The safe house was peaceful for the first time in years.
Vance sat on the porch, watching his daughter play in the yard. She was five now, with her mother's dark hair and her father's determined eyes. She ran through the grass, laughing, chasing butterflies.
Echo sat beside him, her hand in his. "She's beautiful."
"She gets it from you."
Echo smiled. "She gets her stubbornness from you."
"Probably." Vance watched his daughter. "Echo, I've been thinking."
"About what?"
"About the future. About what happens when we stop fighting."
Echo was silent for a moment. "Do you think we'll ever stop fighting?"
"I don't know. But I want to try. I want to build something. Something permanent."
"Like what?"
"Like a home. A real home. Somewhere we can raise our daughter without looking over our
