Epilogue
SAVANNAH
Six Months Later
"You're still dropping your shoulder on the left cross."
I adjust my stance in the Guardian HRS gym, sweat dripping. Sawyer circles me, critical eye catching every flaw in my form. His leg is fully healed, barely a scar remaining, and he moves with the lethal prowress that caught my attention that first night when he saved me.
"Better?" I throw the combination again.
"Better. But your footwork's sloppy."
"Your teaching's sloppy."
He grins, steps into my space. "Insult the teacher, pay the price."
I duck his playful grab, use his momentum against him—a move he taught me—and somehow we end up against the wall, me pinning him despite the weight difference. His eyes darken, and the air between us charges the way it always does.
"Gym's for training," CJ's voice cuts through the moment. "Not whatever this is."
We spring apart like guilty teenagers. CJ stands at parade rest, amused despite his stern tone.
"Morning briefing in five," he tells us. "New situation in Seattle. Domestic terror cell. Cross, I need your expertise."
"On it."
CJ leaves, and Sawyer pulls me back for a quick kiss. "Be careful up there."
"You're not coming?"
"Different assignment. Close protection for a federal judge getting death threats." He traces my cheek. "First time we've been separated since you started."
"We'll manage."
"We will." But his arms tighten around me. "Come home safe."
"You too."
The Seattle operation takes four days. Four days of decryption, analysis, and ultimately preventing another Prometheus-style attack before it starts.
I work with a different Guardian team. When it's over, seventeen arrests are made with no casualties. I understand why Sawyer loves this work. It's not just the adrenaline. It's knowing you made a difference.
I arrive home—his apartment has become home without discussion—at midnight on the fourth day. Sawyer's waiting, takeout from our Italian place already plated, wine breathing on the counter.
"How'd you know when I'd be back?"
"Tracked your flight." He pulls me close, breathes me in. "Missed you."
"Missed you too."
We eat, sharing stories of our respective missions, the domesticity of it striking me. Three months ago, I was alone, trusting no one. Now I'm debriefing over pasta with a man who knows exactly how I like my wine and keeps my preferred coffee in three locations throughout the apartment.
Later, in bed, I trace the newest scar on his collection—a graze from the judge's would-be assassin. "We live dangerous lives."
"We do."
"Either of us could die on any mission."
"We could."
"Doesn't that scare you?"
He rolls to face me fully. "What scares me is wasting time we have being afraid of time we might not get."
"Philosophy again?"
"Life experience." He kisses my forehead. "Every day with you is a gift. I'm not going to waste them worrying about when they might end."
"Even if it ends tomorrow?"
"Especially then."
I curl into him, this man who chose me over his own safety again and again. "I love you."
"I love you too."
My phone buzzes—emergency alert from Guardian HRS. Another crisis, another threat, another chance to save lives. Sawyer's phone buzzes, too.
Same alert.
We look at each other, already reaching for clothes.
"Together?" he asks.
"Together."
Thank you for reading HAWK!