Ry stood slowly. “I set up a secure terminal.”
Lark straightened. “Then let’s get to work. Because the people who want that AI… they’re not done with us yet.”
Kawan stared at the stress ball on the table. Part of him was thrilled that Lark had abandoned the damn thing. The other part of him wanted to pick up the habit. Everything about this room was out of his wheelhouse. He was a sniper. A weapons and explosives expert. He didn’t do computers, programming,or even mission planning. He left that up to others. His job was to come in, take orders, and when those orders didn’t fit the real-world aspect of the mission, he did what he did best—he adjusted in real-time.
The buzzing static of the computers and the tapping of fingers on keyboards made him itchy.
One of the screens still had the message from Alverez loaded, playing silently, as if that would tell them something. Specs sat in front of a tablet, gripping it like the enemy might reach through it. Jupiter had moved in front of the computer Specs had been using and pounded the keyboard with focused aggression.
Ry leaned back just slightly on the stool, not relaxed—never relaxed—but calculating. Always two steps ahead, even when the ground shifted.
Kawan couldn’t stop looking at Lark.
She hadn’t said a word in the last ten minutes. Her hands rested on her thighs, fingers splayed. Her boot tapped once, twice, then stilled. Her face unreadable. But he knew her too well not to see the battle behind her eyes.
“You okay?” he asked quietly.
“Just processing. Thinking. Working the angles.”
“And all without the ball.”
She chuckled. “Don’t be shocked if it’s not gone forever, but right now, I feel like I can do this part without it.”
Her phone buzzed on the table. Not Specs’ machine. Not the laptop. Lark’s personal cell.
Lark stared at the number flashing on the screen.
Kawan caught it, too. “Lorre,” he muttered.
Lark didn’t hesitate. She tapped the speaker button and set it down. Her voice, when she answered, was calm steel. “Strattan, here.”
A beat of static crackled—then Colonel Lorre’s voice came through, clipped and cold. “Where the hell is your after-action report?”
Kawan moved closer, arms folded across his chest, eyes locked on Lark.
Specs glanced up from her screen, head tilting. Jupiter stopped moving altogether. Ry leaned forward, elbows on her knees, listening.
Lark didn’t blink.
“Where the hell is your AAR? I’m tired of waiting for it.”
“We’re still going through the mission, sir.”
“You’re stalling, that’s what you’re doing.” His tone grated—tight, leashed frustration under a thin veneer of command. “This was your mission. I expected your debrief the minute your boots touched American soil. I gave you some grace, but it’s been days, and I’ve got the brass so far up my ass they're coming out my throat.”
“We’re verifying surveillance logs and decrypting field data before anything is filed,” Lark said.
Lorre didn’t respond at first. Just a faint exhale of air, like he was weighing how much of his temper he wanted to show. “You are not authorized to investigate, Strattan. Your job was to execute and report. Nothing more.”
Her jaw tightened.
“You’re to return to Fort Liberty,” he continued. “Immediately. You and Specs. No one else.” A pause. “If you’re still entangled with Armstrong’s SEAL team, disentangle. This is not a team op. This is an internal matter.”
“May I ask who gave that directive?” Lark rubbed the back of her neck.
“Higher than Grady. That’s all you need to know,” Lorre said.
Bullshit. Grady outranked everyone in this room. So either Lorre was lying, or he had someone so far up the chain that even Grady couldn't touch them. Neither option was good.
