest until words become useless. I cup his face in my hands, thumbs brushing his jaw, and he leans into the touch like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“I’m proud of you,” I whisper. “More than I can ever say.”
His smile softens. “Then stop saying it and kiss me.”
I do. Slow and deliberate, easing into his mouth as I try to show him all the love, hopes, and dreams I have for our future together. He sighs, his arms wrapping around my neck as his body melts against mine until no space is left to measure between us.
When I finally pull back, I cup his face. “You’re home.”
Micah’s breath catches, his lips brushing mine in answer. “I’m home.”
Outside our suite, the world still turns. Missions are still underway, and we have more battles to fight.
But here, behind our closed door, it’s just us.
And for now, that’s enough.
The End.