Chapter 16 #2
He checked everything. Corners. Windows. The balcony latch. The bathroom. The hall closet. Even beneath the furniture.
He didn’t say her name. He didn’t ask if she was hurt. He didn’t reassure her.
Not yet.
He was in that mode where nothing existed but the environment, the angles, and the possible entry points. And she understood, intellectually, that this was how he kept people alive.
But as she watched him pace through the destruction—her life overturned, her things strewn and gutted—something inside her caved a little. Because she wanted him. Not the soldier. Not the operative. Him.
Someone to hold her before he held the situation together. She swallowed hard, wrapping her arms around her middle to keep her hands from shaking.
When he finally returned to her side, he wasn’t distant, exactly—just stoic.
Like he was holding the whole apartment up with the tension in his spine.
His eyes swept her face, lingering long enough that she felt seen in a way that made her breath catch, then flicked over the wreckage again, sharper this time.
“Are you okay?”
Her arms wrapped around herself. “I hate that they were here.”
“I know.”
“I feel . . . violated. Exposed. Like they turned me inside out, not just—” She broke off, unable to finish.
Something in his expression cracked, so fast she might have imagined it.
He stepped closer, shoulders dropping a fraction, as if bracing for impact.
“Norah.”
His hands hovered—just inches from her arms, suspended in indecision. A hesitation. A breath. A question he didn’t voice, one she answered simply by not stepping back. And then he pulled her in.
Not roughly. Not possessively. Just . . . solidly. Steadily. As if he’d been standing there this whole time simply waiting for the time to be the thing she could finally collapse against.
She didn’t mean to fold into him.
But the moment his chest touched her cheek, her body stopped pretending it was fine. Her breath shuddered out of her before she could trap it. Her fingers fisted in his shirt, clutching hard—anchoring herself in him like he was the only stable thing in a room that had been ripped apart.
Norah shut her eyes. Near tears, near collapsing, near something she hadn’t let herself feel since the night she told him to leave.
Because this wasn’t the safe, analytic distance she liked to live in.
This was warmth. And comfort. And the terrifying, undeniable realization that part of her had been waiting for these arms—for his steadiness—for far longer than she wanted to admit.
His chin lowered until it rested against the crown of her head, his breath warm and unsteady where it skimmed her hairline.
She felt him exhale too. A soft, barely-there tremor against her hair.
Something closer to relief. Like having her here—alive, in his arms—was the only thing holding him together.
She had the faint, impossible sense he’d been holding himself rigid for hours. Maybe years.
“I’m going to keep you safe,” he murmured. Low. Certain. Like a vow spoken into her bones.
The words struck hard. Not because she actually believed them, but because part of her wanted to. The room was still wrecked, her life still gutted open, the threat still real. Nothing about this night was safe, and yet . . .
And yet, for a heartbeat, wrapped in him, she could almost imagine it.
Her laugh splintered. “You can’t promise that.” No one could. Not with the Syndicate. Not with the files she’d uncovered. Not with someone walking into her home like it belonged to them.
His arms tightened. “I just did.”
No hesitation. No qualifiers. He said it with the quiet certainty of someone who knew exactly what he’d burn to keep her alive.
His heartbeat pressed steady beneath her cheek, a solid rhythm coaxing hers back into place, grounding her in a way that made her throat ache.
And for the first time in years, Norah stopped fighting the instinct to lean away.
She let herself rest. Just for a moment. Just long enough to breathe without shaking.
When she finally stepped back, she wiped her cheek and kept her voice even. “Why would they take the notebook?”
“Because you were getting close,” he said. “Close enough to make someone nervous.”
She drew in a tight breath. “I don’t want to panic.”
“You won’t.” His gaze held hers. “But you have to let me do my job.”
Something fragile flared in her chest. Anger, fear, and exhaustion all tangled together. “You can’t just take over, Marshall. My life, my choices—”
“Your life,” he said, “is exactly what I’m trying to protect. Not control. Protect.”
“It doesn’t feel different from where I’m standing.”
