Her pulse vibrated in the center of her throat. The scent of antiseptic had teeth. It clung to the back of Lark’s mouth, mingling with the metallic tang of adrenaline she hadn’t quite shaken. Her shoulder throbbed in slow, punishing waves—freshly reset, numbed, and wrapped—but the ache was nothing compared to the hollowed-out pit inside her chest.
She paced the far side of the waiting room like a caged animal, booted footsteps muffled against cold tile. One ankle wrapped. Ribs tight with bruises. Shoulder stiff. Nothing broken, but that fixed nothing that had gone wrong.
Three lives lost. Just like that.
Mina. Alvarez. Wes.
And three more lives unaccounted for. Had the enemy taken them? Had they been killed in the crossfire?
Or worse… had they been flipped?
Bradford—most likely. Torin and Bretton? Anyone’s guess.
Lark flicked her gaze toward the corner of the room where Specs sat cross-legged in a rolling chair, hunched over Jupiter’slaptop like a gargoyle guarding secrets. Jupiter leaned against the wall beside her, arms folded, eyes bouncing between code and her face. They spoke in clipped whispers, eyes drawn tight. They shared a common thread, speaking the same tech language.
Lark’s chest squeezed. She should be over there. Helping. Leading.
Instead, she paced. She needled. She bore the guilt of failure like a medal.
“You’re going to wear a groove in the floor,” Thor said from behind her.
She pivoted, heart slamming against her ribs.
Thor leaned against the doorframe like he hadn’t just walked through hell. Broad shoulders, relaxed, and a bandage peeking from beneath his blood-soaked shirt. No visible bruises. Just the calm, grounded command of a man who’d seen too much and knew better than to let it show.
“Pacing helps.” She swallowed, hard. Years of training. Years of being in control. In command… disappeared into a ball of nerves at her feet. She had nothing left. No team to lead. No mission to execute. Just nothing.
“So does sleep.” Thor waved his hand toward the chairs.
“I’ll pass.”
“Then take this.” Thor strolled over and handed her a coffee in a white foam cup. No lid. Burnt-smelling and probably hours old.
Lark took it anyway.
He watched her for a long beat. “I know what you're doing.”
“I’m not doing anything.”
“You’re running a postmortem in your head. Rewinding every frame. Replaying every choice. You think if you find the first miscalculation, you can find the thread that madeeverything go wrong.” He cocked his head. “You won’t find it. I know because I’ve tried on more than one mission.”
Lark sipped the coffee and nearly choked on the slop. It was worse than the crap that Specs brewed. “I should’ve aborted this mission before it started.”
“You didn’t have a reason to.” Thor arched a brow. “I’ve been where you are, and I’ve thought the same thing. But hindsight is always a distorted version of the truth.”
“Tell me, Thor. Have you ever lost almost everyone on your team?”
“No.” He shook his head. “Not my men. However, the boys have gone in to extract entire teams, only to get there too late. Doesn’t matter that they weren’t on my team. Lives lost are lives lost. It doesn’t make it any easier.”
“Specs is the only one who made it out. And that was because she wasn’t in the field.” Lark pressed her palm against her forehead. “Ironic that her inability to fire a weapon well is what saved her ass.”
“You can’t protect everyone.” Thor’s voice dropped.
“That’s part of my job,” Lark snapped, too fast, too sharp. She winced and stared into her cup. “My team. My responsibility. I figured you of all people would understand.”
Silence stretched between them for a few long minutes.
“I do understand. But you can’t internalize it. You do that, you might as well retire,” Thor said and dropped into a chair. “And you’re too good to do that.”
