Chapter 16 Riverside Motel—North Carolina #2
Lark struggled to her feet, every muscle protesting, and moved to pull Specs into a fierce hug. "You saved his life," she said. "You saved all our lives."
Kawan was there, too, his arms wrapping around both of them. "Thank you," he said to Specs. "I owe you everything."
"No," Specs said quietly. "We're family. That's what family does."
Thor appeared in the doorway, surveying the carnage. "Local law enforcement will be here in a minute. We need to get our story straight."
"Already handled," Pipe said, pulling out his phone. "Official report will show an attempted kidnapping, multiple assailants, justifiable use of force. The works."
"What about Lorre?" Kawan asked.
"Still hunting him," Thor replied. "But this part is finished."
“And Bradford and Alverez?” Lark asked.
“They’re safe,” Brick said. “They’ve been quiet because they needed to protect the AI. Now that this is over, they can come out of hiding, and the AI can go back to Senatrex to finish its final testing.”
Lark looked around the destroyed motel room—at the bodies, at the broken furniture, at the friends who'd risked everything to save her. At Specs, who'd found the courage to pull the trigger when it mattered most.
"It's really over?" Specs asked.
"The fighting part," Lark confirmed. "There'll be investigations, debriefings, probably a congressional hearing or two. But the dying part? Yeah, that's finished."
As the team began preparing for the arrival of local authorities, Lark caught Kawan's hand and squeezed it tight.
Some things were ending tonight. Others—the most important ones—were just beginning.
And for the first time in longer than she could remember, Lark wasn't afraid of what came next.
Military hospital—North Carolina
The fluorescent lights in the hospital room buzzed with that particular frequency that made Kawan's teeth ache.
He'd been sitting in the uncomfortable plastic chair beside Lark's bed for the better part of two hours, watching doctors and nurses come and go, checking her pupils, examining her ribs, taking X-rays—the works.
The diagnosis was what he'd expected. Mild concussion, three cracked ribs, extensive bruising, and a black eye that would take weeks to fade completely. She'd been lucky. They both knew it could have been much worse.
Specs was two rooms down, getting her own collection of bumps and bruises looked at.
Nothing serious—some scrapes from the zip ties, a bruised shoulder from when she'd hit the floor during the chaos, fat lip and black eye from being smacked around a bit, and the kind of emotional exhaustion that came from taking a life for the first time. But she was alive. They were all alive.
That had to count for something.
"You don't have to stay," Lark said quietly, shifting on the narrow hospital bed with a wince. "I'm fine."
"You have a concussion," Kawan pointed out. "Someone needs to wake you up every couple of hours to make sure you don't slip into a coma."
“Now you’re exaggerating.”
“Maybe. But I’m not going anywhere."
She looked at him then, really looked at him, with those sharp eyes that missed nothing. "You've got scratches on your face."
"Mina had claws." He touched the bandages on his cheek where her fingernails had raked across his skin. "Nothing a little Neosporin won't fix."
They sat in comfortable silence for a while, listening to the distant sounds of the hospital—monitors beeping, conversations in the hallway, the soft squeak of wheels on linoleum. It was peaceful in a way that felt almost foreign after the last few hours of violence and chaos.
"Dustin called," Kawan said eventually. "They found Lorre."
Lark's head turned toward him, careful not to move too fast. "Where?"
"Trying to catch a flight to Mexico City. Had a passport with a different name, about fifty thousand in cash, and a thumb drive full of classified information." Kawan leaned back in his chair. "He's not getting away with it. Court-martial, prison time, the whole thing. Justice."
"Good," she said simply, but there was something distant in her voice. Something that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.
"You okay?"
"Define okay." She attempted a smile, but it didn't reach her eyes. “Two of my own betrayed me, I've got a face that looks like I went ten rounds with Mike Tyson, and one of my commanding officers, as it turns out, was a fucking prick. So yeah, I'm peachy."
The words were classic Lark—sarcastic, deflecting, designed to push people away before they could get too close. It was exactly the kind of thing she said when she was thinking about running.
"Lark," he said carefully. "What's really wrong?"
