"Lucas." Rachel's tone carries warning.
"What? I just want to see how it works." Lucas hands the camera back to me, disappointment flickering across his face again. "This is still really cool, though. You're like a spy."
"Something like that."
Rachel moves further into the living room, positioning herself where she can watch both of us. "Why don't you go get ready for bed, Lucas? It's almost seven."
"But I'm not even tired."
"It's a school night. Bed at seven means bed at seven."
Lucas groans with the kind of dramatic flair only kids can pull off, but he heads back toward the hallway. Pauses at the door to his room. "Mr. Stryker?"
"Yeah?"
"Thanks for showing me the cool spy stuff."
"Anytime, kid."
Lucas disappears into his room, and silence settles over the living room like a physical presence. Rachel doesn't move from her position near the kitchen, and I don't move from the duffel. We watch each other across the space, two people who used to know how to navigate each other and now have no idea where the boundaries are.
"He likes you," she says finally.
"Kids are easy to impress."
"Don't." Her voice goes flat. "Don't do that thing where you deflect. Lucas already decided you're his new hero. I saw the way he looked at you. Like you hung the moon."
"I'll stay professional. Just someone staying at the house for a while."
"Will you?" Rachel takes a step closer, arms still crossed. "Because I remember how you are, Colton. You get invested. You care. And then you leave."
Accusation hangs between us, deserved and unanswerable. She's right. I do care. Already care about the kid who asked meabout guns and looked at basic surveillance equipment like it was magic.
"I'm here to do a job," I say, keeping my voice neutral. Professional. "Keep you and Lucas safe until Kane arranges something permanent. That's all."
"Why now?" The question comes out quiet, almost conversational, but I hear the real question underneath. "You didn't care eight years ago. Why show up now with your equipment and your promises to keep us safe?"
My jaw tightens. This conversation was inevitable, but I'm not ready for it. Not ready to explain decisions I made when I was too young and too stupid to understand what I was throwing away.
"I cared too much," I say, and the words taste like truth even though they sound like an excuse.
Rachel laughs, and the sound is bitter enough to strip paint. "That's the worst excuse I've ever heard. You cared too much so you left? You cared too much so you disappeared without a real conversation? You cared too much so you wrote a note instead of being honest?"
"I wasn't good for you. Operators like me don't get happy endings. We get killed or burned or turned into monsters by the things we do in the dark." The words come out harder than I intend. "You deserved better than that. Better than me."
"I deserved honesty. I deserved a choice." Her voice rises slightly, years of anger finally finding an outlet. "You decided what was good for me. You decided I couldn't handle your job. You decided everything without ever asking what I wanted."
"You wanted normal. A house and a family and someone who came home every night."
"I wanted you." The words hit like physical blows. "I wanted the man I fell in love with, whatever that looked like. But you didn't trust me enough to let me make that choice."
Before I can respond, my phone hums. Kane's name on the screen. I should ignore it, finish this conversation that's long overdue. But Kane doesn't call unless it's urgent, and urgent in our world means lives on the line.
"I have to take this," I say.
Rachel's laugh is sharp and humorless. "Of course you do."
I answer the phone and turn slightly away, keeping my voice low. "Kane."
