Chapter 68 Ronan
Ronan
Location: Ascendancy Detention Wing
The door opens.
Not fast.
Not dramatic.
Just enough for the light to spill through.
It hits them first—harsh white against skin that hasn’t seen it in years. One of them flinches. The other doesn’t move at all.
I step forward.
And there they are.
Chained to opposite walls. Bare concrete behind them.
Steel rings embedded deep, cuffs biting into wrists that should’ve been holding rifles, not restraint bars.
Both thinner than they have ever been. Bruises layered over scars, old and new, blending together until it’s hard to tell where one pain ended and another began.
One of them lifts his head slowly.
Eyes swollen. One nearly shut.
But the other—
The other locks on mine immediately.
Recognition hits before relief.
Before disbelief.
Before anything else.
Ronan.
He doesn’t say it.
He doesn’t have to.
My chest tightens so hard it feels like something inside me is cracking open, but I don’t let it show. I don’t rush. I don’t run.
Because the fastest way to shatter a moment like this is to pretend it didn’t cost everything.
I stop three feet from him.
Close enough.
“Hey,” I say quietly.
His mouth trembles. Just once.
“Took you long enough,” he rasps.
The sound of his voice—raw, damaged, still him—hits harder than any blow Malenkov ever dealt.
Behind me, Delta Five moves in, silent and efficient. Aaron checks vitals. Miles scans restraints. Jase covers the corridor without being told.
No one looks away.
No one looks uncomfortable.
This is what we came for.
I crouch in front of him, eyes level.
“You still with me?” I ask.
A faint smile ghosts across his split lip.
“Never left.”
I swallow hard and turn to the second man.
He’s slumped forward, chin nearly to his chest. Blood stains the front of his shirt, I stop to wonder if it’s the same one he had on when he was captured. His breathing is shallow—but steady.
Alive.
I step closer.
“Hey,” I say again, firmer this time.
His head lifts slowly, like it weighs a thousand pounds. His eyes find mine—and widen.
For a second, he just stares.
Then his shoulders shake.
Not sobs.
Contained.
Disciplined.
The kind of release that only comes when a man finally believes the nightmare is real—and ending.
“You’re real,” he whispers.
“I am,” I say. “And we’re done here.”
Aaron looks up. “Restraints are keyed to vitals. If we rush it—”
“We won’t,” I say.
I reach out and place my hand over the cuff at his wrist.
“Easy,” I murmur. “I’ve got you.”
The words feel small compared to what they carry.
Four years of silence.
Four years of guilt. Thinking my team was dead.
Four years of promises I refused to break.
The locks disengage with a sharp click.
The sound echoes in the room like a gunshot.
Both men flinch.
Then the chains fall slack.
One of them exhales—a long, shaking breath like he’s been holding it since the day they dragged him in here.
I step back just enough to let them breathe.
“You’re safe,” I tell them. “You’re not alone. And no one touches you ever again.”
The first man nods once, eyes never leaving my face.
“Jonah?” he asks.
“Alive,” I answer immediately. “Above ground. Causing problems.”
A real smile breaks through then.
“Figures.”
I straighten slowly, finally letting the weight settle.
Behind us, alarms begin to howl—distant, angry, late.
Malenkov knows now.
Too bad.
I turn to Delta Five.
“Package secured,” I say. “Exfil route Bravo.”
Then I look back at my brothers.
“We’re going home.”
And this time—
I mean it.