“I’m functional.”
“You’re a liability,” Torque chimes in, stealing a grape from Brass’s fruit bowl. “You can’t lift your left arm past your nipple. What are you going to do, bleed on them until they slip?”
“I’ll shoot you first,” Jackson growls.
“And miss,” Torque grins. “Because of the painkillers.”
“Enough,” Ghost says. “Fuse is benched. Brass is needed here to coordinate the intel Talia brought in. Whisper, you’re on recon for the Grandmaster leads. Torque, you’re prepping transport.”
Ghost pauses. He looks at the empty slot. “I need an operator for Brennan.”
“I’ll take it,” Halo says.
The table turns to him as one. Diego “Halo” Martinez is the tech guy. He stays in the van. He flies the drones. He loops the cameras. He doesn’t take point on protection details.
“You?” Brass raises an eyebrow. “Since when do you run solo ops?”
“It’s digital warfare,” Halo says, standing. He looks smaller than the rest of them, wiry and intense, but his eyes are hard. “Phoenix is hunting her through the grid. I know the code. I know the architecture. I can hide her better than any of you gun-bunnies.”
He looks at the photo of Cassie Brennan again. “Besides … She looks like she hates authority. She’ll eat you guys alive. I’m charming.”
“Debatable,” Whisper mutters.
“I have personality,” Halo defends. “You guys have PTSD and grunting.”
“He has a point,” I say quietly.
They look at me.
“Phoenix finds people through patterns,” I explain. “Digital footprints. Financial transactions. Facial recognition. You can’t shoot an algorithm. You need someone who can ghost her digitally. Halo is the best choice.”
“See?” Halo points a finger at me. “The smart one agrees with me.”
“She’s yours.” Ghost studies Halo. “But if it goes kinetic, you call it in. No heroics.”
“I’m allergic to heroics,” Halo says. “I prefer cheating.”
“Pack out. Wheels up in two hours.”
Halo nods. He taps his tablet to transfer the files to his secure drive, then heads for the door. “Don’t break my servers while I’m gone,” he calls back.
“The rest of you,” Ghost says, standing. “Debrief is over. Go home. Get drunk. Sleep for a week.”
Torque stands, stretching his arms over his head. “Drinks at the Dive? First round is on Fuse, since he decided to play human shield and ruin our weekend.”
“Put it on my tab,” Jackson grunts. “I’m sitting this one out.”
“You coming, Talia?” Brass asks, packing up his knife. “You’re part of the crew now. Initiation involves terrible whiskey and Torque lying about his conquests.”
I look at Jackson. He’s sinking back into his chair, the energy draining out of him now that the briefing is over.
“I think I’ll pass,” I say. “I have a patient to monitor.”
Brass smiles. It changes his whole face. “Good call. Take care of him.”
The team files out. Torque punches Jackson lightly on the shoulder as he passes. Whisper gives me a silent nod of respect. Brass salutes with the apple core.
They leave a vacuum of silence behind them.
