Chapter 24 Ronan
Ronan
Location: Outer Banks, North Carolina
Six Months Later
The ocean is loud this morning.
Not the violent roar of combat zones or rotor wash — just waves breaking steady against the shore, gulls crying overhead, wind tugging at the porch rail.
Normal.
I never thought I’d trust a word like that again.
Lena is barefoot in the kitchen, hair pulled up messily, coffee mug in one hand and her tablet in the other. She’s already reading — already hunting a story — even though she promised herself a time off.
She looks up when she feels me watching.
Smiles.
That smile still hits me harder than any explosion ever did.
“You’re staring again,” she says lightly.
“Still here,” I answer.
She softens instantly, understanding the weight beneath it.
“I plan to be,” she says. “Annoyingly so.”
I cross the room and kiss her — slow, unhurried, full daylight pouring over us. No urgency. No countdown.
Just us.
This is what six months of peace looks like.
We’ve been everywhere in that time — charity galas where she wears dresses that make grown men forget how to breathe, quiet coastal towns where no one knows our names, late nights on this porch where the world feels mercifully far away.
And everyone knows.
Everyone sees it.
Lena Hart doesn’t hide who she loves.
And I don’t stop her.
She publishes hard stories now — corruption, trafficking routes, shell companies that dissolve overnight after she names them. She’s earned a reputation.
Fearless.
Unmovable.
She won’t stay behind.
And I wouldn’t ask her to.
She sets her tablet down slowly. “You’re tense.”
I shrug. “Old habit.”
She steps closer, presses her forehead to my chest. “Something’s coming.”
It isn’t a question.
I inhale the salt air.
“Yes.”
She exhales, steady. “Then we’ll face it.”
That’s when my phone vibrates.
Once.
Twice.
Encrypted.
Delta Five frequency.
Aaron’s voice comes through, low and tight.
“Ronan… we’ve got something.”
My spine locks. Finally.
“Talk to me.”
“Name’s Viktor Malenkov. Alias ‘The Warden.’ We traced a ghost signal back to Eastern Europe. Old black-site infrastructure.”
My blood turns cold.
“And?”
A pause.
“They’re alive, Ronan.”
The words hit harder than any bullet.
“Not altogether, I don’t think. We’re not sure about that yet.” Aaron continues. “Separate chambers. Shackled. Underground. No contact with each other.”
I close my eyes.
My command.
My men.
Alive.
Being dismantled.
Lena’s hand tightens in my shirt. She heard every word.
She looks up at me — not afraid.
Ready.
“We’re not waiting, are we?” she asks quietly.
“No,” I say.
Her jaw sets. “Good. Because I’m coming.”
I don’t argue.
I pull her into my arms, holding her tight as the ocean crashes behind us.
Six months of peace.
Six months of love.
And now the reckoning comes.
But this time?
I don’t walk into the dark alone.