Night settled heavily over the safehouse, cloaking the forest in a thick veil of darkness. The rescue team had retreated into quiet routines—Jax cleaning his weapons in the lounge, Mika still digging through encrypted drives, Tara checking supplies, Vera doing perimeter sweeps.
Inside the operations room, only the soft glow of monitors illuminated Rowan's stern face. He stood over the keyboard, typing rapidly as he established a secure, encrypted connection with the organization's central command.
Static crackled before a familiar voice answered. Calm, steady, a voice Rowan had reported to for years.
"Status report."
Rowan inhaled slowly. "Rambo's operation has been compromised. The ship has been destroyed, along with most of his experimental subjects. We recovered fragments of his data—enough to prove intent, not enough to understand the full scope. His funding sources and connections are more extensive than previously assumed."
"And the subject?" the voice asked. "Roselyn Young."
Rowan's gaze flickered to the hallway outside the room. "She survived. Physically stable, mentally strained. Her knowledge of Rambo's operations makes her valuable… but it also makes her the prime target. If he resurfaces, he'll come for her."
There was a brief, heavy silence on the other side.
"Understood. Her safety becomes priority one. We're elevating her to high-risk witness status. Prepare to initiate the protocol. She'll be given a new identity and transferred as soon as she's ready."
Rowan's jaw tightened. He expected this, yet the words still felt like a punch. "She's barely had time to breathe since we rescued her. This isn't something she'll accept easily."
"Whether she accepts it or not is irrelevant," the voice replied. "If Rambo is still alive—and we believe he is—she will be hunted. Cut ties with her old life. No contact with family. Complete relocation. No exceptions."
Rowan closed his eyes for a moment. "Affirmative."
The line disconnected, leaving the room unsettlingly quiet. He stood still, hands braced on the table, letting the weight of the decision settle—because once he told Roselyn, the world she knew would be gone. Entirely. Irrevocably.
He found her in the living quarters, curled up on the long wooden bench by the window. The glass reflected her faintly—fragile, haunted, but with a stubbornness simmering beneath.
The forest outside was pitch-black except for the moonlight slipping through the branches. She wasn't crying, but her shoulders were tense, her breathing shallow.
Rowan approached quietly. "Roselyn."
She turned slowly, eyes wary yet searching—always searching, as if trying to gauge danger even in safety.
Rowan sat across from her, maintaining a respectful distance. "I need to explain the situation. It's important."
Her fingers tightened around the blanket in her lap. "Is it about Rambo?"
"In a way." He exhaled. "We've received direct instructions from the agency. They assessed your risk level and… they've made a decision."
Roselyn's posture stiffened. "What decision?"
Rowan didn't sugarcoat. She deserved truth, even if it hurt. "They want to place you under witness protection."
The room seemed to go still. Even the soft hum of the generators faded under the weight of the words.
"Witness… protection?" she repeated, voice thin.
"Yes." He held her gaze, steady and unflinching. "You'll be relocated under a new identity. Your past erased. Your name, your records, your connections—all wiped from the public eye."
Her lips trembled. "My family… they won't know where I am?"
He shook his head gently. "Not for now. And maybe not for a long time. Contacting them would put them—and you—at even greater risk."
Roselyn's eyes glistened, but she blinked quickly, refusing to let tears fall. "So I just… disappear?"
"You survive," Rowan corrected softly. "And disappearing is the only way to ensure that."
She leaned back, exhaling shakily. "All my life, I've lived in someone else's shadow. My father's name. My mother's expectations. My brother's success. I barely had anything that belonged to me."
Her voice broke. "Now the little I do have is being taken away too."
Rowan swallowed, unable to ignore the pang in his chest. "It's not about taking—it's about protecting."
"But protection feels like a prison," she whispered.
He shifted closer, lowering his tone. "Roselyn… Rambo didn't just experiment on you. He invested in you. You know things he doesn't want exposed. That makes you leverage. And leverage, in his hands, means danger."
Silence hung between them—heavy, suffocating, yet honest.
After a long moment, Roselyn hugged her knees to her chest. "Will I be alone?"
Rowan hesitated only briefly. "No. I'll be with you until the transition is complete. At least until the agency confirms you're safe."
Her eyes flicked up. "And after that?"
He didn't answer immediately. There were rules—strict lines he wasn't supposed to cross. But looking at her now, fragile yet filled with quiet resilience, he found himself breaking them in his mind.
"I'll still be nearby," he said, softer than intended. "Just… not officially."
Their eyes locked, and something unspoken lingered between them—a slow, tentative bond, forged by fear and trust and shared danger.
Roselyn exhaled, the fight inside her simmering down into a fragile acceptance. "If this is what I have to do to stay alive… I'll do it."
Rowan nodded, relieved yet troubled. "Good. It won't be easy, but you're not facing this alone."
He stood, offering her a steady hand.
She hesitated—but only for a moment—before placing her hand in his. A quiet symbol of trust. Of surrender. Of choosing life over fear.
Outside, the wind rustled the branches, whispering through the darkness like a promise—or a warning.
Roselyn's old life was over.
But a new one, uncertain and dangerous, was just beginning.