Page 107 of Last Hope

Now Maya wore a matching watch, their fingers intertwined, those walls nothing but rubble.

"From suspicious NCIS agent to wife," Minerva mused. "That first day, I thought she might arrest him."

"That first day, she wanted to." John chuckled. "Now look at them."

"Now look at all of them," Minerva corrected, her voice soft with emotion. "Your collection of strays."

"Our collection," he corrected, pulling her closer. "You mother them as much as I do."

"Someone had to make sure they eat actual food instead of MREs." She paused, watching Griff fix a wayward curl that had escaped from Sarah's elaborate updo. The gesture was so tender, so unconscious, it made John's chest tight. "Although I think Sarah has that covered for Griff now."

"She got him to go to a farmer's market last week. Voluntarily."

"Miracles do happen." Minerva's tone turned thoughtful. "You know what Tank would say if he could see this?"

John considered. Marcus "Tank" Sullivan had been the heart of the team, the one who could make anyone laugh, who'd kept them human when the missions tried to strip that away. "He'd probably take credit for the whole thing."

She laughed. The silver sound still made his heart quicken, even after all these years.

"He did it.” His voice roughened. “Tank brought them back together. Brought Griff home."

They stood, arm-in-arm, watching their people—their family—celebrate. Axel spun Olivia again, this time successfully, and the psychologist's laugh rang out pure and bright.

Griff appeared at John's elbow suddenly, Sarah tucked against his side. For a moment, the operator straightened into that old military bearing, and John braced for the formal gratitude, the stiff acknowledgment.

Instead, Griff raised his glass of sparkling cider in a silent toast, mouthed "Thank you, sir." Not for the mission. Not for the job. But for something deeper. For not giving up. For keeping the light on. For believing he could find his way home.

John returned the silent toast, throat tight, then watched as Sarah tugged Griff back toward the dance floor.

They're ready,he thought, watching them all.Knight Tacticalis in the best hands possible. Maybe it's time to trust them with their own futures.

"Twenty-eight," Minerva whispered.

"What?"

"Times he's touched that ring box. He did it again."

John laughed, feeling younger than he had in years. "Dance with me, Mrs. Knight?"

"Always," she said, and as they moved onto the floor, their teams—their family—swirling around them in a kaleidoscope of laughter and love, John thought about second chances, about redemption, about how God never wastes a single moment of pain or loss.

The music swelled, Chantal's delighted laughter rang out as DJ spun her dramatically, and John pulled Minerva closer, watching Axel and Olivia in the center of it all—the catalyst for tonight's joy.

"Mission complete?" she asked softly.

He looked at Griff and Sarah, lost in each other as they swayed to the music. At his teams, whole and happy and home. At Axel, no longer haunted, dancing with his bride. At all these broken warriors who'd become something more.

"Mission complete," he confirmed. "All personnel accounted for."

It was, he decided, his most successful operation yet.

And somewhere in Heaven, he was certain Tank Sullivan grinned, definitely taking credit for the whole thing.

The man would absolutely be right. After all, the best operations—the ones that really mattered—weren't about eliminating threats or completing missions. They were about bringing warriors home to become something more: family.

And this family,John thought, holding his wife close as their people danced around them,was only getting started.