Chapter 7: Return to Savannah

After I brought Marcus back to Savannah, it caused a huge stir. The town was abuzz—everyone from the mayor’s wife to the local kids at the ice cream shop was talking about it.

"Good, good, good," my granddad praised me over and over. "Rachel, you’re loyal and brave, risking everything to bring Marcus back. I’ll reward you for this." His eyes gleamed with pride, his grip on my shoulder firm.

After hearing his words, Marcus glanced at me. For a second, the old Marcus was back, the one who believed in happy endings.

I kept a straight face. "Grandpa, it’s what I should do." My voice sounded steadier than I felt.

My granddad held Marcus’s hand for a long time, silent. Sometimes, words just aren’t enough. The room was thick with unsaid things, memories layered over regrets.

"That governor," Marcus’s uncle’s eyes were red as he gritted his teeth. "One day we’ll take back the capital and hang his head on the courthouse steps for all the lost." His voice was a low growl, a promise made in blood.

My granddad put my hand in Marcus’s. His grip was gentle but insistent, sealing a pact older than both of us.

Marcus’s hand was ice cold, and I tried to pull away. His fingers tightened, refusing to let go.

But Marcus gripped my hand tight.

I glared at him: "What are you doing?" My whisper was sharp, barely for his ears alone.

Getting a little too comfortable, aren’t you? I shot him a look that would’ve made a lesser man back off.

I promised to help you hide your hearing loss, not to fake being lovebirds.

Marcus acted like nothing was up, holding my hand, standing next to me. He put on a good show for the old folks, never breaking character.

My granddad looked pleased.

He sighed: "Marcus, by rights, you should mourn your parents for three years. But these are different times. I’ll officiate your wedding. You and Rachel, how about tying the knot in three months?" His voice was warm, the kind of blessing that carried the weight of the past and the hope for the future.