Page 223 of Rescuing Ally: Part 1

Harrison navigates the curves, the powerful SUV hugging the road as we climb toward the sprawling compound. The outer gate appears ahead, a sentinel of steel and concrete marking the boundary between civilian life and Guardian territory.

He slows as we approach, rolling down the window. The cool, salt-laden breeze rushes in, carrying the scent of pine and earth. A guard steps forward, recognition flickering across his face.

“Evening, Harrison,” the guard says, nodding to me in the back seat. “Welcome back, Miss Collins.”

The gates part with a mechanical hum, sliding open to reveal the sprawling Guardian campus. Even in the early evening, the place hums with activity—operatives moving between buildings, security personnel patrolling in pairs, and lights coming on in various structures as dusk settles.

Harrison drives slowly down the main artery, passing the operations building where Charlie team would normally be debriefing at this hour.

We continue past the tech building where Mitzy’s team works around the clock, past the training facility where I’ve watched Hank and Gabe spar countless times, and finally turn into the residential section of the compound. The buildings here are more subdued—three-story structures arranged in a horseshoe pattern around carefully maintained gardens.

“Unit?” Harrison asks as we approach the first building.

“Top floor, third from the east stairwell.”

“Where does Miss Sophia live?”

“Same floor, a few doors down.”

“And Miss Mia? You said she lives in a different building?”

“Yes, it’s the adjacent building.” I point to the structure across the garden courtyard, its windows reflecting the dying sunlight.

“Does she need an escort?” His question is casual, but he scans the courtyard, logging everything.

“No. Guardian HQ is very secure, and it’s not that far.”

Harrison gives another nod, nothing on hisface but focus. He pulls into a visitor parking space near the entrance, killing the engine but leaving the headlights on for a moment longer, illuminating the pathway to the door.

“Wait here,” he instructs, stepping out to survey the area. His hand brushes the bulge beneath his jacket—a weapon, always within reach. He circles the SUV once, eyes constantly moving, before opening my door. “Clear.”

The night air hits me like a physical thing—cool, damp with sea spray, carrying the scent of wildflowers from the carefully tended garden beds. Crickets chirp from hidden places, their rhythm steady and soothing.

“Let me walk you to the door.” It’s not a request.

He grabs my bag, carrying it for me, then falls into step beside me, his stride matching mine, one hand remaining near his concealed weapon. His eyes never stop moving—checking rooflines, scanning the shadows between buildings, monitoring the path ahead.

We climb the stairs in silence, our footsteps echoing in the stairwell. Each landing offers a new vantage point, and Harrison pauses briefly at each, checking for threats before allowing us to continue.

On the third floor, behind Jenna’s door, the faint sound of laughter and the muted soundtrack of what sounds like an action movie can be heard.

Harrison follows me to the door, standing to one side. I look back at him, taking in the lines of his face and the unwavering dedication in his eyes. The man who once represented everything I resented about my father’s overprotectiveness now stands as a bulwark against the darkness I know exists beyond these walls.

“Thanks, Harrison.”

He nods once, a slight softening around his eyes the only indication that he hears the sincerity in my voice. “Let me know if you change location. I’m a simple phone call away.”

“I will, and thank you. I appreciate you.” The words feel inadequate for what I’m trying to convey. I understand now what I couldn’t before.

There’s value in what he does, and I regret every time I gavehim the slip, especially that night at Cornell when my rebellion led straight to my captivity.

“Stay safe, Miss Collins.” His expression shifts, with the slightest crinkling around his eyes, a subtle acknowledgment of how far we’ve come.

Then he’s gone, footsteps retreating with the same precision they always have, leaving me at the threshold of safety, surrounded by the women who understand exactly what it means to love men who face danger as naturally as breathing.

I push open the door, the warmth and light spilling out in welcome.

Malia’s already inside, curled on the sofa with her laptop, a half-finished scone on a napkin beside her. Her hair is piled messily atop her head, a few stray curls framing her face. She looks up, her smile brightening when she sees me.

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