Page 77 of The Sniper

We collapsed, tangled, sweat-soaked, her head on my chest, my arms tight around her, heart pounding like I’d fought a war and won.

She was everything—bold, fierce, claiming me with every touch, every moan, rewriting my world with her fire.

I loved it—her power, her hunger, the way she’d taken me, marked me, made me hers in ways I’d never imagined.

If war was coming—and it was, Department 77’s shadow closing in—I’d gorge on her now, every second, every taste, before the world tried to rip us apart.

I held her, her fingers tracing my skin, and knew she was my only thought—the only thing that mattered, her breath, her heat, her bold, beautiful claim.

War could wait.

For now, she was mine.

And I was hers.

21

HALLIE MAE

It was the next day.

The first day I’d set foot outside without feeling like I might fall apart if someone looked at me too long. The sun was high, the air thick with summer heat, and Grace House stood steady on its corner like it hadn’t watched a man die not a week ago.

I parked down the street, taking a breath before getting out.

It wasn’t fear that kept me in the car that extra minute. It was the weight of everything I’d carried since the last time I’d walked through those doors. A weight that felt heavier in daylight.

The gunfire.

The screams.

Noah’s eyes from across the chaos.

And then—my daddy.

Gone.

Just like that.

Like all the years of sermons and softness and secondchances couldn’t shield him from the kind of horror I thought only happened in the movies.

I pressed a hand to my stomach, like I could settle the storm still churning low and constant. Then I opened the door.

Inside, Grace House looked the same—worn linoleum, the soft scuff of kids’ shoes on the hallway floor, the distant thud of a basketball in the rec room. It smelled like lemon cleaner and hope, the kind that still clung to the walls no matter how many holes had been patched over.

“Hallie Mae?”

I turned at the sound of my name, and there she was—Josie.

Same high ponytail. Same oversized sweatshirt, even in the summer. Same heart in her voice that made you feel like maybe not all good things had been lost.

“Oh, my God,” she breathed, hurrying toward me, arms wide. “I wasn’t sure you’d come back.”

I let her hug me, and something in my chest cracked open just enough to let the tears sting.

“Of course, I came back,” I said, voice thick. “It’s Grace House.”

She pulled back, eyes scanning my face like she didn’t quite believe I was standing there. “I heard about your dad,” she said, voice softer now. “I didn’t want to reach out and say the wrong thing, but … I’m so sorry.”

---