Updated Feb 18, 2026 • ~4 min read
ARCHER
I’m unarmed.
Malcolm has Willa.
And I’m completely fucked.
But I don’t care.
As long as she lives, nothing else matters.
“Walk forward,” Malcolm orders. “Slowly.”
I do.
Hands visible.
Non-threatening.
Willa’s eyes are tracking me.
Terrified.
Furious.
“Archer, you idiot—”
“Quiet,” Malcolm snaps.
I reach the center of the room.
Ten feet from Willa.
Ten feet from Malcolm.
“Now what?” I ask.
“Now you watch her die. Then I kill you.”
Expected.
“Or,” I say carefully, “you let her go. Take me instead. I’m who you really want.”
“True. But where’s the fun in that?”
“The fun is in making me suffer. You can’t do that if I’m dead. But if you let her go and torture me? That’s days of suffering. Weeks, if you’re creative.”
Malcolm considers.
“You make a compelling argument.”
“I know. So let her go.”
“And trust that you won’t fight back? That you’ll just… submit?”
I look at Willa.
She’s shaking her head.
Mouthing: Don’t.
“I promise. You let her walk out of here safely, and I won’t resist. You can do whatever you want to me.”
Long silence.
“Deal.”
He cuts Willa’s restraints.
She stands.
Wobbly.
Scared.
“Willa, go.”
“I’m not leaving you—”
“GO. Please.”
She looks between us.
Torn.
“If you leave now,” I say quietly, “you live. That’s all that matters.”
“Archer—”
“I love you. Now GO.”
Tears stream down her face.
But she moves.
Toward the door.
Malcolm tracks her with his gun.
“Don’t,” I warn. “We had a deal.”
“I’m just making sure she leaves.”
Willa reaches the door.
Pauses.
Looks back at me.
“I love you too. And I’m coming back for you.”
Then she’s gone.
Relief floods through me.
She’s safe.
That’s all that matters.
Malcolm turns his gun on me.
“Heroic. Stupid. But heroic.”
“You got what you wanted.”
“Not yet. First, restrain him.”
Two of Malcolm’s men appear from the shadows.
Grab me.
Force me into the chair Willa just vacated.
Tie me up.
I don’t resist.
I promised.
When they’re done, Malcolm circles me.
Predatory.
“You know, I expected more of a fight.”
“I gave you my word.”
“Honor. How quaint.”
He hits me.
Hard.
Across the face.
Pain explodes.
Blood fills my mouth.
“That’s for my father.”
He hits me again.
“That’s for destroying my family.”
Again.
“And that’s just because I feel like it.”
I take it.
Every hit.
Every insult.
Because Willa is safe.
“Nothing to say?” Malcolm asks.
“What do you want me to say? That I’m sorry? I’m not. Your father was a monster. He deserved what he got.”
Wrong answer.
Malcolm pulls out a knife.
“You’re going to regret that.”
He moves toward me.
Then gunshots.
From outside.
Malcolm freezes.
“What the fuck?”
More gunshots.
Closer.
FBI.
Tobias must have followed me.
Or tracked me.
The subdermal tracker.
Malcolm’s face twists with rage.
“You brought them!”
“I didn’t—”
He doesn’t listen.
Stabs the knife into my shoulder.
Agony.
White-hot pain.
I scream.
“You lying piece of shit!”
He pulls the knife out.
Raises it again.
Then the door crashes open.
FBI SWAT floods in.
“FBI! Drop your weapon!”
Malcolm spins.
Gun on the agents.
They fire.
Multiple shots.
Malcolm goes down.
Blood everywhere.
Agents swarm.
Cut me free.
Apply pressure to my shoulder.
“Medic! We need a medic!”
The pain is overwhelming.
Vision blurring.
“Willa,” I gasp. “Is she safe?”
“She’s fine. She’s the one who called us.”
What?
“She… called?”
“Yeah. Gave us your location. Led the raid.”
Of course she did.
My brave, stubborn, perfect woman.
Darkness creeps in.
“Stay with us, Saint!”
“Is Malcolm… dead?”
“Yes. You’re safe.”
Good.
It’s over.
Finally over.
I let the darkness take me.
WILLA
I’m pacing outside the warehouse when they bring him out.
Stretcher. Paramedics. Blood.
So much blood.
“Archer!”
I run to him.
He’s unconscious.
Pale.
Barely breathing.
“Is he—”
“He’s alive. Stab wound to the shoulder. Lost a lot of blood. But he’ll make it.”
Relief crashes through me.
“Can I ride with him?”
“Are you family?”
I hesitate.
“She’s his fiancée,” Tobias says behind me.
The paramedic nods.
“Get in.”
I climb into the ambulance.
Hold Archer’s hand.
“Don’t you dare die on me,” I whisper. “We have too much to fix. Too much to say. Don’t you dare leave me.”
His fingers twitch.
Barely.
But enough.
“I’ve got you,” I say. “Just like you’ve had me. Hold on.”
The ambulance races to the hospital.
Sirens blaring.
And I don’t let go of his hand.
Not once.
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