Dante passed two sheets of paper across the desk. Sinner slid one to Opal and picked up the other. As he read, he caught the shift in her posture—shoulders tighter, breath shallower. Whatever was on that page hit a nerve.
After a quick scan of the first few lines, he saw why. “This is the framework you and Elin came up with?”
Dante sat back. “It was Elin’s idea, and it’s brilliant. Right now, it’s a loose plan. Con just wanted me to run it past you before we solidify it.”
His nostrils flared on the big pull of air he filled his lungs with.
“It’s smart.” It was one of the only times he’d heard Opal speak. “I can do it.”
He flattened a palm on the sheet of paper. “I can do anything,” he said, too aware that it would come off like he was challenging her.
But his comment got no rise from the woman. He was starting to believe she wasn’t an FBI asset at all—she was a robot.
When she locked her gaze on him, whatever was going on in her mind was shuttered behind training and rigid rules.
“Any concerns before we finalize?” Con’s gaze moved deliberately between them.
Opal continued to stare at Sinner. “No.”
“I’m good.”
Con met his eyes, and there it was—a fractional tightening at the corner of his mouth. A small thing that few people would ever notice.
But Sinner did.
It was a directive.
He readied himself for the order about to come.
“Alyssa needs a file from Sophie’s office,” Con told him, attention fixed on Opal.
Sophie’s office was next door to the war room where they were convened right now.
“See if you can find it for her.”
Without comment, Sinner stood and walked out. He didn’t need clarification. Sophie’s office was close enough to hear every word.
As he passed Opal, she didn’t look at him, but the air between them tightened anyway.
He stepped into the hall knowing exactly what Con just asked him to do.
Listen. Whatever came next, Con wanted a second set of ears on it.
* * * * *
Opal tookeverythingin because she didn’t know how not to.
The habit had been carved into her long before Quantico, before handlers and sealed files.
You survive by seeing what others miss.
Smith’s training echoed in her mind. And when Smith spoke—even in her memory—she listened.
She picked up the low hum of voices and footsteps. Nearby, someone laughed—instead of the forced office laughter heard in the halls of Quantico, it was genuine.
She smelled pizza. Not the kind from a box. It was fresh and hot.
Con watched her silently, giving her time to work through everything running through her mind, even if it only took seconds. That alone told her more about the leader of the SEAL team than any medals of honor or thick files ever could. She didn’t know many men with such patience.