She was quiet for so long, he thought she wasn't going to answer. Then she sighed, the sound heavy with exhaustion and something else he couldn't quite identify.
"I'm worried about Specs."
That wasn't what he'd been expecting. "She's going to be fine. A few bumps and bruises, some emotional processing to work through. Nothing that can't be handled."
"That's not what I mean."
"Then what?"
Lark shifted again, trying to find a position that didn't aggravate her ribs. "I think she's falling for Jupiter."
Kawan blinked. "And that's... bad?"
"I don't know. Maybe. Maybe not." Lark rubbed her forehead with the heel of her hand. "She's vulnerable right now. Traumatized. And Jupiter's been taking care of her, being there for her. It would be easy for her to confuse gratitude with something else."
"You think she's mistaking appreciation for love?"
"I think she's never had someone treat her the way Jupiter has,” Lark said. "And I don't want her to get hurt."
Kawan considered that. He'd watched Jupiter with Specs over the last week, saw the way his teammate looked at her when he thought no one was watching. The protectiveness, the genuine concern, the way he seemed to light up when she smiled.
"What if it's not confusion?" he asked. "What if it's real?"
"Then I guess..." Lark paused, seeming to search for the right words. "I guess that wouldn't be so bad."
"Why?"
She looked at him then, and for the first time since he'd known her, her expression was completely open. No walls, no defenses, no carefully constructed armor. "Because love isn't as bad as I thought it would be."
The words hit him like a physical blow. He opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out. After years of waiting, months of hoping, weeks of wondering if she'd ever let him in—she'd just torn down every wall between them with seven simple words.
"Kawan?" Her voice was soft, uncertain. "You okay?"
"I..." He cleared his throat, tried again. "I don't know what to say."
"You don't have to say anything." Lark's smile was slight but genuine. "I just wanted you to know."
"Know what, exactly?"
She took a breath, and when she spoke, her voice was clear and steady despite the swelling in her lip. "I love you."
The fluorescent lights continued to buzz. The monitors continued to beep. Somewhere down the hall, a baby was crying. But in that moment, in that sterile hospital room with its industrial carpet and plastic chairs, Kawan's world shifted on its axis.
"Say that again," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
"I love you," she repeated, and this time she was smiling despite the pain it caused her split lip.
"I love your terrible jokes and your protective instincts and the way you always show up when I need you. I love that you’re patient with me even when I'm being impossible.
I love that you see the woman underneath all the armor and that you're not afraid of either version. "
Kawan stood slowly, moving to the edge of her bed. "Lark—"
"I know I'm damaged goods," she continued, the words coming faster now as if she was afraid she'd lose her nerve. "I know I'm not easy to love. I know I have trust issues and abandonment problems, and a job that could get me killed any day. But if you're willing to take all of that on—"
He silenced her with a kiss, careful of her injuries but desperate to show her how wrong she was. When they broke apart, he rested his forehead against hers.
"You're not damaged," he said fiercely. "You're not too much or too difficult or too anything. You're perfect exactly as you are."
"I'm really not."
"You are to me." He cupped her face gently, thumb brushing across her uninjured cheek. "I've been waiting two years to hear you say those words."
"I'm sorry I made you wait so long."
"I would have waited forever."
"You shouldn't have to." She reached up to cover his hand with hers. "I want to try. I want to figure out how to do this—how to be someone's girlfriend, how to let you love me without pushing you away."
"We'll figure it out together," he said. "No timeline, no pressure. Just us, taking it one day at a time."
"I like the idea of that," she agreed.
He kissed her again, soft and sweet and full of promise. When they separated, she was crying—not from pain, but from relief.
"I love you, too. I love your strength and your stubbornness and the way you fight for the people you care about. I love that you're brave enough to do this job, and I love that you're brave enough to let me in."
"Even if I'm terrible at it?"
"Especially then."
They held each other carefully, mindful of her injuries but desperate for connection. Outside, the sun was setting, painting the hospital room in shades of gold and orange. It had been one hell of a day—violence, betrayal, loss, and pain.
But it had also been the day Lark Strattan finally stopped running.
And that made everything else worth it.