I study the photo. Hard eyes, sharp features. The kind of face that doesn't forget threats.
"And Tommy's package?" I ask.
"Ready to deploy when we find the right access point." Reagan's smile carries an edge. "Fake intel, planted documents, financial records that make it look like Kosygin's people have been selling out the Committee for months. Webb's paranoid enough to believe it. Once he does, the alliance tears itself apart."
"Psychological warfare."
"The best kind. No bullets, no bodies. Just information in the right place at the right time."
I've watched Reagan evolve over the past months. The journalist who stumbled into our world has become something else. Still sharp, still relentless, but now she understands that some stories require more than words.
"You're ready," I say.
"I've been ready." She stands, crosses to where I'm standing. "Khalid?"
"We tell him tonight. He stays here, continues training with Mercer, keeps working with Dr. Voss." I meet her eyes. "He's not going to like it."
"No. But he'll understand."
A knock sounds at the door. Light, hesitant. Khalid.
"Come in," Reagan calls.
He enters slowly, his expression caught between determination and uncertainty. He's been watching us all evening, I realize. Watching Reagan research, watching me return from Kane's office, reading the operational tempo that comes before deployment.
"I know something's happening," Khalid says. "Something about Prague. You're both going, aren't you?"
Reagan and I exchange a glance. We haven't briefed him yet, but Khalid's learned to read the signs.
"Kane assigned us to a surveillance op," I say. "Two to three weeks."
"And I'm supposed to stay here, go to school, talk to Dr. Voss about my feelings while you're out there in hostile territory."
"Khalid," Reagan starts.
"When can I start real training?" The words burst out of him, weeks of frustration compressed into a single question. "When can I help?"
Every instinct says no. He's a teenager. He's survived more trauma than most operators encounter in a career. And he's asking to walk deeper into the world that destroyed his family.
But I see something else too. The determination in his stance, the way he watches me without flinching. He's not asking for permission to do something reckless. He's looking for a path forward.
"When you're eighteen," I say. "When you've finished school. When you're ready."
"And who decides when I'm ready?" His voice carries an edge now, challenge mixed with genuine curiosity. "You? Reagan? Kane?"
"We do. You, me, Reagan. Not Kane. Not anyone else." I step closer. "You don't get to throw your life away because you're angry. You don't get to charge into danger because you want revenge or because you feel helpless. That's not how this works."
"Then how does it work?"
"You train. You prepare. You become someone who can survive this work, who can contribute without getting killed or getting other people killed." I pause, making sure he hears me. "Then we talk. About what role you might play, what skills you can develop, how you can be part of this fight without destroying yourself in the process."
Khalid is quiet for a long moment. I expected him to argue. To push back. Instead, he just watches me, processing.
"That's more than I expected," he says finally. "A path forward. Not just waiting."
"This work isn't about waiting. It's about preparation." I reach out, grip his shoulder. "You've got time before you're eighteen. Time to finish school, to work with Dr. Voss, to learn everything you can about the world you want to enter. That's not idle time. That's foundation."
"And if you're in Prague and something happens here?"
