Page 58 of Skull

The doctor stopped in front of a glass-paneled door. “He’s out of the woods,” he said, his voice warm with a professional sense of optimism. “You can see him but remember to keep it calm. He’s still quite weak.”

Skull swallowed hard, nodded, and took a moment to brace himself. He pushed open the door and was immediately met by a soft chorus of mechanical hisses and muted alarms. The bed sat in the center of the room, and on it lay his father, pale, thinner than Skull remembered, but with eyes that no longer looked so clouded.

For a moment, Skull couldn’t move. He had imagined this reunion a hundred times, and every version ended in a flood of words he didn’t know how to say. Finally, he drew closer, heart thudding in his ears. His father turned his head weakly, recognition stirring in his gaze.

Skull stood beside the bed, gently resting a hand on the thin sheet that covered his father’s forearm. At first, he couldn’t speak. Then the words came rushing out, quiet but certain. “Dad, I—I love you,” he said, his voice catching. “You have no idea how much you’ve shaped my life. How much of who I am is because of you.”

His father’s lips curved into a slight smile, eyes glistening. “I love you, too, son. I’m so glad to see you.” At his dad’s hoarse words, Skull’s eyes stung, and he let the tears come. The machines’ steady beeps formed a comforting, reassuring chorus in the background.

He felt his mother’s presence at his shoulder, wiping at her eyes as he continued. “I finally understand what it means to be a rock. You know, like you always told me. To stand firm when everything else is shaking. You were that rock for me. And now I get it.”

His father’s breath was shallow but purposeful. For the first time in days, there was color returning to those sunken cheeks. He managed to lift a trembling hand, and Skull enclosed it gently in both of his.

In the quiet aftermath of the doctor’s reassuring words, Skull felt something shift deep within him. As he held his father’s fragile hand, he recalled all the times his dad had been that steadfast rock, an unyielding pillar who had silently weathered every storm. For years, he had looked to his father as the embodiment of strength, the constant in a life often rocked by uncertainty. Now, amid the soft beeping of machines and the gentle hum of hospital air, Skull realized that being a rock was not merely about immobility or stoicism, it was about embracing every facet of one’s inner power.

In that transformative moment, his thoughts drifted to Walker, sure that she wasn’t out of his life. The look in her eyes when they’d parted had been tense, reluctant, her touch desperate and her kiss fierce.

Her influence had been a catalyst for change, urging him to peel away layers of guarded defiance and discover a more nuanced strength. With her, he had learned that vulnerability did not diminish his power, rather, it enriched it. Walker had challenged him to confront his deepest fears and to acknowledge that true resilience was forged through both the firmness of his resolve and the softness of his compassion. He could only hope he’d had the same effect on her.

The room seemed to hold its breath, letting the moment belong solely to father and son. Outside, the world went on with its bustle of visitors, overhead pages, and the hustle of nurses, but here, in the quiet circle around the hospital bed, Skull and his father found their own space, one filled with deep love, shared history, and renewed hope for whatever tomorrow would bring.

Walker steppedthrough the grand oak doors of the church, her movements fluid, seamless, a Shadowguard in every sense, yet somehow, no longer a shadow. The years of slipping between roles, disguising herself as whoever the mission required, had made her believe she was a collection of masks rather than a whole person. But Skull had shattered that illusion, peeling her back layer by layer until she could no longer hide from herself.

Six months. That was how long it had been since she’d last seen him, since the truth had been laid bare between them with a precision even she, with all her investigative skills, hadn’t seen coming. She had thought knowledge was her refuge—logic, facts, distance—but Skull had made her see what lay beneath. That she was more than the roles she played, more than just the chameleon. He’d seen her, and in doing so, forced her to see herself. She was only sorry that it had taken her so long, but fear was a powerful thing, facing her demons was just as powerful.

Her lips curved, the expression slow, deliberate, as she stopped in front of him. “I told you I was going to dance at their wedding.”

Skull stood there, dark eyes sweeping over her, his face as unreadable as ever except for his eyes. They had never been able to lie to her. They were filled with something deep, something raw. He had known she would come. He had hoped.

Bones sat at his side, an odd sight in a church, and yet, somehow, it made sense. Walker let her gaze flick to the dog, then back to Skull, her smile softening. “Did you convince them he was emotional support, or did you just dare them to tell you no?”

Skull exhaled a short breath, somewhere between amusement and restraint, but she saw it, the warmth in his eyes, the flicker of something deep and poignant and real.

She had spent a lifetime running. Hiding. Pretending. But there was no act to fall into now. No mask left to wear.

“Is dancing the only reason you’re here?” His voice was steady, but she caught the slight shift in his stance, the way his breath hitched, just barely.

“No, it’s not the only reason I’m here. That’s just a celebration of Leigh and Hazard,” she said softly, her voice steady in a way it had never been before. “I’m really here because I love you. And I’m done pretending I don’t.”

For the first time in her life, she wasn’t slipping into a role. She was stepping into herself.

Walker took a breath, steady, deep. The kind of breath a woman takes when she knows she’s standing at the edge of something that will change her forever. She had spent years mastering the art of control, of knowing every angle before stepping into a room, of slipping between personas like water through fingers, of never letting herself become too much of anything because too much meant vulnerability. Too much meant truth.

But Skull had always seen through the games. Through the personas. Through the layers of defense she had built, one carefully constructed identity at a time. He had peeled them away, piece by piece, not with force, but with patience. With knowing. With an understanding so absolute that it had scared her more than any mission ever had.

“I’m here because you see me. You want me. You love me,” she said, her voice soft, but steady in a way it never had been before. No performance, no act. Just truth. “And I see you. I want you…only you.”

Skull stood there, unmoving, but she saw it, the tightening of his jaw, the way his hands flexed at his sides like he was holding himself back from reaching for her. His eyes, dark and fathomless, had always been a weapon of their own. But right now, they weren’t guarded. They weren’t locked down. They were burning.

“I love you,” she said again because it felt so good, so right, so beautiful, letting the words settle between them, irrevocable. It felt like exhaling after years of holding her breath. Like stepping into the light after a lifetime in the shadows. “You told me that’s on me, so…I’m taking responsibility for once.” Tears gathered in her eyes, but she didn’t look away. Skull’s expression softened in an instant, and he moved toward her. The soft light, diffused all around them from the stained-glass windows bathing them in rainbow colors. He was the end of her rainbow, the pot of gold. He was a safe haven and always would be. He gathered her hands gently in his.

“I love you, still,” he said, voice rough with emotion. “I never stopped.” They stood in silence for a moment, letting the weight of their confessions settle. In that quiet space, Walker could finally see a future that wasn’t defined by her solitary habits. The type of future that they could carve out when both partners committed to balancing autonomy and connection.

For so long, she had thought love was something for people who were whole, people who didn’t have to break themselves into a thousand pieces just to make sense of the world.

But Skull had proven her wrong.

She saw the way his throat bobbed, the way his fingers twitched, like he was fighting every instinct to pull her in. He was always the controlled one, the still one, but in this moment, he was undone. Just as undone as she was.

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