“How long was I out?” My voice comes out rough, scraped raw.
“Four hours. Standard calibration, as I said before.” She sets the tablet aside and reaches for my face. I flinch before I can stop myself, but she just brushes hair from my forehead, her touch clinical and somehow intimate at the same time. “A few days early, but you were overdue. Your readings have been so erratic lately.”
Erratic. Right.
The last few days blur in my memory. The helicopter ride back from Montana, Julia so furious that she gave me the silent treatment. Press conferences and disaster relief and smiling for cameras while thirteen families buried their dead. And underneath all of it, the ache of not seeing Mia. Five days since I left her at my father’s ranch. Five days of phone calls that ended too quickly and texts that said everything and nothing.
Five days of feeling like a piece of me was missing.
“I’m fine,” I say, testing the restraints again. They’re still locked, and I’m still too weak. “Can you?—”
“Not yet. We need to discuss some things first.” Julia pulls a stool closer and sits, positioning herself at my eye level. At this distance, her perfume overwhelms me, cold and floral, making me think of death, like a funeral home. “Conrad wanted to be here, but he’s in Washington, meeting with the Secretary of Defense.”
Something in her tone makes my skin prickle. “The Secretary? About what?”
“About you.” She folds her hands in her lap, perfectly composed, while I feel like my stomach is dropping. “About your future. About the role Global Dynamix—and Vanguard—will play in ensuring America’s continued recovery.”
I wait. She wants me to ask, I can tell. She wants me to be curious, eager, the good soldier hungry for his next mission. I give her silence instead.
Her mouth tightens almost imperceptibly. “There are concerns at the highest levels about certain, shall we say, elements within the country. Groups that oppose progress. That want to drag us back to the chaos of the Dark Decade.”
“You mean protesters.”
“I mean domestic terrorists.” Her voice sharpens. “People who would destabilize everything we’ve worked to rebuild. The resistance is growing, Nate. Organizing. There have been threats against infrastructure, against government officials. Even against Global Dynamix facilities.”
“And you want me to…what? Be your attack dog?” I practically growl like I already am one.
“I want you to be what you’ve always been.” She leans forward, and for a moment, I see something like pride shining in her eyes. “You’re a symbol, a deterrent. Your presence alone prevents violence. People don’t riot when Vanguard is watching. They don’t plant bombs or storm buildings or hurt innocent civilians. You keep the peace simply by existing.”
“I don’t think protesters are doing any of those things. I think they’re just the scapegoats.”
“You are merely uninformed by biased news.” She gives me a tight smile. “And regardless, you are needed.”
“I’m not killing anyone.”
“Of course not. Don’t be silly,” Julia says patiently, like I’m a child who’s missed the point. “You’re not a weapon. You’re a peacekeeper. The government understands that. They’re notasking you to hurt people—they’re asking you to protect them, to ensure the recovery isn’t derailed by extremists who would rather burn everything down than let us move forward.”
The words are smooth, polished, rehearsed. I wonder how many times she practiced this speech before I woke up. I wonder if she wrote it herself or if Marsh handed her a script.
“And if I say no?”
The question hangs in the air between us. Julia just stares at me, doesn’t blink.
“You won’t say no.” Her voice is gentle, almost tender, and somehow, that makes it worse. “You’re Vanguard. You’re here to serve your country. That’s who you are. That’s who you’ve always been.”
It’s not a threat, not even a warning, just a statement of fact, delivered with absolute certainty.
The sun rises. The tides turn. Vanguard obeys.
The worst part is the piece of me that wants to nod, that wants to sayyes ma’amand accept the mission and feel the warm glow of purpose flooding through my veins. They built that into me somehow, this need for approval, this hunger for direction. Without it, I’m just a man in a fancy tech suit with too much power and no idea what to do with it.
“I need to think about it,” I say, though I already know deep down, I won’t do it.
“Of course.” Julia rises, smoothing her lab coat. “Take all the time you need. The formal request won’t come for a few weeks—there’s paperwork, protocols, and congressional oversight that needs to be managed. But I wanted you to hear it from me first.” A pause. “I thought you’d want to know what’s coming.”
So I can prepare myself to comply,I think.So I can get used to the idea before I’m expected to perform.
Fuck that.