He stilled. The edge in him softened. “I’m not trying to own you, Norah. I’m trying to keep you alive.”
Her heart thudded too loudly.
A soft, frightened meow broke the moment. Cleo, trembling under the bed where she’d darted when Marshall arrived.
Norah’s throat tightened. “See?” she whispered. “Everyone’s scared.”
Marshall crouched, lifting the bed skirt with surprising gentleness. His voice dropped to a murmur she couldn’t quite hear, coaxing the cat out. Cleo bolted into Norah’s arms, burying herself against her chest as if hiding inside the fabric.
He watched them both with something near reverence. Somehow, that steadied her more than anything else had tonight.
For a man who’d lived through war, he handled her fragility like it was scripture.
“Norah,” he said softly, “I’m proud of you.”
Her breath hitched. “For what?”
“For being scared,” he said, “and doing the right thing anyway.”
Her eyes burned. “Marshall—”
“I’m not saying that as your past,” he added. “I’m saying it as someone who’s watched you fight every day since this started. You’re brave. Smarter than half my team. And tougher than you realize.”
A tear slid. She hated it, but she didn’t look away. He wiped it with his thumb, his touch warm and unbearably gentle.
“And for what it’s worth . . .” His eyes didn’t leave hers. “If tonight terrified you, it’s because someone out there knows exactly how dangerous you are to them.”
Her voice was barely a whisper. “So I’m a threat.”
“A big one.”
She looked around the ruined room—the overturned desk, the scattered papers, the deliberate chaos that screamed We were here. We can come back.
Then she looked back at him.
He stood in the wreckage like a barricade in human form, still in his dress shirt from the wedding, tension drawn tight through his frame. Then he turned toward her, the decision already made behind his eyes.
“You can’t stay here.”
She closed her eyes. She’d known it was coming.
“Black Tower has rooms,” he said. “Secure ones. Off-grid. No one gets in unless we allow it.”
It wasn’t an order, but she had the feeling he’d only restrained himself for her benefit.
And heaven knew she wanted to say yes. She wanted to hand him this whole night, this whole fear, let him carry it like he always carried everything. But—
“Marshall . . . if I disappear, I lose access. I lose everything that makes me useful. And they’ll know exactly why I went dark.”
He didn’t argue. That somehow made it worse.
She realized the truth she didn’t want to admit. She wasn’t refusing him. She was refusing the idea of abandoning the mission.
He watched her for a long moment, something fierce and unresolved tightening his expression.
Then he nodded once, sharp and final. “Then I’m staying.”
Her breath jolted. “Marshall—”
“It’s not up for debate.” No raised voice. No physical crowding. He was very good at shutting down an argument.
She looked at her destroyed apartment. At her trembling cat. At the mess inside her chest.
She didn’t want to be alone. Not tonight, maybe not ever again.
She nodded. “Okay.”
His shoulders eased slightly. Norah rubbed a hand over her face, the adrenaline bleeding away, leaving her shaky and hollow.
“Get some water,” he murmured.
She didn’t argue. She filled a glass with trembling hands, drinking until her breath came easier.
When she returned, he was locking the chain, checking the deadbolt, resetting the alarm she hardly ever used. He moved through her space with quiet precision.
She sank onto the couch, exhaustion pulling her down. Marshall joined her, a steady anchor in a room that no longer felt like her own. He reached for her hand and she stared at the connection.
His voice was ragged as he did something she never expected.
“Lord, thank you for Norah’s safety tonight.
And Cleo’s. Give her peace and restful sleep tonight after this intrusion.
Help me catch the ones who did this to her home.
Most of all, help me keep her safe.” His voice cracked, and Norah got just a hint of the emotion simmering under the surface. “Please, God.”
She wiped the tears that had emerged during his prayer.
A strange peace settled over her. It was like God had physically reached down and loosened her muscles after hearing Marshall’s prayers. For the first time since she walked through the door, her lungs expanded without tension.
Marshall had prayed for her. And he wasn’t going anywhere.