“Yeah.”
“Are you married?”
The question comes out of nowhere, catching me completely off guard. “What?”
“Married. Girlfriend. Significant other. Someone who worries when you disappear on protection details.”
“No.”
“Ever been married?”
“No.”
“Long-term relationships?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
Because I prefer quick hookups in bars where no names are exchanged. No questions about seeing each other again. Just fucksomeone, scratch the itch, and walk away clean. Explaining my lifestyle to civilians never works. Most women can’t handle what I do for a living. Relationships require emotional availability that my job doesn’t allow.
“Job makes it difficult.”
“Difficult how?”
“Travel. Danger. Classified work.”
“Lots of military personnel maintain relationships.”
“Not like this.”
She’s quiet for several minutes, processing this information with the same thoroughness she applies to ancient ciphers. When she speaks again, her voice is softer.
“It must be lonely.”
The observation hits closer to home than expected. Loneliness isn’t something I allow myself to think about—it serves no tactical purpose and compromises operational focus.
But sitting in this cold basement with a brilliant, beautiful woman who asks too many questions and smells like vanilla, the word carries more weight than it should.
“Sometimes.”
“What about when this is over? When Phoenix is defeated?”
“If Phoenix is defeated.”
“When,” she corrects firmly. “You said Cerberus fights Phoenix and sometimes wins. That implies you believe victory is possible.”
“Victory is possible. Survival isn’t guaranteed.”
“For me or for you?”
Both. But admitting that reveals more vulnerability than tactical situations allow.
“Focus on getting through tonight.”
She’s shivering harder now despite our shared body heat.
“I can’t stop thinking about Sarah, David, andLisa. They were good people. Brilliant researchers. They didn’t deserve to die because they were curious about historical patterns.”
