Kawan strolled through the main building with unease swirling around in his gut. Next to the old farmhouse in Central New York, The Refuge was one of the most magical places on earth. Usually, Kawan loved coming to this patch of land in New Mexico. It didn’t matter if it was because demons chased him to this spot. This place had brought him back to himself. To humanity.
But he couldn’t quell his misgiving. Perhaps, because this trip wasn’t about him—his team—their need for emotional and physical repair—it made him a bit jittery.
“Hey, Kawan,” a familiar female voice echoed through the walls. “You’re looking good.”
“Why, thank you.” Kawan turned and smiled at Alaska, Brick’s wife. “And you’re as beautiful as ever.”
She chuckled as she leaned in, giving him a brief hug. “Robert made cookies.”
“I’ve had four.” He patted his stomach, glancing out the window, where he noticed Henley chatting with a very closed-off Lark. When most people looked at her, they saw a strong woman who came across as a fierce warrior with a double dose of arrogance. They wouldn’t be wrong in their assessment—if they didn’t know Lark. The real Lark.
Alaska glanced over her shoulder. “I got the chance to spend a little time with Lark.” Alaska shifted her gaze and stared at Kawan. “Her defenses are about as thick as Tonka is wide, but something about her reminds me of…well, me.”
Kawan chuckled. “She’s certainly got your grit.” He scanned the room.
“If you’re looking for Brick, he’s already in the conference room,” Alaska said.
Kawan stole another glance outside.
“I’ll keep an eye on her.” She squeezed his forearm. “Make sure she and Specs get to their cabins okay, and if they need something I can’t provide, I’ll be sure to let you know.”
“You’re a good person, Alaska.” He bent down and kissed her cheek before heading out of the main lobby, down a small corridor.
Kawan pushed open the door to the conference room. It smelled faintly of cedar and lemon oil, a mix that would’ve felt peaceful if not for the weight hanging over the table.
“Gentleman.” Kawan eased into one of the chairs, the tension in his shoulders refusing to release no matter how many times he rolled them. This wasn’t a gathering of buddies, sharing stories, and shooting the breeze. This was a meeting of minds. A group of men milling through after-action reports and wargaming a future mission they hadn’t yet learned the perimeters for.
The long reclaimed-wood table scarred from years of use, like the men seated around it—each one bearing invisible marks that never quite healed.
Thor leaned forward, elbows on the table, scanning the printed dossier in front of him. Jupiter sat next to him, tapping the keyboard of his laptop with more aggression than normal and a frown that said he hadn’t found what he was hoping to. On the other side, sat three of the main pillars of The Refuge.
Brick, solid and unreadable. Tonka, arms folded, looking like like a boulder in a hoodie. And Pipe, sipping tea with the casual grace only a former British operative could pull off while everyone else vibrated with frustration.
Jupiter finally looked up. “How’s Specs? I hated leaving out there like that, but Ry speaks our language. Hopefully that will help.”
“I mentioned this to Henley, and not sure if she believes me or not, but Specs is going to take her cues from Lark.” Kawan leaned back and swiveled in the chair. “Unless Lark shows real emotion, Specs is only going to continue to unravel until she explodes.”
Brick arched a brow. “And you don’t think Lark is capable?”
“It’s not about being capable,” Kawan said. “Lark feels this deeply. But she’s wounded differently, and those scars weren’t cleaned up the way the rest of ours were. Not to mention she doesn’t cope with trauma like a normal person.”
“Oh, because there’s a normal way to deal with that,” Tonka said.
“Not what I mean.” Kawan ran a hand over his mouth. “I’m just saying she believes that life has its own set of terms, and you can’t fight them. She believes accepting the painful events of life is the only way to survive.”
“Sometimes that’s true, but it also can be lonely,” Pipe said softly.
“Unfortunately, that’s where Lark has been for the last few years. I worry that this failed mission—the death of her team—might have closed her off completely.”
Jupiter let out a long breath, leaned back, and dropped his hands to his lap. “I’ve dealt with a lot of nasty stuff by ignoring it or pretending I’m coping by trying to solve the problem.” He glanced toward the ceiling. “Specs…she’s just… stuck in this same pattern. Can’t sleep, won’t eat. I had to pry her laptop out of her hands last night because she was watching the building footage again. Fourth time in twenty-four hours.”
Fourth time. Jesus. She was drowning and couldn't see it—or wouldn't admit it. Kawan shifted in his seat. “That’s not healthy.”
Jupiter’s shoulders sagged—just slightly. “Exactly. She’s convinced there’s something in the footage she missed. Keeps saying Alvarez twitched just before the blast—like he was trying to signal something. I told her if there’s anything to be found, we’ll find it. But she doesn’t trust anyone else to see it the way she does. And part of me gets that, because if my team had died out there, I’d be glued to those monitors too, but she needs a little distance.”
“Where did she come from?” Pipe asked. “Because she ain’t military.”
“Basement of the FBI,” Kawan admitted. “Worked cybercrimes.”
