Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 75656 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75656 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
An hour later, the five of us are pulling into the Sentinel compound, and it feels so different from recent visits. Lately, I’d been associating this place with danger, contingency plans, and the long shadow of things hunting me. Now, as Buck parks and we all climb out, it just feels like family.
T.J. brought one of his stuffed animals to give to the baby, and he rushes ahead, excited, until Buck quietly calls his name as a reminder to slow down.
Atlas opens the door before we can knock, like he’s been tracking our arrival the whole time, and he probably has. His expression softens when he sees us, and though Atlas is not a man given to outward displays, there’s no mistaking his happiness today.
Inside, the house smells warm, like something savory from the kitchen, clean laundry, and wood polish, and beneath it all, that faint, sweet scent unique to homes with a newborn.
Boyd appears with a dish towel slung over one shoulder. “You made it.”
“Wouldn’t have missed it,” Weston says.
“Good answer.” Boyd holds out his fist to T.J. to bump knuckles. His grin is easy, but softer around the edges than usual.
Weston and Boyd clasp hands, then pull into a rough one-armed hug that turns into Boyd thumping him on the back hard enough to make Weston laugh.
“How’s dad life treating you so far?” Weston asks.
Boyd snorts. “It’s too early to say, but I can already tell I won’t need to use any special methods to fall asleep when I have the chance.”
I stand there for a second watching the six men greet each other. They came from different teams and different histories, but the same hardwired instinct lives in all of them—the need to protect, to watch over, to stand between danger and the people they love.
The men in my life called on Sentinel when the threats escalated, and somewhere along the way, professional trust became real friendship.
Kira’s in the great room, curled into one corner of the couch under a blanket, and my breath catches when I see the tiny bundle in her arms.
I go straight to her and lean down carefully so I can hug her without jostling the baby. “You did it.”
“I did.” Kira looks tired, but radiant. “I still can’t believe she’s real.” She shifts the blanket just enough for me to see the baby’s face, and the world seems to go still.
She’s so impossibly small, pink-cheeked and sleeping hard, with one fist tucked close under her chin. Pale brown eyelashes lie against her skin, and there’s a softness to her that makes something in me ache.
Maybe it’s because of everything we’ve been through, but the idea of something so tiny and perfect entering the world feels like proof that life keeps making room for joy.
“She’s beautiful.”
Kira’s eyes turn bright. “I know. I can’t stop staring at her.”
“I don’t think anyone here can.”
That gets a quiet rumble of agreement from several places around the room.
T.J. edges closer. “Can I meet her?”
Kira smiles at him. “She’s sleeping right now, but this is Felicity.”
He studies her for a moment, then holds up his stuffed fox. “I brought this for her, if she wants it later.”
“That is so incredibly sweet of you,” Kira says, beaming at him. “Thank you.”
Atlas takes it from him like it’s something ceremonial and sets it next to the nearby cradle. “First official toy delivery.”
Silas, who’s leaning against the mantel, says, “Good choice. Capable, watchful, survives on intelligence.”
T.J. gives him a delighted grin, and even Buck’s mouth twitches.
I settle into the armchair nearest the couch while the others spread around the room. Buck gets pulled into a cradle inspection by Boyd. Calder and Atlas disappear briefly into the kitchen, where I can hear the low cadence of their discussion. Weston ends up near the window with Silas, where Weston manages to coax actual conversation out of the often-silent man. Every once in a while, Silas’s mouth twitches, and Weston looks quietly pleased with himself.
There’s a peacefulness to it all that I don’t think I could have fully appreciated six months ago.
Men who are usually more at home dealing with logistics, threat assessments, and emergencies are now standing around a sleeping infant, teasing one another about diaper duty and burp-cloth strategy.
Buck asks Boyd if he’s built Felicity her own log cabin yet.
“Give me time,” Boyd says without missing a beat.
Atlas returns from the kitchen carrying tea for Kira and pauses automatically when Felicity makes a sound in her sleep. His attention locks on her with the precision of a man who’s used to responding to danger, only now his focus is fully fixed on this tiny new human.
It nearly undoes me, but not because it’s surprising. Men like this are always going to love with their whole heart once they have something small and precious enough to hold, but there’s still something incredibly moving about seeing power repurposed into tenderness.