I'd see to it personally.
For the next hour, we sat in silence, the kind that only made sense to soldiers and people who'd survived something together. Every so often, I'd catch him glancing over, like he was checking to see if I was still there. Like he couldn't quite believe it.
Eventually, the tea was gone, and the color started to come back into his face. The tremors faded, replaced by something steadier. I loosened my grip, but he didn't pull away.
When he spoke again, his voice was stronger. "You going to stay here all night?"
I nodded. "Long as it takes."
He didn't argue, didn't ask if I needed to be somewhere else or if I'd rather be alone. He knew the answer.
So did I.
I watched him drift off, head lolling to one side, mouth going slack with exhaustion. When I was sure he was asleep, I stood and surveyed the room one more time. Every door locked, every window sighted in, every brother accounted for.
I stood in the dark, watching the rise and fall of his chest, and thought about the things a man could be willing to die for. Some people called it love. Some called it a death wish. To me, it was just the next mission.
And this time, I wasn't planning to lose.
I barely slept that night. Even after Newt went limp in my arms, even after I swept the property twice and made sure every lock was double-barred, my brain kept spitting out contingency plans like some fucked-up survivalist’s version of a lullaby.
I lay on top of the covers, fully dressed, eyes on the ceiling until sunrise burned a thin gold line along the edge of the curtains. By the time Newt stirred—face smashed into the crook of my shoulder, drooling like an infant—I had already mapped out the next forty-eight hours in excruciating detail.
He blinked awake, confused, then embarrassed, then scared, all in the space of a breath. I let him go, but only to roll off the bed and start prepping for war.
“You need to get dressed,” I said, voice flat.
He looked at the clock, then at me, then at the heap of borrowed clothes piled on the chair. “Is it—what time is it?”
“Doesn’t matter. Just get dressed. Now.”
He did. I watched as he peeled off the ratty t-shirt he’d slept in, his torso pale and marked up with the faded bruises of the last week. My own hands twitched, wanting to touch, but I kept them to myself.
There wasn’t time for tenderness, not today.
He yanked on a pair of sweatpants that were two sizes too big, cinching the drawstring with frantic little tugs. The hoodie was mine, and it swallowed him whole, the hem nearly to his knees. He looked ridiculous.
He looked perfect.
“You expecting trouble?” he asked, voice soft.
I grunted, then rummaged through the dresser for my own uniform—jeans that hugged the thighs and calves, black t-shirt stretched tight enough to show off every scar, every muscle, every bit of ink I’d earned since I was old enough to sign the waiver myself.
The tattoos were deliberate, a warning as much as a history. The USMC globe and anchor on my forearm, the wings on my shoulder, the coordinates of some shithole outpost in Afghanistan running up my ribcage. I wanted anyone who looked at me to know exactly what they were dealing with.
Newt watched me dress, eyes wide, like he’d never seen me in full kit before. Maybe he hadn’t. I usually played it casual, but today wasn’t about comfort.
We made it downstairs before Harlow, who’d already eaten, even looked up from the kitchen table. He’d set out a bowl of cereal for Newt, spoon sticking straight up like an antenna. There was nothing for me. That was fine; I didn’t trust myself to eat.
“Sit,” I said to Newt, pushing him into the chair so hard it scraped the floor. He sat, then winced at the sound.
Harlow grinned. “Rough night?”
“Rougher morning,” I shot back. Then I turned to the window, where the driveway was just visible between the trees.
Ten minutes later, the knock came. Not a polite tap—this was three hard raps, spaced just far enough apart to suggest law enforcement or someone who’d watched too many crime dramas. I clocked it before anyone else in the house.
I told Newt, “Stay here. Harlow, you move, you get in front of him first, not after. Got it?”
