Morris steps closer, his expression unreadable as he silently holds out his hand. I pass him my bag without a word. With practiced efficiency, he presses the elevator call button. The doors slide open with a soft chime.
I step inside without looking back, my spine straight, my pulse steady—or at least pretending to be. The moment the doors close behind me, the noise fades, leaving only the quiet hum of the elevator and the weight of everything I’m carrying that can’t fit in a bag.
For the first time in my life, I didn’t just talk back—I stood my ground.
Dad may have built the stage, written the script, and cast every role I’ve played so far.
But this? This is my rewrite.
And I’m finally the one holding the pen.
When we step out of the elevator, the air in the foyer is already tense. Julian and Kennet are standing near the entrance, talking low and fast. The moment Julian spots me, his gaze lingers a second too long.
I walk past without acknowledging him—until I hear a sharp, low whistle behind me.
I freeze.
Before I can even turn around, Morris’s voice cuts through the hallway like a blade.
“Eyes up,” he growls, low and lethal. “She’s off limits. Even for your fucking eyes. That makes it two.”
Julian chuckles, a smug edge to his tone. “Two what?” he asks, tilting his head, mockery thick in his voice.
Morris steps closer, jaw clenched, every muscle in his body coiled with restrained violence.
“Two warnings. And I don’t give three.”
The air crackles. Even Kennet has the good sense to look away.
Julian’s smile fades just a fraction—but that’s enough.
Chapter 23
Nate
Four weeks. That’s all that separates me from home.
Every night, I cling to the only piece of her I have left—a stolen T-shirt that still carries traces of her scent. It's fading now, and that terrifies me more than any mission ever could. Her perfume used to wrap around me like a shield, a promise that I wasn’t alone in this hellhole. Now it's almost gone. Just like time. Just like luck.
Accidentally, I grabbed a thin, fancy hair tie she must’ve left entwined with the shirt. I keep it in my chest pocket, over my heart. Superstition? Maybe. But out here, you need something—anything—to hold on to.
I still don’t know what I did to deserve her love, but I swear to never take it for granted.
That’s why no one knows this yet, but this—this mission—is my last. I’m done. After this, I'm leaving the army. It'll piss off my father, but I don’t care. I want a life. With her. I want to travel, build a home, kiss her until she laughs, raise kids who have her stubborn fire and my stupid smile. I want love. I want peace. I want her.
Unless we finish early, in four weeks I’ll be out. And if we do wrap this mission sooner? Then hell yeah—I’ll surprise her. Take her on that honeymoon she keeps pretending she doesn’t dream about.
But first, we’ve got work to do.
CJ pulls the Humvee to a halt, and I shake off the daydreams I want to focus on rather than that fucking email. Focus, Weister. You're not home yet.
My boots hit the ground with a thud, and the dry wind slaps me in the face, gritty and hot. The rest of my unit fans out, forming the usual protective half-circle around me.
“All right, listen up,” I bark, voice clear and clipped. “Eyes open. Keep your backs covered. If we find the resource, we move fast and clean. We get in, we get out. That’s how we go home early.”
“Yes, sir,” they reply in unison, no hesitation.
We begin the sweep—every step calculated, every glance exchanged packed with silent communication. The terrain is unforgiving. Dry. Hot. Every shadow could be death.
