Page 98 of The Sentinel

My heart clenched, my breath catching in my throat.

I had known. Of course, I had known. But hearing it? Hearing it broke something in me in the best possible way.

He kissed me—slow this time, reverent. And then he buried his face in my neck, holding me like he never wanted to let go.

I held him just as tightly.

Because neither of us had to let go. Not now. Not ever.

EPILOGUE

CLAIRE

Another day later, I woke to the sound of a door closing.

I sat up, groggy, the sheets tangled around me, Marcus’s scent still clinging to my skin. The bed beside me was empty, the warmth of his body already fading from the space where he had slept.

Frowning, I pushed the covers back and slid out of bed, my body aching—not from pain, not from bruises, but from the way Marcus had worshipped me, again and again.

I found his t-shirt on the floor and pulled it over my head, padding barefoot toward the door.

The house was quiet, the kind of stillness that only came after a storm. But when I stepped into the hall, I saw them.

Marcus stood by the front door, his back to me, his broad shoulders tense. Atlas was there too, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, his expression unreadable.

He was leaving.

“Where are you going?” My voice came out rough, thick with sleep.

Atlas glanced at me. “Got some things to take care of.”

I didn’t miss the way Marcus’s jaw tightened. His fists were clenched at his sides, his posture rigid. This wasn’t just about Hart.

This was about something bigger. Something they weren’t telling me.

Atlas smirked. “Don’t worry, Claire. I’ll be back.”

And then he was gone.

Marcus stood there for a long moment after the door shut, his breathing slow, measured, controlled. Too controlled.

I stepped closer, resting a hand on his arm, and just like that, the tension in his body eased.

His blue eyes met mine, and the storm that lived inside them settled.

I didn’t ask where Atlas was going. Not yet. Because today, there was something else waiting for us.

Diego’s parents.

We had made arrangements to have my friend’s body sent back to New York, where he would be laid to rest. The Gils had barely stopped crying when we’d met with them yesterday, their grief raw and endless. Today wouldn’t be any easier. But at least they wouldn’t be alone.

And neither would I.

Later, after the meeting, Marcus and Ryker—plus me and Izzy—would head to the Sullivan’s Island house for a cookout and some much-needed time on the beach. Noah, Charlie, Elias, and Silas had just returned to town to regroup after everything that had happened, andthey’d be there, too, reconnecting, catching their breath before the next inevitable storm. The Gils would stop by before they left town, a quiet goodbye before they returned to the city.

Atlas had said his goodbyes already. Whatever he was chasing, it wouldn’t wait.

The late afternoonsun was golden, stretching long across the sand. Waves lapped lazily at the shore, and the scent of grilled steak and salt air filled the breeze. The backyard of the Sullivan’s Island house was alive with laughter. Charlie was throwing a football with Elias while Silas was perched on a lounge chair, sipping whiskey like a king surveying his kingdom.

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