Page 36 of Rescued By the Alpha SEAL
Someone has found us. Foundher. Connected dots I spent years erasing. And they've tracked her straight to my door.
I won't let them take another life. Not her. Not any of my men.
This time, I'll take the fallout myself.
I circle back to the cabin as midnight passes, checking windows, doors, sight lines.
Inside, the fire has burned low, casting long shadows across the floor.
The bedroom door creaks as I peek inside. I spot Sloane sleeping on my bed, curled tightly into herself, one hand clutched around something beneath her pillow.
A knife, probably. Smart.
I pull a blanket over her without touching, careful not to wake her. She stirs slightly, her brow furrowing even in sleep. Fighting demons I can't see.
I move to the kitchen, pour a glass of whiskey I won't drink, and stare at the note again.
G.
The initial snags at something in my memory. A fragment of intel, a passing reference, a ghost in the machine.
I can't place it, but the familiarity gnaws at me.
I feel it though, in the air, in my bones. The electric tension before the storm. The weight of a threat moving closer.
Someone is coming.
And this time, I won't let them get past me.
11
SLOANE
The kitchen smells like scorched potential.
Burnt toast, half-boiled eggs—breakfast aromas that should spark nostalgia or comfort instead fill my lungs with an acrid melancholy.
Memories rise unbidden, choking against the charred crunch and watery disappointment currently being passed around the table.
Elias shoots me a sympathetic look as Logan slides a plate of the culinary crime scene in front of me. "He burns everything," the medic murmurs under his breath. "We're working on it."
I muster a shadow of a smile in response, more an acknowledgment of his warmth than an acceptance of the offering.
Food hasn't sparked much appetite lately. Not when every bland bite carries the risk of some suppressed recollection surging forward to drown me.
The others gather around, chatter drifting through the haze.
Caleb's playful ribbing about Logan's kitchen skills. Knox's pointed silence as he prods the gelatinous yolk with clear disdain.
Even Asa emerges from his tech cave, summoned by the promise of protein and caffeine despite the dubious quality.
For a handful of breaths, the scene borders ondomestic.
The kind of comfortable intimacy born from years of shared hardship and unspoken trust. A family forged in the fire rather than borne of bloodlines.
My chest aches to be part of it.
To let these hard-edged men with their battered souls peel back some layers of the armor encasing mine.
