Chapter 14 The Refuge—New Mexico
THE REFUGE—NEW MEXICO
The first light of dawn crept through the cabin window like a whisper, painting everything in shades of amber and hope.
Lark lay still, studying the restful quiet of Kawan’s face, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing.
His arm draped over her waist, fingers splayed across her back, holding her close even in sleep.
She should be sleeping, too. Should be taking advantage of what might be their last peaceful morning for a long time.
But her mind wouldn't quiet. Instead, she found herself studying the way the early light caught the strong line of his jaw, the way his dark lashes cast shadows across his cheekbones.
God, he was beautiful. Not in the pretty-boy way that some men were, but in the rugged, battle-tested way that spoke of strength and survival.
Scars mapped stories across his skin—some she knew, some she didn't. The puckered mark on his shoulder from Mali.
The thin line across his ribs from that clusterfuck in Syria.
Each one a reminder of how close she'd come to losing him before she'd ever really had him.
Her chest tightened.
When had he become so essential? When had the thought of a world without him in it become unbearable?
She knew the answer, had probably known it for longer than she'd been willing to admit.
It wasn't one moment, one grand gesture.
It was all the small things. The way he always made sure she ate during long ops.
How he never made her feel weak for needing space, but never let her disappear completely, either.
The way he looked at her like she was worth fighting for, even when she didn't believe it herself.
Especially then.
His breathing shifted slightly, and she held still, not wanting to wake him.
Not yet. She wanted a few more minutes of this—of him, peaceful and unguarded, of the illusion that they were just two people who cared about each other, not a soldier and a sailor heading into what could very well be their last mission.
The thought hit her like a physical blow.
She could lose him. Today, tomorrow, next week—it didn't matter when. This life they'd chosen, this world of bullets and betrayal, it didn't make promises. It didn't guarantee tomorrows. All they had was this moment, right now, and she'd been too scared to claim it.
Too scared to tell him what he meant to her.
The realization settled in her chest like a stone.
She loved him. Not the careful, measured affection she'd convinced herself was enough.
Not the physical attraction that had kept drawing them back to each other over the years.
She loved him with a fierceness that terrified her, with a completeness that made her feel both invincible and utterly vulnerable.
She loved Kawan Noa, and she'd been too much of a coward to say so.
Her throat tightened, and she carefully extracted herself from his arms, slipping out of bed with the practiced silence of someone accustomed to moving undetected. She pulled on yoga pants and a hoodie, then paused at the side of the bed.
He looked younger in sleep, the lines of worry and responsibility smoothed away. Her fingers itched to trace the curve of his mouth, to memorize the feel of his skin under her hands. Instead, she allowed herself one gentle touch—fingertips brushing across his cheek in a whisper-soft caress.
His eyes fluttered open, immediately alert despite having been deep asleep moments before. "Lark?"
"I'm meeting Henley," she said softly. "Early session before we leave. I promised, and if nothing else, I’m a woman of my word.”
He shifted, starting to sit up. “I’ll walk you.”
The offer was casual, but she could see the concern in his eyes. The question he wasn't asking—Are you okay?
“I can manage the stroll by myself,” she said. This wasn't her running away. This was her finally running toward something.
He settled back against the pillows. "I'll be here when you get back."
The simple promise hit her harder than any declaration of love ever could. I'll be here. Not just this morning, but always. Through whatever came next.
“See you soon,” she whispered, and slipped out into the morning.
The air outside was crisp and clean, carrying the scent of pine and sage.
The sky was painted in soft pastels—rose, violet, and the palest blue.
Everything felt suspended—like the world was holding its breath.
Lark walked the familiar path toward the building that held Henley’s office, her boots grinding softly on the gravel.
She found her waiting on the wide front porch, two steaming mugs in front of her and a gentle smile on her face.
She was dressed simply in jeans and a light sweater, her hair pulled back in a loose bun.
No notebook, no official therapist persona.
Just a woman offering understanding and coffee at dawn.
“I’m glad you wanted another session,” Henley said, offering one of the mugs.
“Like I tell Kawan, don’t let it go to your head.” Lark gratefully accepted the coffee, wrapping her fingers around the warm ceramic.
