They returned to the resort under a blanket of stars, walking side by side along the winding lantern-lit path that cut through fragrant flowering trees and gently swaying palms. The sounds of Casperia Prime’s southern sea were soft in the distance—waves lapping against the shore of a private cove just beyond the ridge.

The night was still warm, kissed by a breeze rolling off the bay. Towering crystal-spire trees shimmered faintly in the moonlight, their bioluminescent roots curling over the hillside like veins of soft light beneath the earth.

Gwyn’s suite was tucked into a vine-draped cliffside villa, one of many elegant retreats built into the rock overlooking the sea. She paused outside the door, glancing at him with a soft expression.

“Come in for a drink?” she asked.

Jack gave a small nod, voice low. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

Inside, the suite was calm and softly lit. The windows—really just a wide, glassless opening—were covered only by sheer curtains that fluttered gently. The view beyond was unreal: pale orange moons hanging over still, indigo waters and a scattering of glowing lantern buoys drifting in the shallows. The scent of night-blooming cassari flowers drifted in from outside—sweet, clean, and unmistakably Casperia.

Jack took it all in, letting the weight of the day settle off his shoulders.

Gwyn moved to the kitchenette and pulled out a bottle of Casperia white—pale green-gold with a swirl of faint sparkling sediment. “Not replicated,” she said proudly. “Local vineyard. Real cork, real aging, real work.”

He watched her with a hint of amusement. “Do you always travel with a better wine selection than the ambassadorial wing?”

She poured the glasses and handed him one. “I’ve learned to pack for quality.”

They sat on the curved couch facing the open sea, the night warm and alive with distant birdcalls and the gentle rise and fall of tide-song.

“So…” she asked, settling in and tucking her legs beneath her, “What does Jack Reacher do when he’s not giving orders or chasing down pirates?”

He took a sip, savoring the crisp, mineral taste of the wine. “I read. I walk. I try and fail to rest.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Spy novels, I’m guessing?”

He chuckled. “Always. There’s something comforting about fictional chaos. It’s clean. Predictable.”

She smiled faintly. “What would you have done if not Starfleet?”

Jack was quiet for a moment. “I grew up in Durango, Colorado. Raised by my mom. Never knew my father. My grandfather was a MACO—retired by the time I was born. He raised me like I was still at boot camp.”

She listened, her green eyes steady.

“He’d take me out into the woods—camping, survival drills, tracking. Taught me the stars before I even understood what they were made of. Never pushed Starfleet on me, but… when Wolf 359 happened, and then the Dominion War—it changed something in me. I couldn’t just be a bystander. I wanted to do something.”

“You did,” Gwyn said gently. “You’ve done a lot.”

“Sometimes I think about those names on casualty reports,” he said, voice quieter. “Whole families wiped out. Kids growing up like I did—without one or both parents. I knew if I didn’t serve, I’d regret it. And if I did serve, I had to do it right.”

She reached for his hand, intertwining her fingers with his. “You’ve been carrying that weight a long time.”

“Yeah,” he admitted. “But here, now? It feels lighter.”

They fell into a long, easy silence, broken only by the sigh of wind across the veranda.

“I’ve been all over the quadrant,” Gwyn said finally. “Frontier worlds, deep space stations, warzones dressed up as clinics. I’ve helped save lives I’ll never remember, and lost people I’ll never forget.”

Jack looked at her. “And still, you keep showing up.”

She nodded. “Because if I don’t, who will?”

He understood that better than most.

She leaned into him, her head resting on his shoulder. “Stay?”

He didn’t hesitate. “If you want me to.”

“I do. Not for anything complicated,” she whispered. “Just… for this. The closeness. The quiet.”

He wrapped an arm around her and held her close. “No uniforms here.”

“No ghosts either,” she said.

Later That Night

They lay together on the broad, low-slung bed framed in dark native wood. The glassless windows remained open, and the sea breeze played over the sheets. A soft chime from a wind sculpture outside filled the room with occasional notes of harmony.

Jack lay on his back, arm around her as she slept curled into him, her fingers lightly resting on his chest. He stared up at the star-lit ceiling projection flickering gently above—one of Casperia’s luxuries—and for the first time in months, he felt present. Not on duty. Not responsible for everyone and everything. Just… here.

Her breathing was soft and even.

Outside, the waves rolled in toward the cliffs, the surf breaking gently in time with the rhythm of her breath.

And Jack, for the first time in a very long time, let himself fall asleep without fear of waking to a red alert.