Page 171 of Flint’s Strike

She looks at us tangled together, and frowns. “He should be⁠—”

I give her my best glare. The one reserved for criminals who think they’re smarter than I am. “He’s stayin’ right here.”

“Fine. But that knee better not be worse the next time I come in here.” She huffs and mutters something about medical advice and propriety as she stalks back out the door.

Propriety can go fuck itself. Still, I lift the blanket to make sure I’m not putting pressure on his knee. It’s wrapped in a thick brace, and a fresh bruise peeks out from the edges of the straps.

Settling back against the pillows, I look down at Eliot. The cut on his cheek is deep enough to scar. The bruises will fade, but the memories will be with us forever.

This case—what we went through—it did change us. All of us.

Trying to pretend it didn’t? A month ago, I would have committed to that with my whole heart.

But now, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest, a truth settles deep in my soul.

We aren’t broken.

We can’t go back to who we were, but we can choose each other exactly as we are now.

And that’s more than enough.

Epilogue

Eliot

A loud buzzing pulls me from sleep. Parker, curled against me in the hospital bed, groans.

She picks up her phone and squints at the screen. “Nate better have a damn good reason for this.”

We look at the message together.

Turn on Channel 5. Right now.

“Now? It’s five in the fuckin’ morning.” I try to sit up, but my body ain’t having it, and Parker has to find the remote.

The television mounted high on the wall flickers to life.

“Holy shit,” Parker croaks.

Emi’s on screen, standing in front of half a dozen APD vehicles, red and blue lights flashing behind her.

“If you’re just joining us, a high-speed chase has shut down six blocks in downtown Austin surrounding Congress Avenue and Cesar Chavez.”

Fire crews coil their hoses not far from a smoking pile of wreckage, a car burned almost down to its frame.

“As we reported earlier tonight, Senator Gabe Dines and his lawyer, Denny Osgood, had barricaded themselves inside the senator’s home in the Rob Roy neighborhood after a warrant was issued for the senator’s arrest. APD and SWAT attempted to negotiate, and just after four a.m., Mr. Osgood agreed to turn himself in. Minutes later, Senator Dines escaped in a sports car parked in a garage at the edge of his property, triggering a pursuit that lasted nearly forty-five minutes as the senator wove through side streets and around multiple roadblocks.”

Parker finds my hand under the blanket and holds on tight.

The camera cuts back to Emi. “The chase ended here, where Dines’s vehicle struck a barricade at high speed, flipped, and caught fire.” She pauses, and her smooth, professional facade cracks for the briefest of moments, her voice taking on an edge I doubt anyone who doesn’t know her would catch. The barest hint of satisfaction. “Senator Dines did not survive.”

Parker turns off the broadcast and settles back next to me. “Well. I suppose that solves one problem.”

“Just one?” I ask.

Her mouth twitches. “Maybe two. But let’s not push our luck.”

Three Days Later