Henley smiled. It was sweet, and genuine, and made it impossible for Lark to remain closed off. “Let’s walk it out.”
They set off down one of the trails that wound through the property. For several minutes, they walked in comfortable silence, the only sounds their footsteps and the distant call of a hawk circling overhead.
“My husband told me about some of the plans,” Henley said eventually.
“I’m sorry we’re taking him away from you.” Lark took a sip of coffee, letting the warmth ground her.
“Don’t be,” Henley said. “He’d do anything to help Kawan and the rest of the team. They’re like brothers. Therefore, you matter to him—to us—as well.”
Lark chewed on that for a minute. “It’s strange to be going back under these circumstances, knowing that after all these years, Lorre not only betrayed me but also his country.”
"And how do you feel about that?"
"Scared," Lark admitted, the word coming out in a rush of honesty that seemed to surprise them both. "Terrified, actually."
"Of the mission? Because honestly, that doesn’t feel like you.”
“It’s not the mission as much as it’s…” Lark stopped walking, staring out at the horizon where the sun climbed higher, painting the landscape in a brilliant kaleidoscope of colors. “I’m afraid of losing him.” She didn't need to specify who. They both knew.
“I see.”
"I've never..." Lark's hands clenched around the mug. "I've never had anything worth losing before. Not really. The military gave me purpose, structure, a place to belong. My team became my family. But Kawan... he's different."
"How so?"
Lark started walking again, needing the movement to help organize her thoughts.
"He sees me. Not the detached person the system created.
Not the soldier, or the weapon, the government trained.
Me. The scared little girl who learned too early that people leave.
The woman who's so afraid of being abandoned that she abandons first." She laughed, but there was no humor in it.
"He sees all of that, and he stays anyway. "
"That sounds like love."
The word hung in the air between them, simple and terrifying and true.
“He loves me, and he’s said it so many times,” Lark admitted quietly, testing the words. They felt foreign on her tongue, but not wrong. Never wrong. "I love him, too. So much it makes me want to run screaming in the opposite direction."
"But you're not running."
"No." Lark stopped again, this time turning to face Henley fully. "For the first time in my life, I'm not running. I'm staying, and fighting, and trying to figure out how to be brave enough to not only tell him I love him but to show him and be with him in the ways that count.”
Henley's smile was warm and proud. "You're already there, Lark. You just don’t believe it yet."
"I'm going into a situation I might not come back from," Lark said bluntly. "One he might not come back from. How is that brave? How is loving someone when you might lose them anything but stupid?"
“My husband is going with you, and neither one of us is dumb.” Henley cocked a brow and raised her hand.
“Loving someone despite the risk—even knowing the risk—is the most human thing we can do.
" Henley stepped closer, her voice gentle but firm.
"You've spent your whole life in survival mode.
Keeping everyone at arm's length so it won't hurt when they leave.
But that's not living. That's just... existing. "
Tears pricked at the corners of Lark’s eyes. "What if I tell him and then something happens? What if—"
"What if you don't tell him, and something happens anyway?" Henley countered. "What if you let fear rob you of the chance to be completely honest with the man you love? Which regret would be easier to live with?"
The question hit Lark like a physical blow. She thought of all the connections she'd kept shallow because it felt safer. All the time she'd wasted building walls instead of bridges.
"I don't know how to do this," she whispered. "I don't know how to be the kind of person who gets to keep the people she loves."
"You learn," Henley said simply. "One day at a time, one choice at a time. You choose love over fear. You choose connection over safety. You choose to trust that you're worthy of the love he's offering you."
They walked back toward the cabins, Lark's mind churning with everything they'd discussed. As they approached the cluster of buildings, she could see Kawan on her cabin's porch, dressed and ready for the day, two fresh mugs of coffee in his hands.
"He's waiting for you," Henley observed.
"He always is." The realization hit Lark with stunning clarity, and she stumbled to a stop. All these years, all her fears about people leaving—Kawan never had. Not really. Even when she'd pushed him away, he'd found ways to orbit back into her life. Patient, persistent, present.