Page 96 of Echo: Line
"Alex. You showed me what real courage looks like when you pulled me out of that cabin after I tried to arrest you. What loyalty means when you carried me out of the Committee facility with a bullet in my shoulder. What love is worth fighting for every single day since." I squeeze his hands. "The FBI trainedme to hunt monsters. You taught me to fight them. To stand my ground. To believe I was strong enough for this life. For you. I choose you. Every day. Every mission. Every moment."
Kane smiles. "The rings?"
Sarah hands them over. We exchange them—matching silver bands, engraved with coordinates. The location where we first met, where I tried to arrest him and he saved my life instead.
"By the power vested in me by the internet and the state of Montana," Kane says, "I now pronounce you married. Alex, you may?—"
Alex is already kissing me. The team erupts in cheers and the unprofessional chaos that defines Echo Ridge.
When we break apart, he's smiling. Actually smiling, the real kind that transforms his face.
"Till death or victory," he says.
"Till death or victory," I echo.
The celebration stretches into the evening. Someone produces alcohol, someone else produces food, and the common area transforms from ceremony space to party. Stryker monopolizes the music, playing increasingly questionable country songs. Willa slow-dances with Kane when she thinks no one's watching. Khalid actually laughs at one of Mercer's stories.
This. This is what we're fighting for. Not just justice or vengeance or national security. But this—the ability to have moments of joy in the darkness. To build families from the wreckage. To find love in the last place you'd expect it.
Alex pulls me close, sways to music that's too fast for slow dancing. "No regrets?"
"Not one." I rest my head on his chest, feel his heartbeat steady beneath my ear. "You?"
"Just that I didn't do this sooner."
Later, when the party winds down and we retreat to our quarters, I notice Tommy's tactical tablet abandoned on achair. An encrypted message notification blinks on the screen—Victoria Cross.
I pull up the communication. Cross has been feeding us intel on Kessler's movements for months now, playing both sides like she always does.
Congratulations on making it official. Didn't think you'd survive each other this long. Color me impressed. The gift is intel—Kessler's been quiet. Too quiet. No movement, no communications, no operations for six weeks. Either he's dead (unlikely) or planning something significant. Watch your backs. The Committee doesn't forgive, and Kessler never forgets. —VC
"She always knows," I murmur.
Alex reads over my shoulder. "Cross has eyes everywhere. But she's right about Kessler. Six weeks dark is unusual."
"We'll deal with it tomorrow." I set the tablet aside. "Tonight's ours."
The tablet screen shows another notification—news articles, surveillance footage, something Tommy was researching earlier.
The headline catches my eye:Investigative Journalist Exposes Government Black Site Network.
The byline reads:Reagan Mitchell.
The photograph shows a woman in her late twenties, sharp features, determined expression, holding a camera like a weapon.
I don't know why, but looking at that photo sends a chill down my spine.
"Alex?"
"Yeah?"
"We should tell Kane about this. Tomorrow."
He looks at the screen, sees what I'm seeing—a woman who's asking the wrong questions to the wrong people. "Tomorrow,"he agrees. "Kane'll want to know if someone's getting close to finding us."
He's right. Tomorrow we can worry about investigative journalists and Committee threats and whatever Kessler's planning in the darkness.
Tonight, we celebrate. The team. The life we've built. Each other.
