Kane is quiet for a moment, studying the analysis I've compiled. His eyes move across the monitors with the same systematic precision he applies to mission planning. "How long have you been working on this?"
"Two hours. I've identified seven potential points of compromise in our external communications network."
"Send me the list." He pulls out his phone. "I'll have Tommy start a deep forensic analysis. Quiet. No external alerts."
Relief hits sharp and unexpected, loosening the knot between my shoulder blades that's been there since I saw Micah's message. I was prepared for pushback, for questions about protocol, for concerns about working solo on a security threat, for Kane pulling rank and shutting me down.
Instead, he's doing exactly what I hoped—taking the information, acting on it, trusting my analysis enough to move forward without demanding explanations I'm not ready to give.
I transfer the files to his secure device, watching the progress bar creep across the screen. "Tommy should focus on communication timing. Look for patterns that align with Committee operations. Any requests for information that seem routine but could be intelligence gathering."
"Agreed." Kane pockets his phone. "How long before Hawthorne surfaces?"
The question makes my stomach clench and makes the exhaustion I've been holding at bay suddenly press down on my shoulders. "Unknown. Could be hours. Could be days. Depends on the trail."
"And when he does surface?"
"We brief him on what we've found. Work the investigation together."
Kane's eyes narrow slightly—not hostile, just observant, reading subtext. "Together. As in, you and Hawthorne. Alone."
It's not really a question, more of an observation, an acknowledgment of the thing we've all been carefully not discussing—the tension between Micah and me, the way I've been avoiding him like he's contaminated, the professional distance that's starting to affect team cohesion in ways I'd hoped weren't obvious.
Apparently they're obvious.
"Whatever's between us doesn't affect operational capability," I say, keeping my voice level even though my pulse is racing. "This is his intel. His investigation. I'm the signals analyst. We work it together because that's what the mission requires."
"Is that what you've been telling yourself?" Kane's tone isn't unkind, just direct. Cutting through bullshit the way he always does. "Because from where I'm standing, you've been operating at about sixty percent capacity since he arrived. That's not sustainable. Not for you. Not for the team."
Heat crawls up my neck and spreads across my cheeks. Embarrassment mixes with anger and with the exhaustion that's been dogging me. "My work is solid. I haven't missed anything critical."
"Your work is exceptional. Same as always." Kane leans against the console, settling in like he's prepared to have this conversation regardless of how uncomfortable it makes me. "But you're running yourself ragged trying to avoid one person in a facility where there's nowhere to hide. That takes energy. Creates stress. Affects judgment even when you think it doesn't."
I want to argue, want to insist I've been handling it fine, that my personal issues aren't bleeding into my professionalperformance, that I'm just as sharp now as I was before Micah walked back into my life.
But Kane's right, and we both know it. I've been exhausted for ages, sleeping poorly when I sleep at all, checking schedules obsessively to make sure I'm never alone with Ghost, creating distance that's starting to look obvious to everyone on the team, operating at diminished capacity because half my energy goes into avoidance protocols.
"So what do you suggest?" I ask, hating how tired my voice sounds.
"Stop avoiding him. Work the case. Get past whatever this is so we can function as a unit." Kane straightens, movements deliberate. "I need my signals analyst operating at full capacity. Can't have that if you're spending half your energy on avoidance protocols."
"Understood."
"Good." He heads for the door, then pauses with his hand on the frame and turns back. "Sarah. Hawthorne's good at what he does. Best infiltration specialist I've ever worked with. But he's also got blind spots. History with you. Guilt he's carrying. Don't let that compromise the investigation or the work of this team."
"I won't."
Kane nods and disappears into the corridor, footsteps fading as he heads back toward the residential section. The sound of his retreat echoes off concrete walls, gradually swallowed by the hum of servers and the quiet click of cooling systems.
I turn back to the monitors and pull up the communication logs again. Focus on the work. On the patterns. On finding the leak before it causes damage we can't contain.
But part of my mind is already running scenarios for when Micah surfaces. What I'll say. How I'll handle working directly with him for the first time since he arrived. Whether I can maintain the professional distance I've been hiding behind formonths, or if being in close proximity will crack the walls I've built.
The analysis takes hours more. By the time I'm finished, I know dawn is creeping over the horizon. The air smells stale, and my body aches from sitting in the same position for too long.
I have a more detailed picture now. Victoria Cross is still at the top of the list, but two of the federal contacts show suspicious patterns. The communication timing aligns too closely with Committee operations. The questions seemed routine but now look like intelligence gathering. One of them requested detailed information about Echo Base security protocols weeks ago—a routine request at the time, but a warning sign now.
I save everything to the isolated server, encrypt the files with keys Kane and Dylan can access, and finally let myself lean back in the chair.
