Amy brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear, a nervous habit she’d had since we were kids. “Look,” she said, exhaling slowly, as if steadying herself. “I’ve survived nine months of this hell. I’ve lost friends I cared about. Watched good people die screaming, right in front of me.” Her jaw tightened, eyes briefly unfocused, like she was seeing something I couldn’t. “If fate wanted me dead, it’s had plenty of chances. It’s too late now.”
She gave a small, defiant laugh, brittle around the edges. “Besides, we finally have a solid blueprint.”
I stayed quiet, listening.
“Satellite passes confirmed the old smuggling tunnel under Chapo’s compound,” she continued, voice slipping into briefing-mode. “Built in the late ’80s, abandoned since the ’90s. No heat signatures. No guards. No cameras. No one knows it exists anymore—not even Chapo’s inner circle.” She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, energy creeping into her posture. “We go in quiet tomorrow night. Three operators against one tired old kingpin and whatever personal security he keeps in his bedroom.”
She made it sound simple. Clean.
“We take him alive if we can,” she said, eyes flicking to mine. “Dead if we have to. Bag the body, extract proof, and go home.” Her voice softened, just a fraction. “I hand in my resignation the second we touch American soil. No delays. No debrief extensions. I’m done.”
I shook my head slowly, a familiar weight pressing against my ribs. “You talk like it’s guaranteed,” I said. “Like the universe finally owes us a win.” I snorted quietly. “We’ve run ops with ‘low-risk’ assessments that turned into bloodbaths. Remember Thessaloniki? Intel said six guards. We walked into twenty. Two died before we even reached the stairwell.”
“That was then,” she said quickly.
She reached across the narrow gap between us and grabbed my hand, her grip firm—stronger than most people gave her credit for.
Her green eyes, mirror images of mine, locked onto me with an intensity that made it hard to breathe.
“Ruslan,” she said, quietly but fiercely. “Listen to me. I’m going to be fine. I promise.”
My chest tightened.
“And you,” she added, her voice cracking just enough to betray her. “You promise me the same.”
From the moment we’d been assigned to the same team, I had made a silent vow—one I’d never spoken aloud.
If it came down to it, if there was one bullet left or one choice to be made, I would trade my life for hers without hesitation. No strategy. No heroics. Just instinct.
She was the only family I had left who still felt like family.
I pulled my hand away gently, not trusting myself to answer honestly, and looked toward the dark doorway leading deeper into the house. “Go train, Amy,” I said. “Run drills with Elena. One more day to be perfect.”
She stood, stretching her arms overhead, bones cracking softly. “Nope. I’m starving.” She grinned, the tension easing just a little. “I’m making dinner—whatever’s left of that canned stew and the last of the bread. And I’m serving it on the same table for all three of us.”
“Enough of you and Elena pretending the other doesn’t exist.”
I groaned.
“We act like professionals,” I muttered.
“Professionals who’ve been trapped in the same safe house for months and still eat in separate rooms,” she shot back.
She flashed a mischievous grin—the kind that reminded me of the girl who used to steal my bike and deny it with a straight face. “When we get back to the States, I’m setting you two up on a date. You need someone who can keep up with you, big brother.”
I opened my mouth to object.
“And Elena,” Amy added, already turning away, “well... she’s perfect.”
Before I could protest—or deny it—she disappeared into the adjoining room, her footsteps light against the creaking floorboards.
The smell of dust and cold air filled the silence she left behind.
I stayed where I was, staring at the doorway, a familiar unease coiling in my gut.
Tomorrow night. One last operation.
I exhaled slowly, leaning my head back against the cold stone wall.
