“Used to,” I echoed. “Then something happened, and I left. I didn’t leave because I grew a conscience overnight. I left because a girl I knew—someone I cared about—disappeared. I quit being good at shadows and decided I wanted to do the right thing. Or at least, make things less wrong. I’m here to help your team shut Hydra down. I didn’t know about the human trafficking, or I would have left a long time ago.”
Did he consider me like a problem that could be solved with force if you hit it hard enough? “Why should I believe that? People say they want to be better. People lie to stay alive.”
I swallowed. The bandage pressed against my collarbone, and each breath tugged at it like a cheap string. “Because Icould have run when you hit the warehouse. I could have bolted before the first gun went off. Instead, I stayed there. I could have pointed. I didn’t. I risked getting shot for you.”
Beckett’s expression softened into something I hadn’t expected: the beginning of understanding. It surprised me because I’d spent so much time training to be unreadable that when someone finally started to see me, I wasn’t sure how to stand.
“You almost died,” he said, and the sentence had no accusation in it. Only fact.
“I almost died,” I agreed. “And if I die, it won’t change Hydra. But maybe it will change Roger Grand’s accountants.”
He let out a laugh that sounded more like noise than amusement. “God, you’re stubborn.”
“You like stubbornness," I said, because insults and minor truths were simpler to express than heartfelt confessions.
Beckett moved slightly closer, a move you only make when you’re willing to take a risk. His face lowered until our breaths mingled. “Don’t test me,” he warned—the same line he’d used in the transport, but now his voice carried something else. Care. Possession. Something like longing.
My heart did that stupid flip again, that little traitorous thing that didn’t belong in a briefing room or a warehouse. “I don’t plan to,” I told him. But when he touched the bandage with his thumb, there was heat under the gauze where the blood was still drying. His thumb lingered, not to be tender but to be present, and the world narrowed to that small point of contact.
Outside, the Golden Team was writing up statements in the language of the job—sterile and efficient. Inside, there was a warm, ridiculous possibility that I could be more than just an asset or a mask. There was also the dangerous, terrifying idea that Beckett might—God help me—be the person I finally let in once the barriers came down.
For now, the mission hummed like an engine in the background. There would be debriefs. There would be interrogations. There would be breakfasts where we pretended we’d slept and were free from the ghosts that trailed us, or rather me.
But in the thin space between a bandage and a thumb, I let myself believe, just for a moment, that maybe I could be trusted. Not fully—never fully. But enough.
He closed the small distance between us and brushed his lips across the scar on my wrist—no flourish, no attempt to own me. Just a whisper of contact that left me trembling and unarmored. If only he knew how I got that scar.
“Don’t make me prove it,” he murmured. “Not everyone gets second chances, Voss. Be the kind of person who deserves one.”
I nodded, though I wasn’t sure if I could ever become that person. All I knew was I wanted to try, because when Beckett Cole looked at me, I saw a future where I wouldn’t have to hide in shadows anymore. And that scared me more than bullets ever had.
6
Beckett
Debriefs were worse than briefings.
At least in briefings, everyone still had their illusions. Afterward, you had to face the ugly details. The failures. The lies.
Cyclone projected numbers and images onto the wall of the dimly lit conference room. Bank accounts. Transfer codes. Hydra’s veins pulsing with dirty money. Oliver muttered about weak points. Gage swore under his breath every third slide. I sat with my arms crossed, a dull throb pounding behind my eyes.
And Elara—Elara sat straight-backed on the far side of the table, a bandage stark against the collar of her suit. Like she was proud of it. Like she wanted us to see that she’d bled alongside us. Did she always have to prove herself to Hydra?
“Elara provided accurate intel,” Cyclone said. “Warehouse matched coordinates. We recovered drives and lots of drugs. Operation’s a win. Maybe the next one we’ll rescue some humans.”
“Win?” My voice cut sharper than I meant. “We almost had a body bag.”
Cyclone’s eyes flicked to Elara. “She didn’t run. That’s something. She saved your life.”
“Doesn’t prove anything,” I shot back. My gaze locked on her. “Hydra doesn’t keep weak links. They don’t leave holes in their fences unless theywantto.”
She didn’t flinch. She never did. Her chin lifted, eyes meeting mine without apology. That stare of hers was a quiet blade.
“Beckett,” Oliver warned, low.
But I wasn’t finished. “You want me to believe she didn’t know Hydra trafficked kids? Women? Drugs?” My jaw ground so hard it hurt. “Don’t insult me. Nobody with her access is that blind.”
For the first time, something flickered across her face. Not guilt. Not shame. Anger. Controlled, dangerous anger.
