"By going completely dark. By violating your leave status. By conducting an unauthorized solo rescue operation that could have gotten you killed." CJ steps closer. "You went rogue, Frost. Again. Just like Caracas."
"This isn't Caracas."
"Isn't it?" His eyes are hard. "Solo op. No backup. Making it personal. You see the pattern?"
"In Caracas, I followed orders, and someone died. This time, I broke orders, and someone lived. You tell me which one was wrong."
"Both," CJ snaps. "They were both wrong because you keep making it about your guilt instead of the mission. You wear Sofia's dog tags and then wonder why you can't let anything go."
His words hit harder than they should because he's not wrong.
"The civilian—Maggie," CJ continues. "She needs medical assessment, debriefing, and witness protection. The wounded hostile—" He glances at Tyler, still bleeding on the ground, being treated by one of our medics. "—needs transport to federal custody. And you need to come with me for a very long conversation about why I shouldn't terminate your contract right now."
"Understood."
"Do you?" He leans in, voice dropping. "Because from where I'm standing, you just threw away your career for a woman you met six hours ago. And I need to know if that wasworth it."
I look back at the ranch house. Maggie is at the window, watching us, weapon still ready. Even from here, I can see the set of her shoulders, the way she's holding herself together through sheer will.
She shot her own brother twenty minutes ago. Disabled him rather than killed him, which took more control than most trained operators have. And now she's standing guard like a professional because that's who she is when everything falls apart.
Strong. Capable. Fierce.
Worth saving.
Worth choosing.
"Yeah," I tell CJ. "It was worth it, and to be honest, she’d make a fine Guardian. You ever think of hiring a woman, she should be first on your list."
His expression doesn't change, but something flickers in his eyes. Understanding, maybe. Or resignation.
"Federal agent is en route," he says finally. "Witness protection coordinator. Maggie Brooks will be relocated within the hour. New identity. New life. You won't see her again."
The words land like a physical blow.
Won't see her again.
I knew that was coming. Knew witness protection meant disappearing. Knew that saving her life meant losing whatever this is between us before it even had a chance to start.
But knowing doesn't make it hurt less.
"Frost?" CJ's voice pulls me back. "You hearing me?"
"Yeah. I hear you."
"Good. Now get your head straight and help me secure this scene. We've got six bodies, one wounded hostile, and a shitstorm of paperwork coming our way."
"Twelve."
"Excuse me?"
"There are twelve bodies. That’s the second wave." I point vaguely toward the darkness where the bodies of the first wave lie.
"Fuck me." He turns to his operators. "Document everything. And someone get that civilian out here for medical assessment."
I watch them move, efficient and professional, taking control of a situation I created by going rogue. Again.
CJ's right. I do keep making it personal. Keep choosing people over protocol. Keep breaking rules because I can't get past Caracas, can't get past Sofia, can't get past the guilt of following orders while someone died.
