I lay frozen beneath the thick blanket, staring at the ceiling, turning their words over like a stone I couldn’t put down.
On a transport back to the capital by morning.
They hadn’t said what happened to her, only that she’d tried something and then she simply wasn’t here anymore.
I didn’t know if that meant reassigned, dismissed, or something colder, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to find out.
None of them came back as his wife either.
I wasn’t just a hostage or a temporary guest; to the people running this base, I was an anomaly — proof that something had happened here that hadn’t happened before.
I didn’t know yet if that made me safer than the woman from the southern family, or next.
The cabin door opened with a quiet click, and Dylan walked in.
He had shed his outfit, now in a different long-sleeved shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.
He looked exhausted, the sharp lines of his face drawn tight by hours of debriefs or whatever I assumed he had been doing but his eyes were as sharp as ever.
He stopped near the desk, noticing I was awake.
“Can you walk without issues?” I glared at him from the bed.
“Yes.” ”Good.” ”Why am I staying in here?” I asked, sitting up and pulling the blanket over my lap.
“Is there nowhere else on this entire base that I can stay?” ”You’re injured.” ”That’s it?” ”That’s enough.” He pulled a set of printouts from his pocket and tossed them onto the desk.
“It’s secured.
Nobody enters this cabin without my explicit authorization.” “And where are you going to stay?” “Here.” “Huh?” My eyes widened, my grip tightening on the blanket like it might protect me from something.
“Here, here?
As in — this cabin.
This bed.” “We’re married.
A fact you keep forgetting.” He said it without a trace of humor, which was somehow worse, because I genuinely couldn’t tell if he meant it.
“Absolutely not.
Separate rooms.
That was rule one.
I have it in writing — well, in memory, but it counts.” “Command tent doesn’t have rule one.” “Then sleep in the command tent!
Another one I mean.” A pause, just long enough for my pulse to fully commit to panicking before he answered.
“I intend to.” The corner of his mouth did the thing again — the almost-smile that never quite finishes forming.
“You should see your face.” I threw the nearest pillow at him.
He caught it without looking.
“We’re getting a divorce as soon as we get back to town!” That was the thing about him — he never had to raise his voice or make a single threatening move, and somehow the room still felt smaller with him in it.
One bed.
One door he controlled.
A logbook full of things I wasn’t allowed to see.
And apparently, an entire base that had learned the hard way not to test what “married to Dylan” actually meant.
The blue screen flared to life so fast it nearly blinded me.
[ DING!
DING!!
DING!!!
] [ KEYWORD DETECTED: “DIVORCE.” ] [ CROSS-REFERENCING AGAINST MISSION 1: SURVIVE TARGET’S FIELD DATE WITHOUT REQUESTING A DIVORCE.
] [ ANALYSIS: STATEMENT OF FUTURE INTENT.
NOT A FORMAL REQUEST.
] [ VERDICT: TECHNICALLY COMPLIANT.
] [ SYSTEM RESERVES THE RIGHT TO REVISIT THIS RULING SHOULD HOST ATTEMPT TO EXPLOIT THE LOOPHOLE SHE HAS JUST DISCOVERED.
] Oh.
Shut up.
I clenched my jaw and said nothing out loud, mostly because Dylan was still standing three feet away, and explaining to my husband that I was currently losing an argument with a hallucination felt like a conversation I wasn’t ready to have twice in one day.
The migraine had the decency to disappear without another word.
I didn’t trust the silence for a second.
Meanwhile, Dylan ignored my dramatic outrage, his gaze drifting down to the nightstand beside the bed.
The silver ID bracelet and the blood-caked gold ring were sitting neatly on the wood where I had placed them.
”Don’t lose those,” he said quietly.
I looked at the thin gold band.
“Why?
Are you going to keep them as evidence?” ”Because someone is going to want them back.” He didn’t elaborate, turning his back to pull a thick leather-bound logbook from a shelf.
”Markus,” I said softly, the name slipping out before I could stop it.
“That was his name, right?
On the bracelet?” Dylan paused, his hand resting on the spine of the book.
“Markus Vani.
Class-2 structural technician.” ”Does…
does Sarah know?” ”His family will be notified according to protocol,” Dylan replied, his tone remaining flat, but I caught the subtle, almost imperceptible shift in his jaw—a tiny, rigid pulse of restraint.
He cared, in his own cold, buried way, even if he refused to show it.
“Get some sleep, Stella.” ♡´･ᴗ･`♡ By mid-morning the next day, my knee felt vastly better, but boredom had set in like a physical weight.
My phone was completely dead, there was no television, and the cabin offered little entertainment.
I spent the next two hours exploring the private space, discovering a small bookshelf filled with dense tactical manuals, historical volumes, and classical literature.
A small balcony at the back offered a sweeping view of the forest perimeter, and Dylan’s desk was neatly arranged with maps and operational notes written in a complex code I couldn’t begin to decipher.
I hovered over his papers for a full minute before deciding that snooping around a dangerous man’s classified documents was a fast track to getting thrown out into the mud.
By early afternoon, I couldn’t take the four walls any longer.
I pushed the front door open and stepped out onto the gravel walkway.
The cold mountain air hit my face, crisp and clear.
Across the open courtyard, several operatives were moving gear between trucks.
When I walked past, a few of them paused, looking at me not with hostility, but with open curiosity.
An older guard carrying a crate of radio equipment caught my eye and offered a brief, polite nod.
“Afternoon, Mrs.
Burke.” I stopped dead in my tracks, my mouth opening slightly.
The name was still weird to hear.
Farther down the line, near the main command tent, a group of senior officers was gathered around Dylan.
Collins was gesturing animatedly at a digital map, saying something in a low voice that caused two of the surrounding guards to burst into sudden, uncharacteristic laughter.
Dylan gave them a murderous look that instantly silenced the entire group.
Standing fifty feet away, I caught it—a tiny, subtle twitch at the very corner of his mouth.
He had almost smiled.
Then his eyes shifted across the courtyard and locked directly onto me.
The subtle crack in his armor vanished instantly, replaced by his usual unyielding mask.
He raised two fingers, gesturing for me to walk over.
I let out a slow sigh, smoothing down my overalls.
Great.
The tyrant noticed me.