The safe house felt different this time. Heavier. Darker. Like the walls knew something worse was coming.
Ryder had taken them to yet another secure location—a loft in an industrial area of Queens, owned by another dead teammate under a shell company so buried it would take the FBI weeks to trace. They were running out of places to hide, and both of them knew it.
'Tell me about Afghanistan.' Isla broke the silence, needing to understand the man who'd risked everything to protect her. 'The real story. Not the sanitized version.'
Ryder stood at the window, backlit by the setting sun, his posture rigid. 'Why? It's ancient history. Doesn't change who I am now.'
'It made you who you are now. And I want to know all of you. Not just the parts you think are acceptable.' She crossed to him. 'You know my worst moments. My cousin stalked me. I shot someone. I have nightmares where I can't move while people I love die. You've seen me broken. Let me see you the same way.'
He was quiet for so long she thought he'd refuse. Then: 'We were clearing a compound outside Kandahar. Intel said it was abandoned, just a weapons cache to secure. Standard operation. I sent my team in first while I covered the approach because...' His voice caught. 'Because I wanted to impress command. Wanted to prove I could lead efficiently, delegate properly. It was ego. Pure ego.'
'Ryder—'
'The IED was in the doorway. Motion-triggered. The moment Davis crossed the threshold, it detonated. The blast was massive. The building collapsed. I was thrown fifty feet backward, knocked unconscious. When I came to, the structure was rubble and fire and...' He stopped, breathing hard. 'I could hear Martinez calling for help. Trapped under debris. Still alive. I tried to reach him. Clawed through concrete with my bare hands until they bled. But the secondary explosion...'
Isla's throat tightened. 'You don't have to—'
'Chen was thrown clear. Still breathing. I got to him first. Held him while he died because the medivac couldn't land fast enough.' Ryder's voice was hollow, detached, reciting facts to avoid feeling them. 'Thompson was gone instantly. They told me that later. Said it was mercy that he didn't suffer. Davis... Davis took longest. Trapped and conscious and screaming my name for fifteen minutes before the fire reached him. I could hear him. Could hear him burning. And I couldn't get to him.'
Tears streamed down Isla's face. She moved behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist, pressing her cheek to his back. He didn't turn, didn't acknowledge the contact, just kept staring out the window at the city below.
'The investigation cleared me. Said the intel failure wasn't my responsibility. That I'd followed protocol. But protocol doesn't change that four men died because I sent them ahead. Because I wanted to look good for a promotion I didn't even need.' His hands clenched on the windowsill. 'I was decorated. Silver Star for attempting rescue under fire. Bronze Star for continuing the mission after catastrophic losses. Like medals could replace the men I killed with my ego.'
'You didn't kill them. Bad intelligence did. War did. Chance and circumstance and—'
'I should have checked the compound myself first. Should have questioned the intel. Should have sent in a drone, a robot, anything except my team.' He turned finally, and his eyes were devastated. 'I replay that moment constantly. Every decision I've made since. Could I have saved them? What if I'd waited? What if I'd gone first? The what-ifs never stop.'
Isla framed his face in her hands. 'You've been punishing yourself for five years. Isolating. Taking the most dangerous assignments. Protecting strangers because you couldn't protect them. That's not healing, Ryder. That's self-destruction.'
'It's penance.'
'It's pointless.' She held his gaze. 'They died. You survived. Those are facts. The guilt, the what-ifs, the self-blame—that's you adding narrative that doesn't change the outcome. They're still gone. Your suffering doesn't bring them back.'
'How can you be so calm about this? Four men are dead because of me.'
'Four men died in war. You survived and have been trying to die ever since through increasingly dangerous work. But you're still here, Ryder. Still breathing. And I need you to choose to keep breathing. For me. For us. For the future we're building.' Her voice cracked. 'Please stop trying to die to make up for living.'
The words hit something deep. Ryder's careful control shattered. He pulled her against him, burying his face in her hair, and finally—finally—let himself grieve. Not for the mission. Not for the failure. For the men. His brothers. The family war had taken.
Isla held him through it, offering no platitudes, no false comfort. Just presence. Just love. Just the understanding that some wounds never fully healed but you could learn to live with them.
When the tears stopped, Ryder pulled back, wiping his face roughly. 'I'm sorry. That was—'
'Human. Real. Necessary.' She kissed him softly. 'And I love you more for showing me. Not less.'
'Even knowing I'm broken?'
'Especially knowing you're broken. Because you're broken and still here. Still fighting. Still protecting. Still loving.' She smiled. 'We're both damaged, remember? That's what makes us work.'
His phone buzzed, shattering the moment. Ryder checked it, his expression darkening. 'Adrian's stable. They induced a coma to prevent brain damage from the poisoning. He'll live, but he won't be talking anytime soon.'
'So we're back to square one. No answers about his accomplice. No leads.' Isla's frustration mounted. 'Whoever poisoned him is still out there. Still threatening us. And we're running blind.'
'Not completely blind.' Ryder pulled up files on his laptop. 'I've been analyzing Adrian's communications. He was careful, but nobody's perfect. There are gaps in his timeline. Hours unaccounted for. Encrypted messages that suggest meetings with someone. I think I can trace the pattern.'
'How long will that take?'
'Days. Maybe weeks.' He met her eyes. 'But I will find them. Whoever helped Adrian, whoever is threatening you now—I will identify them and neutralize the threat. That's a promise.'
'And in the meantime, we hide. Run. Live in constant fear.' Isla hated the helplessness, the loss of control.
'In the meantime, we live. We don't let fear win. We build our relationship, plan our future, refuse to let some faceless enemy dictate our lives.' Ryder pulled her close. 'This isn't just survival anymore, Isla. This is choosing to live despite the danger. That's the most powerful thing we can do.'
She kissed him, pouring frustration and fear and desperate hope into the contact. They'd survived Adrian. They'd survive his accomplice. They'd survive anything as long as they faced it together.
CLIFFHANGER: A knock at the door froze them both. Three solid raps. Authoritative. Expected. Ryder's hand moved to his weapon. 'You expecting anyone?' Isla shook her head. Another knock. 'Mr. Kane. Miss Thornton. FBI. We need to talk about your father's arrest for conspiracy to commit murder.'