36. Victorious Righteousness In The Depths Of Smoke #2
She does, and I feel the moment her strength finally fails. Her full weight sags against my chest as I basically carry her down the ladder, her good hand gripping the rungs while I support everything else. The structure shudders around us, a warning that time's up.
"Move, move, move!" Mavi shouts from below, and we're sliding more than climbing the last few feet.
My boots hit dirt and I scoop Willa into my arms properly, her head lolling against my shoulder.
Mavi's already sprinting ahead with Luna, and I follow, feeling the heat chase us like a living thing.
The barn screams its final protest—wood splintering, metal shrieking, decades of neglect finally claiming its due.
We burst through the exit into blessed cold air just as the world explodes behind us. The roof caves with a sound like thunder, sending a wall of superheated air and debris shooting out after us. I curl my body around Willa, shielding her as we stumble-run the final yards to safety.
"Medical!" I'm shouting before we even stop moving. "Need medical now!"
But Austin and River are already there, having set up a triage area by the trucks with the efficiency of long practice. Austin's got Luna, running gentle hands over her tiny form while she screams her displeasure at the world. River's reaching for Willa before I can even set her down.
"Don't put me down," she whispers against my neck, arms tightening around me with surprising strength. "Please. Not yet."
So I don't. I sink to my knees on the cold ground, keeping her cradled against my chest while River works around us. His hands are gentle but thorough, checking her breathing, her pulse, cataloging injuries with quiet efficiency.
"I did it," Willa breathes, and I realize she's not talking to me but to herself. "I protected Luna. Got her out. We survived."
"You did," I confirm, pressing my face into her smoke-scented hair. "You're the bravest woman I've ever known."
"Broken wrist, smoke inhalation, various contusions," River reports. "But stable. Both of them are stable."
The relief hits like a physical blow. I'm vaguely aware of sirens approaching—multiple vehicles from the sound of it. The real cavalry arriving now that we've done the hard part. Typical.
"Boys," Austin says, and something in his tone makes us all look up. "We've got company."
Chief Reyes's SUV leads a parade of law enforcement vehicles, lights painting the scene in reds and blues. But it's the chief's voice on the bullhorn that catches my attention: "Stand down! All personnel stand down immediately!"
That's when I see them. Blake Harrison and three of his Iron Ridge pack, emerging from the tree line in full tactical gear like they're playing soldier. The fury that rises in my chest is volcanic—they weren't just here to watch. They were waiting. Planning something.
"Cole," Willa whispers, and I follow her gaze to Blake's face. Even from this distance, I can see his rage at finding us alive, at being caught.
The chief's officers move with practiced precision, weapons drawn but not aimed, creating a perimeter that leaves no room for escape.
"Blake Harrison, Marcus Webb, Thomas Chen, Jeffrey Park—you're under arrest for attempted murder, kidnapping, terrorism, and about fifteen other charges I'll enjoy reading at the station. "
Terrorism. The word hangs in the air as the reality sinks in. The tactical gear, the timing—they were planning to ambush the rescue. To finish what the fire started.
"Set her down," Blake snarls as the handcuffs click around his wrists. His eyes are locked on Willa, promising violence even in defeat. "Should've burned properly the first time. Should've?—"
"That's enough," Chief Reyes cuts him off, nodding to her officers. "Get them processed. I want every piece of gear cataloged, every weapon documented. The FBI's going to have a field day with this."
But Blake's not done. Even as they drag him toward the patrol cars, he's twisted around, staring at Willa with a hatred that should burn. "This isn't over. You're still my?—"
"Nothing," Willa says, and her voice is stronger than it has any right to be. She pushes herself up in my arms, meeting his gaze steadily despite everything. "I'm nothing to you. Never was. I belong here. With them. With my pack."
The transformation is stunning. This woman who arrived broken and running, who flinched at shadows and alpha voices, standing tall (metaphorically, since she's still in my arms) and claiming her place. Claiming us.
Blake's face contorts with rage, but the officers are already shoving him into the patrol car. The door slams on whatever threats he wanted to make, cutting off his poison before it can spread.
"Luna?" Willa asks, attention immediately shifting back to what matters.
"Perfect," Austin assures her, bringing the baby close enough for Willa to see. "Scared and probably going to have some cough from the smoke, but she's perfect. Just like her mama."
Willa starts crying then— not the desperate tears from the fire but something cleaner.
Release.
Relief.
Realization that it's actually over.
I think about that first night, pulling her from flames while she fought to go back in.
How she was all sharp edges and desperate protection, unable to trust that anyone would help without hidden cost. Now she melts into our combined embrace as River and Austin press close, as Mavi returns from giving his statement to the police, completing our circle.
"Home," she whispers, like she's testing the word. "We're home."
I look around at the scene—the barn collapsed into glowing embers behind us, patrol cars carrying away the threat that's haunted her for months, our makeshift pack huddled together on the cold ground while Luna complains about the disruption to her sleep schedule.
It shouldn't feel like home. It should feel like disaster, like trauma, like another close call to add to the collection.
But Willa's right. Somewhere between that first rescue and this one, between her broken arrival and her fierce protection of Luna, between learning to accept help and learning to give it—we became home. All of us, together.
"Yeah, sweetheart," I agree, pressing a kiss to her temple while she burrows closer. "We're home."
Sweetwater Falls fills with more sirens—ambulances River called, fire trucks to manage the barn's remains, probably half the town coming to check on their own.
Because that's what this place does.
It claims you, protects you, makes you family whether you planned on it or not.
Willa tips her face up to mine, and despite the soot and tears and exhaustion, she's smiling. Really smiling, with her whole heart in it. "I love you," she says simply. "All of you. My pack. My family. My home."
And there, surrounded by chaos and smoke and the echoes of violence finally ended, we built something new from the ashes.
Not just survival, but life. Not just safety, but belonging. Not just a hideaway, but a home worth fighting for.
Blake thought fire would be our ending. He was wrong.
Fire is just where we learned to rise.