Chapter 4
RACHEL
Sleep refuses to come.
I've been lying in bed for over an hour, staring at the ceiling since I told Lucas goodnight and watched Colton settle onto the couch.
Security installation finished around nine, cameras mounted and motion sensors calibrated.
Colton walked me through the system one more time, showing me how the alerts work and what to do if something triggers it.
Then he sent me to bed with instructions to rest while he keeps watch.
Rest. Like my mind will cooperate when the man who used to hold me through the night is in the living room playing bodyguard.
Still wearing my jeans and t-shirt from earlier, I lie under a light blanket instead of changing into pajamas.
Old habits from the compound. Always ready to move, always ready to run.
I told myself I'd gotten past this hypervigilance, but apparently my body knows better than my therapist does.
When real danger comes knocking, survival instincts take over.
Every creak of wood sounds like footsteps. Every hum of the refrigerator sounds like voices. Motion sensors stay silent for now, but I keep waiting for them to ping. Keep waiting for proof that the danger Colton warned me about is real.
Colton is in the living room on my couch, armed and watching the front window like he's standing guard against an army.
This should comfort me, but it doesn't. Instead, it keeps me awake with memories I've spent years trying to bury.
His hands used to move over my skin like I was something precious.
Like touching me was the only thing keeping him tethered to the world instead of drifting into whatever darkness lived behind his eyes.
I remember the way he'd pull me close in the middle of the night, not for sex but for the simple act of holding on.
Like if he let go, he'd disappear completely.
I thought I was saving him. Thought my love could be enough to anchor him to something besides violence and missions he couldn't talk about. Thought if I just held on tight enough, he'd choose me over whatever called him back to the dark.
Turns out I was wrong about all of it.
My digital clock reads 10:22 PM. Lucas fell asleep hours ago after I read him two chapters of his current book and rubbed his back until his breathing evened out.
He didn't ask questions about Colton staying for a while, didn't push when I told him he was here to help keep us safe.
Just accepted it with the easy trust of a kid who still believes his mother can protect him from anything.
I need that to stay true. Need Lucas to keep believing the world is safe as long as I'm watching over him. Even if it means lying about the danger hunting us through databases and security footage. Even if it means letting Colton Stryker back into our lives.
Sheets tangle around my legs as I sit up. My bedroom door is open a crack, the way I've kept it since we came home from Mateo's compound. Always listening. Always ready to move if Lucas needs me. Hallway stretches dark and quiet toward his room at the far end.
I slip out of bed and pad down the hall in bare feet.
Lucas's door is open wider than mine, and ambient light from his nightlight spills into the corridor.
He's sprawled across his mattress in the boneless way kids sleep, one arm flung over his head and the other clutching the stuffed wolf Micah gave him after the extraction.
The wolf is worn now, one ear partially detached and the stitching on the paws coming loose.
Some things are too big for words. Some fears live too deep to drag into the light.
I pull his blanket up over his shoulders and brush hair off his forehead. He doesn't stir. Deep sleep, genuine rest in his own bed. Something he couldn't manage for months after we came home.
Walking away from his room requires physical effort. Every instinct screams to stay close, to keep watch, to make sure nothing touches him while he's vulnerable. But Colton is in the living room, and I can't avoid him forever.
Hallway stays dark as I make my way toward the living room. Glow from the front window where streetlights filter through the blinds grows brighter as I approach. Colton sits on my couch exactly where I left him hours ago, weapon on the coffee table within easy reach, eyes fixed on the window.
He doesn't turn when I enter the room, but his shoulders shift slightly. Aware of my presence without needing to look.
"You should rest," I say, keeping my voice low.
"I'm fine." His tone is flat, professional. The voice he uses when he's on mission instead of being a person.
I cross to the armchair across from the couch and settle into it, pulling my knees up and wrapping my arms around them. Making myself smaller, more protected. A habit from the compound that I can't seem to break.
Silence stretches between us, heavy and loaded with everything we're not saying.
