The psych evals had been rigorous for a reason. This wasn't a weekend mission. This was a commitment for life.
So, I told my superiors.
That night, she came to my apartment.
She let me have it.
Accused me of everything. Sleeping with other women. Having this plan all along to sabotage her.
Her voice got louder. Sharper. Unhinged.
I had to call my superiors again.
They sent a team.
She fought them. Screamed. Called me every name she could think of as they dragged her out of my apartment.
I never saw her again.
But I heard the whispers.
She kept trying to get into the inner circle. Kept showing up at checkpoints, demanding to be let back in. Went off the deep end. Had a baby. Gave it up for adoption.
I wished I could've done more.
Said something. Done something.
But I had a mission.
And the mission always came first.
I blinked, the memory dissolving, and I was back on the sandbar.
Victoria stood a few feet away, staring out at the water, cigarette smoldering between her fingers.
Micah was tense beside me, eyes locked on her like she might explode at any second.
Maybe she would.
"Victoria," I said quietly.
She didn't turn.
"I'm sorry," I said.
She laughed—soft, bitter. "For what?"
"For all of it," I said. "For telling them. For not fighting harder for you. For letting them take you."
She turned then, her eyes meeting mine. "You did what you had to do."
"I could've done more."
"No," she said simply. "You couldn't."
Silence.
The wind picked up, carrying salt and cold.
