Opposing Ruins Mission

Chapter 2

Narrator: Captain Elias "Eli" Ward

They say agreeing to something out of desperation doesn't count as a real choice.

I used to believe that.

Now I know better.

I stood outside the Iron Hollow courthouse in my one good jack the charcoal one with the patch on the inside elbow and tried not to think too hard about what was about to happen.

Above me, the American flag flapped in the wind, defiant against the wide Montana sky. Behind me, Ash sat in the bed of my truck, watching the doors like he expected me to bolt.

Part of me wanted to.

Instead, I turned up my collar and walked inside.

The air in the courthouse smelled like old books, Pine-Sol, and something faintly metalliclike the stale taste of regret.

The receptionist glanced up from her crossword and gave me a tight nod. "Upstairs. Conference room B."

I took the stairs two at a time, partly because the elevator still hadn't worked since 2018, but mostly to burn off nerves. My boots echoed against the concrete, each step thudding like a countdown to something irreversible.

The door to Conference Room B was open. I paused in the hallway, bracing myself.

She was already there.

Lily Quinn.

She stood near the window with her arms crossed over her chest, eyes fixed on the burned-out skyline just beyond the trees. Same dark hair, same determined jaw. But different, too. Sharper around the edges. Tired in a way I recognized because I wore the same look in the mirror most mornings.

She didn't turn when she spoke.

"You're late."

I stepped inside. "Traffic."

Her shoulders stiffened. "In Iron Hollow?"

I didn't answer. What was I supposed to say? Sorry, I needed ten more minutes to remember how to breathe before walking into this room with you?

She finally looked over at me, and the full weight of her gaze hit like a sucker punch. Her eyes weren't angry. They weren't anything. And somehow that made it worse.

We stared at each other, two ghosts who hadn't seen each other since the funeral five years ago. Not even a phone call. Just silence.

"You look..." she began, then stopped. "Different."

"So do you."

That was safer than saying I still remember how your laugh sounded when Luke made you dance in the kitchen barefoot.

She motioned to the manila envelope in her hand. "I read the contract."

"Yeah. Me too."

"You agreed to this?" Her voice was quiet, unreadable.

I leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "Didn't have much of a choice."

Her brow furrowed. "That's not a great start to a marriage."

"It's not a real marriage."

That made her flinch, and I regretted it instantly. But I didn't take it back.

Silence stretched between us. Thick. Tense.

She looked down at the papers. "It's a year."

"I know."

"One year living together, running the reconstruction. Presenting a united front. Married on paper."

"No intimacy. No emotional entanglements. We agreed."

Her mouth pressed into a line. "Just a job."

"Exactly."

More silence.

Then she said, "You didn't tell me about the clause."

"I only found out an hour before you did."

"I should've walked away the second Betty said your name."

"Why didn't you?"

Her eyes met mine, cool and steady. "Because this town is falling apart. And because Luke wanted to restore the inn before"

She stopped herself. Swallowed. Started again.

"He wanted that place to mean something again. I can't bring him back. But I can bring that place back."

That hit deep. Deeper than I let her see.

"I didn't do this to hurt you," I said.

She looked out the window again. "No. But that doesn't mean it won't."

I didn't have a response for that.

A minute later, Betty burst in like a force of nature, all business and bright energy.

"Well, you're both here. Wonderful. Let's get you two legally hitched, shall we?"

Lily and I exchanged a look that could've flattened a mountain.

The signing itself was anti-climactic.

We sat at a long table like it was a corporate merger and initialed line after line while the county clerk oversaw the process. Betty chirped in the background about PR statements, community optimism, and photo ops we'd need to consider.

I stared at the final signature line. Spouse 1: Elias Ward. I picked up the pen.

"This doesn't mean anything," Lily said softly beside me.

I looked at her.

"Just business," she said again, almost to herself.

I signed.

So did she.

And just like that, we were married.

Outside, the sun was slipping behind the mountains, casting long shadows over the streets. I walked her to her car out of habit more than anything. She parked a black SUV with a university decal on the back. It looked expensive. Clean. Out of place here.

"Are we really going to live in that place?" she asked, unlocking the door.

"The inn's half-finished, but livable. Plumbing's rough. Electrical's new. There's a wall between the two bedrooms."

She raised an eyebrow. "Separate bedrooms. Thank God."

"I'm not here to make you uncomfortable."

"You already do."

I didn't argue.

"Tomorrow we meet with the contractors," I said. "Betty wants a photo of us on the site."

"Of course she does."

"I'll bring Ash."

"Your dog?"

"He's better in public than I am."

She gave me a small, sad smile. The first expression that wasn't made of ice. "Some things never change."

Then she got in and drove off without another word.

I watched the taillights disappear down Main Street and told myself I wasn't hurt. That this was the plan. That it didn't matter.

I was wrong.

Back at the trailer, I grabbed a beer from the fridge and sat on the steps with Ash curled up beside me. The wind had picked up. Somewhere down the road, someone was playing an old country ballad on their porch radio.

I watched the stars blink to life and thought about the last time I'd seen Lily laugh. Really laugh. It was the night before Luke shipped out. We'd had dinner at the old inn back when it had working lights and polished floors. He'd danced with her in the dining room after dessert, humming Sinatra under his breath.

I'd watched from the corner. Jealous, even then.

Not because I wanted her. But because he made it look so easy. So damn effortless.

Now he was gone, and I was the one pretending to be her husband.

The next morning, I showed up at the inn early. Contractors were already unloading supplies. The place still smelled like char and damp timber. But there was life in it. Hammers. Voices. Possibility.

Ash followed me inside and immediately found a warm patch of sun by the broken fireplace.

I walked the perimeter. Noticed the cracks. The sag in the beams. The work ahead.

This was going to take more than a federal grant and two emotionally wrecked human beings.

"Nice of you to show up early," came a voice behind me.

I turned.

Lily was there, dressed in work boots, jeans, and a flannel shirt rolled to her elbows. She looked like the girl I remembered. And not at all.

"I live closer," I said.

"You live in a trailer."

"You live in a car."

She smiled. Brief. Real.

We stood there, awkward.

Then she said, "Let's get started.