"You can't stay awake all night," I say. "You'll be useless if something actually happens."
"I've gone longer without sleep." He still doesn't look at me. "This is nothing."
"This isn't a combat zone, Colton. You're in my living room, not a firebase."
"Every where's a combat zone if the right people are hunting you." His jaw tightens. "The Committee doesn't take breaks. Doesn't get tired. They'll keep searching until they find Lucas, and when they do, they'll move fast."
Fear crawls up my spine, cold and familiar—the kind that kept me alive when I was with Mateo, the kind that makes me check the locks twice every night and sleep with my bedroom door open.
"Then maybe you should explain exactly what we're up against," I say. "Because right now, all I know is that my son witnessed something bad and dangerous people want him dead. That's not enough information to make good decisions."
Colton's gaze finally shifts from the window to me. Even in the dim light, I can see exhaustion carved into the lines around his eyes. The permanent kind, bone-deep and never healing.
"The Committee is a shadow organization embedded in federal intelligence agencies," he says. "They run illegal operations under the cover of legitimate government work. Black sites. Weapons testing. Elimination of anyone who threatens to expose them."
"Like a conspiracy theory."
"Like a conspiracy fact." His mouth twists. "My team has been hunting them for months. We've exposed some of their operations, eliminated some of their assets. But they're bigger than we thought. Deeper. And they don't forget."
"What does that have to do with Lucas?"
Colton leans forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped. It makes him look younger somehow—less like a weapon and more like a man carrying weight that never lightens.
"The man Lucas saw murdered was a guard at one of their black sites.
He knew things. Saw things. They killed him to keep him quiet, and Lucas happened to be there.
" He pauses. "The operative who did the killing is named Kessler.
He's former Delta Force. One of the Committee's most dangerous enforcers. And Lucas can identify him."
My stomach drops. "You told me the whole truth. My son is a witness to a murder committed by a special forces operator working for a shadow government organization?"
"Yes."
"And they'll kill him to protect their secrets."
"Yes."
“But how do they know about him? We didn’t file a police report. I didn’t even know something had happened at first. I just left with Lucas. Once I realized he’d seen something, I felt he was safer if no one knew he was a witness.”
Colton nods. “The Committee is thorough. They scrubbed all the security footage from any and all sources that might have recorded the killing. But before they did, you can bet money they isolated and saved pictures of Lucas.”
His answer hangs in the air between us, stark and final.
I close my eyes and focus on breathing. In through my nose, out through my mouth—the technique my therapist taught me for managing panic. Count to four. Hold. Count to four. Release.
When I open my eyes again, Colton is watching me with an expression I can't quite name. Worry, maybe. Or regret.
"Why did you leave?" The question comes out before I can stop it. "Not now. Eight years ago. Why did you walk away?"
His hands flex, knuckles going white. "Rachel—"
"No. I need to know." My voice stays steady despite the pressure building in my chest. "You don't get to show up after all this time and play hero without answering that question. Why did you leave me?"
Silence stretches so long I think he won't answer. Then he exhales, long and slow, like he's releasing pressure that's been building for years.
"Because I was broken," he says quietly. "Because every time I came back from a mission, I brought the violence with me. The things I'd seen. The things I'd done. I couldn't separate the operator from the man, and you deserved better than someone who only knew how to destroy things."
"That wasn't your choice to make." Words come out sharp and angry. "You don't get to decide what I deserve. You don't get to protect me from yourself by disappearing."
"I know." He finally meets my eyes, and the rawness there catches me off guard. Pain, guilt, and fear all mixed together. "I know I was wrong. But I'm here now, and I'm not leaving until you and Lucas are safe."
This promise should matter. Should mean something after all the years of silence.
But promises are just words, and Colton already proved his words don't hold.
"Safe," I echo. "And then what? You disappear again? Go back to your team and your missions and forget we exist?"
He doesn't answer immediately, and that hesitation tells me everything.
"The plan is to relocate you," he says finally. "New identities. New city. New life where the Committee can't find you. Once that's done, my job is finished."