Chapter 17 #2
Outside, the evening air felt impossibly cold after the lower level.
The grounds were full of vehicles now, some belonging to authorities, others to Maverick's contacts and the medical teams supporting the extraction.
The bronze Croft House sign still stood beside the drive, polished and elegant beneath discreet lighting, but people were photographing it from every angle.
Evidence markers appeared near the service road.
Officers moved toward the greenhouse. A forensic team carried cases through the front entrance.
Croft House still possessed the same respectable fa?ade it had worn when I first arrived, but the secrecy that allowed that fa?ade to function had finally been torn away.
Hawkeye stood near one of the transport vehicles, keeping enough distance from the group that he didn't crowd anyone. His crossbow was gone, secured somewhere out of sight, and without it he looked younger than he had inside the operation.
His gaze moved toward Isla only briefly before he deliberately looked away, not from avoidance but because he was giving her room without making a performance of it.
I noticed because after the last few days, I had started noticing the difference.
As we approached, Hawkeye opened the vehicle door and stepped back.
Isla looked at him.
“Are you the one with the crossbow?”
He blinked.
I looked at Irish.
Raze must have talked.
Hawkeye nodded. “Yes, ma'am.”
“Don't call me ma'am.”
“Yes—” He stopped himself. “Sorry.”
For the first time since I'd found her inside Croft House, Isla came close to smiling, and the faint easing of Hawkeye's expression suggested he was relieved to have accomplished even that much.
He didn't use the opening to prolong the conversation or move closer, however.
Instead, he stepped farther away and gave her back the space she hadn't needed to ask for, which seemed to catch Isla's attention more than any attempt at charm might have.
She watched him for several seconds before finally turning toward me, her expression carrying the first spark of genuine curiosity I had seen since bringing her out.
“Is everyone in your life strange now?”
“Apparently.”
“Good.”
That single word sounded more like Isla than anything else she had said, and I had to blink quickly before the tears came back.
We helped her into the vehicle.
I climbed in beside her only after asking.
Irish stopped outside the open door.
“Skye.”
I looked at him.
“We'll follow.”
“You aren't coming with us?”
“Trigger and I need to finish here.”
I glanced toward Croft House.
Of course he did.
There were still records to secure, staff to identify, routes to trace, and Croft's escape tunnel to investigate. The larger operation hadn't ended simply because Isla was finally sitting safely beside me.
For the first time, I understood something about Irish that had frightened me before.
I was beginning to understand that Irish could stay when someone needed him and still leave when the work required it without making that departure mean abandonment.
I nodded.
“Be careful.”
His eyes held mine.
“You too.”
I almost told him not to get shot.
This wasn't the moment.
Later.
Definitely later.
The driver closed the door.
Isla leaned back against the seat, exhaustion pulling at her again.
We had barely reached the end of the drive when she whispered my name.
“Skye?”
“I'm here.”
Her fingers found mine.
“I knew you'd understand the marks.”
My throat tightened.
“You knew I'd come?”
She closed her eyes.
“I hoped.”
That hurt more.
I shifted closer without touching her until she opened her eyes again.
“I should have found you sooner.”
“No.”
“Isla—”
“No.” Her voice was weak but certain. “Don't do that.”
I stared at her.
She looked exhausted enough to fall asleep sitting upright, but some part of her was still determined to make me listen.
“I left what I could. You found what you could. That's enough for tonight.”
Tears burned behind my eyes.
I nodded. “All right.”
She relaxed into the seat.
Several minutes passed before she spoke again.
“There were records.”
I looked at her.
“What records?”
“In Croft's office. Transfers. Properties. Names.” She swallowed. “She moved them after she realized I was looking.”
“Moved where?”
“I don't know.”
Her eyes closed again and although I wanted to ask more, I didn’t.
Tonight she wasn't an information source or another witness to be questioned. She was simply Isla, my best friend, and she was alive.
The rest could wait until she was ready.
I kept holding her hand as the vehicle carried us away from Croft House, and when she finally fell asleep, her fingers remained loosely wrapped around mine.
For twenty-three days I had imagined finding her so many times that reality had never stood a chance of matching any of them.
I had imagined dramatic escapes, desperate embraces, and the instant relief of having her back.
The truth was quieter and far more complicated.
Isla was alive, but she was not unchanged, and bringing her out of Croft House did not mean I could drag her directly back into the life she had before and call that healing.
Whatever came next would belong to Isla to decide, and my place wasn't standing over her making those decisions on her behalf. It was staying beside her while she learned that the choices were hers again.
Through the rear window, the lights of Croft House disappeared behind us, and for the first time since Isla vanished, I allowed myself to believe we were truly taking her away from it.
Not back to the person she had been, but forward to whoever she wanted to become.