She rolled her neck, letting the words settle in her brain. She valued and trusted Thor. Hell, everyone on his team was as solid as they came. But that didn’t change the facts.
Her mission had failed—on an epic level. People died. And a prototype of AI battlefield-ready software was missing.
That was on her—no one else.
Raising the cup to her lips, she sipped the stale, lukewarm coffee. It tasted like cardboard and did nothing but sour her belly even more. She marched toward the garbage can and dropped the cup.
“I saw Kawan before I got that disgusting brew,” Thor said. “He’s fine. Stitches. Blood. Bruised pride.”
“He shouldn’t have doubled back for me. I would’ve found a way out.”
“You don’t know that, and if he hadn’t done that on his own, I would’ve sent him or someone else in to get you,” Thor said. “We don’t leave people behind.”
“You didn’t give me the chance to dust myself off.” She closed her eyes, inhaled. “He took a bullet for me.”
“He’s taken a couple for me as well,” Thor said. “You’re allowed to be human, Lark. You’re allowed to be shocked. Grieve. Feel guilty. Hell, even be angry. But what you’re not allowed to do is fold in on yourself. We still don’t know what the hell went wrong out there, and if anyone can figure it out—it’s you.”
Lark dropped into the seat beside him. Every muscle screamed in protest, but she welcomed the pain. “I can’t even look at Specs without wanting to beg her to forgive me.”
“She doesn’t blame you.”
“Doesn’t mean I don’t.”
Across the room, Specs stood abruptly. Her ponytail was messier than usual, and her cheeks were hollowed with exhaustion. She grabbed the laptop and crossed toward them, Jupiter right behind. “Lark,” she said, voice quiet but urgent. “You need to see this.”
Lark stood, heart kicking up.
Specs tilted the screen. A simple, encrypted message blinked in green.
FROM:M.G.C.G.
NOT SECURE. WAIT FOR INSTRUCTIONS. NEED TO TALK.
Lark stared. The initials punched like a fist.
Major General Clayton Grady.
Thor read over her shoulder. “Have you spoken to Lorre?”
“No.” Lark’s jaw clenched. “Not yet.”
“Why?”
“Because outside of you and your team, I don’t know who the hell to trust.” She held Thor’s gaze. “Grady sent you in, and I get the impression that Lorre had no idea. That’s more than concerning.”
“Agreed.” Thor nodded.
The door swung open again.
Colonel Graham Lorre stepped inside with the kind of authority that expected everyone to snap to attention. Uniform crisp. Shoes shined. Jaw locked so tight, it looked like he could grind steel. His timing a little too fucking perfect. His gaze swept the room—Specs, Jupiter, Thor—before landing squarely on Lark.
Wonderful.
Out of habit, she stiffened, as if to salute, though she didn’t. But she did stand close to attention.
“Strattan. A word,” Lorre said.
“Yes, sir.” She followed him into the hallway, her spine snapping straight. Her muscles twitched. Her fingers rubbed together. God, she wanted that damn stress ball in the worst way.
