Odin pads into the room as if summoned, settling against Khalid's leg. The Malinois watches me with eyes that seem to understand exactly what we're discussing.
"Then you follow emergency protocols. You get to the secure areas, you trust Kane and the operators here to protect this base." I don't let him look away. "You don't try to be a hero. You survive."
"I survived before." His voice is quieter now, the challenge fading into something more vulnerable. "When Morrison's people attacked my village. I hid in the well for two days before you found me. I survived by being smart, by staying quiet, by not panicking."
"I know. And that's exactly why I think you could be good at this work someday. But someday isn't today. Today, you're fifteen and still healing. Let yourself heal, Khalid. Let us help you."
He nods slowly, and something shifts in his expression. Acceptance, maybe. Or the beginning of trust in a future that extends beyond survival.
"Okay," he says. "I can do that."
"We'll be back. Whatever happens in Prague, we're coming back."
Reagan steps forward, wraps an arm around Khalid's shoulders. "We should eat. All of us. And we should brief you properly on the operation."
We move to the mess hall, filling our plates. The space is mostly empty at this hour. We claim a corner, the three of us arranged in what's become our usual configuration. Reagan beside me, Khalid across from us, close enough to talk quietly without being overheard.
Reagan walks Khalid through what we know—Webb's money movements, Kosygin's organization, the potential merger. Khalid listens intently, absorbing the information. This is what he wanted, I realize. Not just training, not just combat skills. He wanted to be included, to understand the mission and the enemy.
"So you go to Prague and run surveillance," he says when she finishes. "Document their operations, identify key players."
"That's the mission. Intelligence gathering, not direct action." I glance at Reagan. "We'd be there two to three weeks, maybe longer depending on what we find."
"What happens if they make you? If someone figures out you're not just journalists?"
The question is tactical, practical. He's thinking like an operator already.
"We have extraction protocols," I say. "Multiple routes out of the country, contacts in Vienna who can move us if things go sideways. Kane doesn't send people in without a way to get them out."
"But it's still dangerous."
"Yes." I won't lie to him about that. "Everything we do carries risk. The goal is to minimize it, plan for contingencies, stay ahead of the threat. But yes. It's dangerous."
Khalid absorbs this, turning his fork over in his hand. "When you were in the field before, did you ever think you wouldn't come back?"
Reagan's hand finds mine under the table.
"Sometimes," I admit. "Before I had reasons to come back, it didn't matter as much. Now it does."
"Because of us."
"Because of you. Both of you." I hold his gaze. "That's why we prepare. Why we plan. Why we don't take unnecessary risks. Because coming home matters."
"And I stay here. Go to school. Keep working with Dr. Voss."
"And train," Reagan says. "Dylan talked to Mercer about developing a conditioning program for you. Nothing operational, but physical fitness, situational awareness, basic defensive tactics. The foundation he mentioned."
Khalid's eyes widen slightly. "You already arranged that?"
"We talked about it," I say. "After you asked about weapons training. You want to learn, we'll teach you. But we do it right, in the proper sequence, with proper oversight."
"Thank you." The words come out rough, like he's not used to saying them. "For taking me seriously."
"You've earned it. Everything you survived, everything you've done since. You're not a victim, Khalid. You're a survivor."
The meal continues, punctuated by occasional questions about the Prague op or tactical considerations. It strikes me how natural this feels, three people discussing intelligence operations over chow like other families might discuss weekend plans.
Not the family I expected. But real.
