Page 101 of Brass
Celeste Hart died tonight in a tragic boating accident off the Oregon coast. Details at eleven, forgotten by next week’s news.
But I’m still here. Still breathing.
And I’m still fighting.
THIRTY-FOUR
Epilogue
CELESTE
Three Months Later:Undisclosed Location, Montana
The cabin sits nestledagainst a backdrop of mountains, snow blanketing the surrounding forest in pristine white. Inside, the woodstove crackles, fighting back the February chill.
I look up from my laptop as the door creaks open and Ryan steps inside, snow clinging to his boots and melting in gritty puddles on the worn wood floor. He shrugs off his coat, shaking off the cold, then hangs it by the door. The wind’s still howling behind him, but he brings a quiet calm with him—steady, grounded.
But it’s his face that catches me.
The beard is new. Fuller. Thicker. It roughs up the sharp line of his jaw, making him look older, wilder. More untamed. As if shedding his old life permitted the man underneath to surface.
He catches me staring and arches a brow. “Too mountain man?”
I shake my head slowly, lips curving. “Too hot, actually.”
That earns me a low, satisfied grunt as he toes off his boots, crossing to me with snow in his hair and something in his eyes that has nothing to do with the storm outside.
“Supply run successful?” I ask, setting aside the financial reports I’ve been studying as part of my cover identity.
“All the essentials,” he confirms, crossing to drop a kiss on my forehead before unloading groceries onto the counter. “And news from Ghost.”
I straighten immediately, attention sharpening. “Torque?”
“Alive.” Ryan’s expression is complex—relief mixed with something grimmer. “Extracted three days ago from a private facility in Hungary. Condition critical but stable.”
“He made it,” I breathe, hardly daring to believe it after months of uncertainty. “What did they?—”
“Don’t ask,” Ryan cuts me off, the shadow in his eyes warning me away from that line of questioning. “Just know that he’s safe now. Guardian HRS’s medical team has him.”
I understand the boundaries. Some details are better left unshared, especially regarding what happens to men like Torque in enemy hands. “And our status?”
“Unchanged for now.” Ryan begins putting away groceries. “Ghost recommends maintaining current protocols for at least another three months. Phoenix’s algorithm is still running security sweeps, though resource allocation has shifted primarily to other threats.”
Three more months of isolation, pretending to be Ryan and Celeste Davis to the few locals we interact with, and building our cover story one careful layer at a time. I should feel disappointed. Instead, I’m strangely relieved.
More time to figure out what comes next.
More time in this bubble we’ve created, away from the world’s complications.
More time with Ryan, learning who we are together when not running for our lives.
“Ghost sent something else,” Ryan says, reaching into his pocket. He withdraws a small USB drive, similar but not identical to the one that started this whole journey. “Information he thought you should have. Secured, obviously.”
I take it, turning it over in my hand. “What’s on it?”
“He didn’t specify. Just said your journalistic instincts might find it interesting.” Ryan’s expression gives nothing away, though I suspect he knows more than he’s saying.
Later, after dinner, I connect the drive to our secure, offline system. What I find makes my breath catch—evidence of three new deaths, officially ruled accidents or suicides. An analyst at the Pentagon. A programmer formerly employed by Northridge. A congressional staffer with security clearance.
