Page 78 of The Sniper

I nodded, jaw tight.

She hesitated, then added, “After what happened here and then losing him so fast after … It’s a lot. It’s too much.”

My eyes burned.

“I don’t even know who I am anymore,” I whispered. “I feel like every part of me has been scraped raw.”

Josie nodded slowly, her hand still on my arm. “I’d say something like ‘God gives His hardest battles to His strongest soldiers,’ but I’ve always thought that was bullshit.”

That made me laugh—just a little. A breath, a break in the grief.

She smiled. “You’ve been through hell, Hallie Mae. And the fact that you’re standing here, still showing up for people? That says more about you than any tragedy ever could.”

I didn’t have words for that. Just reached out and squeezed her hand.

We started walking toward the kitchen together, where lunch prep would be starting soon.

And as we moved through the hallway—the same one where I’d once been someone else entirely—I realized how much had changed.

I wasn’t that girl anymore.

The girl who still believed the world was fair. The girl who thought love came after logic. The girl who used to pray in whispers and think her body was something to guard like a secret.

Now I loved a man who carried ghosts in his pockets.

Now I grieved a father I hadn’t had time to say goodbye to.

Now I knew what it felt like to beg for mercy and moan for pleasure in the same breath.

Everything was different.

And still—I came back.

Because this place? It was built for broken people. And God help me, I finally knew what that meant.

Josie glanced over as we reached the kitchen doors. “You sure you’re ready for this?”

I didn’t hesitate.

“No,” I said honestly. “But I’m here.”

Josie smiled, a little sad, a little proud, and pushed the door open.

Inside, the kitchen buzzed with quiet motion. A few volunteers were already slicing bread, stacking lunch trays, counting juice boxes. The overhead fan clacked with every turn, stirring the scent of peanut butter, apple slices, and the faint tang of bleach from the mopped floor.

We slipped into the rhythm easily—me pulling on a pair of gloves, Josie handing me a stack of bread to layer with deli meat and cheese. Familiar. Simple. A kind of grace all its own.

“You know,” Josie said after a beat, glancing at me from over the counter, “it was real decent of your guy to send that crew in. The place looks better than it has in months. New locks, fresh paint, even fixed the busted camera by the alley.”

My hands paused for half a second, then resumed. I didn’t answer.

She side-eyed me with a little smirk. “You’re not gonna tell me you’re not seeing him, right?”

“I’m not saying anything,” I replied, stacking sandwiches.

“Oh, come on.” She leaned in, lowering her voice even though we were mostly alone. “We all saw the way he moved through this place. Like it was already his to protect. And now? Rumor is he’s a Dane brother.”

My heart stuttered.

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