Jasmine's POV
The days slipped by, each one blending into the next with an ease I hadn't realized I needed. The farm had become my anchor, a place where the cacophony of the world outside could be muffled, where I could breathe and exist without fear of what was coming next. I watched as my kids, in their own ways, began to find their footing in this new world we'd created together.
Raine had found her rhythm in track, her legs slicing through the air like she was born to run. I'd watch her at her meets, her face set in determination, then give her a quick hug after each race, balancing the roles of her coach and mother. There was something deeply satisfying about seeing her shine in something that wasn't survival.
"Keep pushing yourself," I'd tell her after sparring with her in the mornings, the weight of the fights between us not lost on either of us. There were moments when I had to remind myself to be gentle, but I never let her off easy. She needed to learn, just like the rest of them.
Robin, on the other hand, was far from home, volunteering in another town. She'd taken to building homes for people, learning how to hold a hammer, drive nails, and weather the aches that came with hard labor. She sent me videos and updates, a little cocky about how many people she was impressing. There was a rivalry between her and Taylor, a playful one, about who was the "better builder" and "better fighter." I had to laugh when she texted me one day, "Taylor still can't lift as much as I can. He's getting soft."
Taylor and Skyler were both at a football camp in another state, and I let them grow on their own. I sent care packages, making sure they had the best gear and called them occasionally just to check in. There was a piece of me that missed them, but I was also proud of how independent they were becoming. They were growing into strong young men, and that felt right, even if it left a knot in my chest.
Cameron continued with his senior year of high school, keeping up appearances as a normal teenager. But I knew the truth. He spent his free time at the local prison, tutoring inmates, and helping them with their GEDs and rehab programs. I kept tabs on him, making sure he was safe, always close enough to offer quiet support without smothering him.
Sol, my youngest, was still homeschooling. His anxiety kept him at home with me, but he was more than content to spend his mornings learning herbalism and first aid. There was an intensity to his focus, a determination to learn things I hadn't even expected. He and I spent hours together, moving between lessons and practice. His calmness was a stark contrast to the chaotic world outside, and I sensed he'd grow into someone indispensable, a quiet force in a world that was changing faster than we could keep up.
Even with all the training and preparation, I tried to create a sense of peace for my kids. Combat readiness became routine, and normal, without instilling fear. There was a balance I'd learned over the years—the art of blending discipline with love, of keeping them safe without turning them into weapons.
My relationship with Max and Claire continued to grow. Claire and I spent hours talking about herbal remedies and parenting, while Max helped me fine-tune the farm's vehicles and added new security features, ensuring that the property would be safe from whatever threats might be out there. I felt like part of their family now, a quiet but powerful presence in their lives. After all these years, they have become my family, too.
Nicole's POV
My visits to the farm had become more frequent, the pull of it growing stronger with each passing day. The time I spent away on my cover job at the nearby military base gave Jasmine the space she needed, but when I was here, the world seemed to slow down in a way I hadn't expected.
When I was at the farm, I threw myself into the work—helping with chores, feeding the animals, and even taking part in training sessions with Jasmine. Our sparring had become routine—no longer just a way to practice, but a chance for us to connect without words. There was something about the quiet intensity of those moments—the subtle tension in the way my hands gripped the sparring staff or the way our eyes met when we moved as one—that made me feel closer to her.
We spent evenings together, watching movies under the stars or riding horses out by the fields. Her body pressed close to mine, the world around us nothing more than the sound of hooves and the rustle of the wind. In those slow, quiet moments, I could easily imagine a life we could build together. A life that felt simple, real.
But I couldn't ignore the quiet hum of tension beneath the surface. Jasmine still kept her weapon close at night, a habit I wasn't sure she even realized she had. I noticed it when she thought I wasn't looking—the way her hand always brushed the spot where she'd stashed her gun like it was part of her now. I didn't push her on it. Some habits ran deeper than others, and I wasn't sure she was ready to face whatever demons that habit held.
My team continued their visits, often popping by the farm for briefings, always watching, always observing. They liked Jasmine, I could tell—especially Giselle, who made it a point to joke that her place was better than any "tourist ranch" she'd ever been to. Logan remained hyper-watchful, but he couldn't find anything wrong with her.
Devan and Sloan kept their distance, their concern for my attachment to Jasmine growing by the day. They said little, but I could see it in their eyes—an unspoken worry about how quickly I'd fallen for her. I was beginning to sense that this fragile peace we'd found could be temporary.
Laney and Ren, however, seemed to enjoy the simplicity of farm life. Ren even swore that I used my combat training to cut vegetables faster, which made me chuckle. They weren't sure about Jasmine's past, but they were more than willing to accept her for the moment.