Dana lowered her rifle, the cold rain washing the blood from her face. She looked at Marcus, who stood beside the Suburban, watching the federal tactical teams fast-rope down onto the asphalt with weapons drawn.
Marcus turned to look at Dana. A small, sad, but undeniably free smile touched the corner of his lips.
Is Julian resting now? Marcus asked, his voice barely a whisper beneath the roar of the Black Hawks.
Dana reached into her tactical vest, took out the cracked military watch, and pressed it firmly into Marcus’s trembling palm.
He is, Marcus, Dana said softly. And finally, so are you.





