Updated Feb 18, 2026 • ~3 min read
WILLA
Three months post-Malcolm.
We’re planning our future.
For real this time.
“I got a job offer,” Archer says over breakfast.
“Where?”
“Silvercrest High School. Teaching history. They need someone for next semester.”
My heart jumps.
“That’s my school.”
“I know. Joel—your principal—called me. Said you recommended me.”
“I might have mentioned you were looking for teaching positions.”
He grins.
“So we’d be working together?”
“If you take the job.”
“Are you okay with that? Seeing me every day at work?”
“Are you kidding? I’d love it.”
He pulls me into his lap.
“Then I’m taking the job.”
“Really?”
“Really. I’m done with FBI. Done with danger. I want normal. I want to teach teenagers about World War II and the American Revolution. I want to grade papers and complain about staff meetings. I want boring.”
I laugh.
“Boring sounds perfect.”
We tell Marcus that weekend.
He’s visiting from Arizona.
New FBI assignment there.
“You’re really doing it? Civilian life?”
“I am.”
“How does it feel?”
“Terrifying. Amazing. Right.”
Marcus looks at Willa.
“You’re good for him.”
“He’s good for me too.”
“I can tell. He’s smiling more. Relaxed. Happy.”
I am happy.
Genuinely.
For the first time in years.
“What about you?” I ask Marcus. “Any romantic prospects?”
He laughs.
“Nah. I’m married to the job.”
“That sounds lonely.”
“Sometimes. But it’s what I know.”
“You deserve happiness too.”
“Maybe someday. When I retire. But for now, I’m good.”
We have dinner.
Tell stories.
Laugh.
Normal friend things.
It’s perfect.
After Marcus leaves, Willa and I walk on the beach.
Same beach where I first moved to Silvercrest.
“Can I ask you something?” she says.
“Anything.”
“Do you ever regret it? Leaving the FBI? Giving up that life?”
I think about it.
Honestly.
“No. Not even a little. That life cost me too much. My identity. My family. Years of my life. I’m done sacrificing. I want to live.”
“With me?”
“Especially with you.”
She stops walking.
Turns to face me.
“I love you, Archer Saint.”
“I love you, Willa Crane.”
“Will you marry me?”
I freeze.
“What?”
“Will you marry me? I know it’s traditional for the guy to ask, but screw tradition. I almost lost you. Twice. I’m not waiting anymore. So: will you marry me?”
I’m stunned.
Speechless.
Then I laugh.
Pull her close.
“Yes. Absolutely yes.”
She kisses me.
Hard. Happy. Perfect.
“I don’t have a ring,” she says.
“I don’t care.”
“We should probably tell people.”
“Probably.”
“But maybe later?”
“Definitely later.”
We go home.
Celebrate properly.
And I realize:
This is what happiness feels like.
Not adrenaline.
Not danger.
Not missions.
Just love.
Simple. Honest. Real.
And it’s everything.
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