"We're going to end it," I promise, though promises are dangerous things in my line of work. "You heard Kane's plan. We stop reacting and start acting."
"And if something goes wrong? If he kills you instead?"
"Then Dylan finishes it. Or Mercer. Or Kane. We don't operate alone, Rachel. That's the advantage we have over the Committee. They're individuals serving an organization. We're a team."
She pulls back to look at me, searching my expression. "You really believe that."
"I've survived because of that team. Seen them pull off impossible operations because we trust each other completely. Kessler's good, but he's alone. We're better because we're not."
Rachel nods slowly. Accepts the logic even if the fear doesn't completely fade. She's learning to live with fear, to function despite it. Another sign of her strength.
"Okay," she says. "You go hunting. But you come back. Both you and Dylan and the rest of the team. You all come back."
"That's the plan."
She steps out of my arms. Straightens her shirt and her spine, pulling herself together with visible effort. "What happens with us? We keep dancing around this, but neither of us is saying it out loud."
"Rachel—"
"I told you I needed time. To know this is real. That you won't leave again." Her hand comes up to rest against my chest, feeling my heartbeat through the fabric of my shirt. "But timeisn't something we have in abundance right now. So I'm asking directly. What do you want?"
What do I want? The question is simple and impossibly complicated. I want her safe. Want Lucas growing up without nightmares. Want to rewrite the past where I left instead of fighting for her. Want a future that doesn't include the Committee or Kessler or any of the violence that defines my life.
But what I can have and what I want rarely align.
"I want you to trust me," I say finally. "Trust that I'm here, that I'm staying, that I'm going to keep you and Lucas alive no matter what it costs."
"That's about your job, not about us."
"It's both. You can't separate them. Keeping you alive is the job and the only thing that matters. Everything else is secondary."
Rachel's expression shifts. Disappointment mixing with understanding. She's heard this before, probably from every operator she's ever encountered. The mission comes first. The personal stuff waits.
"Fine," she says quietly. "The job comes first. But when this is over, when Kessler is handled and the immediate threat is neutralized, we're having a real conversation. About what comes next. About whether you're staying for the mission or staying for me."
"Understood."
She turns to leave, but I catch her wrist. Pull her back gently, carefully. She comes without resistance, confusion in her eyes.
"For the record," I say, voice low enough that it stays between us. "I'm staying for you. The mission is what brings me here. You're what makes me want to stay."
Before she can respond, before I can second-guess the admission, I release her wrist and step back. Creatingdistance. Maintaining professional boundaries that are already completely destroyed.
Rachel stares at me for a long moment. Then she smiles, small and genuine, and leaves without another word.
I watch her go, already planning security rotations and fallback positions and a dozen other tactical considerations. But under all that operational thinking, one truth burns clear and terrifying.
Lucas called me Mr. Stryker earlier. He looked at me like I'm someone permanent in his life, someone who belongs. Part of me wants that so badly it physically hurts. I want to be the man he runs to when he's scared, the presence Rachel depends on. I want to be the father figure I swore I'd never become because this life destroys families.
But the larger part knows how dangerous that want is. How it compromises judgment, creates vulnerabilities, makes me care about outcomes instead of just executing missions. Caring gets people killed in my world. Attachment is a tactical flaw.
The smart play is maintaining distance. Keeping Rachel and Lucas alive without letting them become something I can't afford to lose.
Too late for that, the voice in my head whispers. You're already attached. Already compromised. Already caring more than you should.
Except I've watched Dylan fight harder for Reagan than he ever did alone. Seen Mercer become more lethal protecting Delaney. Kane runs Echo Ridge with the same precision he always has, but Willa gave him something to come home to besides another mission.
Attachment hasn't destroyed them. It made them better.
