57. Evie
EVIE
Three hours later, the federal pursuit order is suspended.
Not erased.
Not publicly withdrawn.
But every tactical team hunting Shadow Division receives instructions to stand down pending a classified investigation.
Senator Vance kept his word.
Rook sends Maverick and Rogue to help secure Vance’s family. Reef remains with the evidence. Fathom continues decrypting the drives.
Cobra falls asleep in a chair while insisting he’s only resting his eyes.
Falcon finally allows the medic to give him something for the pain.
The hangar becomes quiet.
Caleb hasn’t rested.
I find him standing outside beneath the hangar’s overhang, watching rain fall across the dark field.
“You’re supposed to be lying down.”
“I was.”
“For how long?”
“Several minutes.”
“That isn’t rest.”
“It was quiet.”
I step beside him.
The night smells of wet earth and pine.
For once, no one is shooting.
No alarms are sounding.
No mountains are collapsing.
“What happens now?” I ask.
“We expose Graves.”
“And Whitmore?”
“We find him.”
“Archive Seven?”
“We stop it.”
His answers are certain.
Simple.
Very Caleb.
“What happens to us?”
That question silences him.
He turns toward me.
Rainwater drips from the edge of the roof between us and the darkness.
“What do you want to happen?”
“I asked first.”
“I’m not good at this.”
“I noticed.”
One corner of his mouth moves.
Then the humor fades.
“I’ve spent most of my life leaving.”
“Missions?”
“People.”
“Why?”
His gaze travels over the rain.
“Distance kept them safe.”
“Did it?”
“No.”
The word carries every person he couldn’t save.
“I told myself caring made me less effective. That if I stayed detached, I would see the danger sooner.”
“But you cared anyway.”
“Yes.”
“About your team.”
“My brother.”
“And me?”
His eyes meet mine.
“Especially you.”
The truth moves through me like warmth.
I step closer.
“I don’t need you to promise nothing dangerous will ever happen.”
“Good. I couldn’t.”
“I need you to promise you won’t decide for me that leaving is safer.”
His jaw tightens.
The instinct to protect me is written across his face.
“So if you become afraid, you don’t disappear,” I say. “If you think I’m in danger, you tell me. If you want me—”
“I do.”
The words stop me.
Caleb closes the distance.
“I want you.”
His hand cups my face.
“More than I know how to explain.”
“You don’t have to explain.”
I rise onto my toes and kiss him.
The restraint he showed earlier lasts for one heartbeat.
Then his arm closes around my waist.
He pulls me against him.
Heat replaces the cold night air.
His mouth moves over mine with all the hunger he held back in the recovery room.
I feel it in the hand at my back.
In the tremor that passes through him when my fingers slide into his hair.
In the care he takes even while kissing me as though stopping might break him.
He draws away first.
His breathing is uneven.
“My stitches.”
I smile against his mouth. “I remember.”
“I don’t want our first time to involve another medic.”
A laugh escapes me.
“That might ruin the mood.”
“Might?”
“Definitely.”
I take his hand and lead him inside.
A small sleeping room waits at the back of the medical wing.
One narrow bed.
One lamp.
More privacy than we’ve had since we met.
Caleb closes the door.
For a moment, we simply stand there.
No danger forcing the decision.
No adrenaline disguising what we feel.
I remove my jacket.
His gaze moves over me.
“Are you certain?”
“Yes.”
“Evie.”
“I nearly lost you beneath that mountain.”
“That isn’t a reason.”
“No. But it made me stop lying to myself.”
I touch his face.
“I want you because you came when I asked for help. Because you see everything and still choose mercy. Because you put yourself between people and danger even when no one is watching.”
His eyes close briefly.
“And because when you hold me, I feel safe enough to stop being strong.”
Caleb catches my wrist and presses his lips to my palm.
“I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”
“This isn’t about deserving.”
His eyes open.
“It’s about what we choose next.”
He kisses me again.
Slowly this time.
His fingers trace the line of my jaw, my throat, and the curve of my shoulder. Every touch asks a question.
Every time, I answer by moving closer.
I carefully remove his shirt.
Dark bruises cover his chest.
The bandage at his side remains clean.
I touch the uninjured skin above it.
“Tell me if I hurt you.”
“You couldn’t.”
“That sounded dangerously romantic.”
“I have hidden depths.”
I laugh softly. “Very hidden.”
His smile is rare enough to feel like a gift.
He lifts my shirt over my head.
Cool air touches my skin.
Then his hands replace it.
There is nothing hurried in the way he undresses me.
Nothing careless.
He looks at me as if memorizing every detail is another way to keep me safe.
When we finally lie down, he keeps his weight away from his injuries.
I move over him instead.
His breath catches.
“Your stitches,” I remind him.
“I’m not thinking about them.”
“Good.”
I kiss him until neither of us is thinking about anything else.
The world narrows to warmth.
Touch.
Whispered names.
The fierce tenderness of two people who survived long enough to choose one another.
Afterward, I rest against his uninjured side.
Caleb’s fingers move slowly through my hair.
His heartbeat is steady beneath my palm.
“That was quieter than the parking garage,” I whisper.
“Barely.”
I laugh against his chest.
His arm tightens around me.
“Stay.”
The word is so quiet I almost miss it.
Not an order.
Not a temporary request.
A man who has spent his life leaving is asking me not to.
I lift my head.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
For once, Caleb McDougal closes his eyes.
And sleeps.