Her Obsession (by Sheridan Hartin) novel Chapter 164

The monings are louder these days. Not the bad kind of loud, not gunfire or shouting or the sound of boots pounding through the traits, just the good kind. Laughter. The scrape of chairs. The clatter of pans and mugs and spoons that don’t match because no one around here cares if they do. The food hall’s already buzzing when I walk in. The smell of bacon and coffee hits first, warm and familiar. Ari’s at the stove flipping pancakes with her hait tied up in a scarf, and Winnie’s beside her, nursing a cup of tea while she chops fruit with the precision of a surgeon. The men have taken over the long tables, setting them up in uneven lines that would make Nico twitch if he weren’t too busy trying to keep Liam from stealing all the cutlery. It’s chaos. Beautiful, controlled chaos. And for once in my life, I don’t

feel the need to fix it.

Sage is already seated near the end of the table, sunlight catching the edge of her hair. She’s talking quietly to Matteo about some new training schedule for the recruits, her hand curled around a mug that probably started the day as coffee and ended up as whiskey. That’s my girl. I move behind her, bend to press a kiss to the top of her head, before sitting beside her. She glances at me, smirking. “You’re up

early.”

“So are you,” I counter.

“Difference is,” she says, sipping from her mug, “I slept.”

I snort. “You’re lying.”

She hums, not denying it. The noise swells as plates are passed down the line, people shouting for syrup and butter, someone at the back yelling about burnt toast. It’s a family, in the strangest, most unconventional way. None of us started here but all of us found something here worth staying for. I take a bite of pancake, lean back in my chair, and just watch for a while. The chatter. The movement. The way everyone fits, somehow. We built this. Fourteen years ago, I couldn’t have imagined it, a house full of warmth instead of weapons, people laughing instead of looking over their shoulders. Sometimes I call Ma and Pa just to tell them about mornings like this. Pa listens in silence, and when I finish, he always says the same thing: “You did good, son.”

Ma cries every time. Says she wishes she could see it. I tell her she will, soon. She’s proud. They both are. And that means something, more than I ever thought it would. Beside me, Sage reaches for another pancake, her movements slow and unhurried. The faint lines around her eyes are deeper now, but she wears them like they belong there. Like proof of all the storms she’s weathered. She catches me watching and raises an eyebrow. “You’re staring.”

“Admiring,” I correct.

“Same thing.”

“Not when it’s you.”

Her lips twitch, fighting a smile. “Smooth as ever, O’Neill.”

I shrug. “Worked on you, didn’t it?”

1/2

9:17 Fri, Nov 14

The Quiet After.

That earns me the smallest laugh, quiet and real, and it hits me harder than it should, that even mine. We’ve grown together; this place has grown around us. We’ve created a rhythm, a home come to feel safe, a place for the ghosts to belong. I couldn’t be prouder of how far Sage has calculating, but she’s softer now. She’s learnt to relax, to live in the moment and enjoy the little to

to offer her.

thing, she’s still here, Sul

people who are benhum can

Sage, still dangerous, stil

ute has to offer her, what I have

“Hey, boss!” someone calls from the other end of the table. It’s Nico, holding up a tray stacked with plates. “We finally found a system for keeping Liam from eating half the food before it hits the table.”

“Shock collar?” I ask.

–

Liam flips me off, and the table erupts into laughter. It’s stupid, this joy. Simple. Ordinary. But after the lives we’ve lived, ordinary feels like the most incredible luxury of all. And then I see Diego walk in. He comes in through the side door, quiet as a shadow, like he’s always done these last few years of him becoming a man. He’s taller now, broader through the shoulders, the kind of strength that looks unbothered until it moves. His hair’s shorter than last week, shaved at the sides again, and there’s a smudge of grease across his hand that tells me he’s been working on something he shouldn’t be. He greets a few people on his way past — a slap on the shoulder here, a lazy grin there – before sliding into a seat at the far end. Someone passes him a plate, and he starts eating without a word, half–listening to the conversations around him, laughing once or twice at the right moments. He fits here, too. But differently. While the others talk, his eyes are somewhere else, sharp and calculating, like he’s still watching the world instead of living in it. Sage doesn’t notice. She’s too busy arguing with Winnie about whether tea qualifies as hydration. But I see it. He finishes eating, stands quietly, and slips away the same way he came. No one notices. No one but me. I track him through the window, the tilt of his shoulders, the way he moves with deliberate ease, like a wolf pretending to be tame. There’s a glint in his eye as the sunlight hits it, and I know that look too well. It’s the one I used to see in Sage when she was still learning to love me, when she wasn’t sure if she wanted to kiss me or kill me or capture me. It’s curiosity. And danger. And purpose.

“Connor?” Sage nudges me with her elbow. “You alright?”

I force a smile. “Yeah.”

She tilts her head, studying me, but lets it go. I glance toward the door again, but Diego’s gone. Whatever he’s up to, I’ll find out soon

or start being proud. enough. And I’m not sure if I should stop him