We walk without speaking, falling into stride the way we used to in DC. My body remembers the rhythm, the way Micah's longer legs adjust to match my pace, the comfortable silence that doesn't require filling with conversation.
It shouldn't feel natural. It should feel awkward, tense, weighted with everything that's broken between us. Instead it feels like muscle memory, trained response that bypasses conscious thought.
"Kane was right," Micah says as we reach the corridor junction. "We took unnecessary risks."
"We got results." But my voice lacks conviction.
"We got lucky." He stops walking, turns to face me. "If those SUVs had caught us on a straight road, if the Committee hadpositioned assets differently, we'd be dead or captured. Kane's right to question the decision."
Frustration builds in my chest. "So you're saying we shouldn't have investigated?"
"I'm saying we should have had backup." Tension shows in the set of his shoulders, the way he won't quite meet my eyes. "I'm saying I put you in danger because I wanted to work with you again, and that clouded my tactical judgment."
The admission cuts deeper than expected. It's true. I felt it too, that pull toward partnership, toward working operations together like we used to when trust was absolute and silence didn't exist between us.
"We both made the choice," I say. "We both knew the risks."
"Doesn't make it the right call." He runs a hand through his hair, weariness showing in the gesture. "Kane's putting protocols in place because we proved we can't be trusted to operate alone together without taking stupid risks."
We took stupid risks. We prioritized working together over proper operational security. We let personal history affect professional judgment in ways that could have gotten us killed.
"So what now?" The question comes out harsher than I meant. "Do we just pretend the last two days didn't happen? Go back to barely speaking, avoiding each other, acting like we're strangers?"
Something hardens in his expression. "I don't know."
It's honest. It's frustrating. I have no answers either. The space between professional partnership and personal wreckage feels impossible to navigate. Was the connection I felt during the surveillance operation real, or just nostalgia for what we used to have?
My phone buzzes. An encrypted message from an unknown number appears on the screen.
I pull it out, scan the text. I go still.
"What is it?" Micah moves closer, reading over my shoulder.
Cross is contacting me directly with intelligence about Committee operations.
"She's warning us about Reeve," I say. "The Committee has him auditing their network security."
Micah's expression darkens. "Which means they suspect someone's been compromised but don't know who yet."
"Or they're being proactive." I stare at the message. "Running security checks on all their intelligence assets to verify no one's been turned or identified."
"Either way, if Reeve finds Masters, he'll eliminate him." Micah's voice is grim. "We need to move before the Committee realizes we've identified their leak."
But we don't need to move immediately. Reeve is running security audits, which means he's methodically checking multiple assets. That gives us time to plan properly, to coordinate with the team, to develop a strategy for approaching Masters.
"Why is Cross telling us this?" I turn to face him. "If she's working with the Committee, warning us about Reeve makes no sense. If she's playing both sides, giving us this intelligence risks burning her relationship with them."
"Unless she wants to remind us how valuable she is." Micah crosses his arms. "Providing this kind of intelligence reinforces that we need her. Makes us more dependent on her network."
Or she's doing what our files say she does—selling information to everyone except the Committee, maintaining her reputation as an independent broker who provides quality intelligence.
"We need to show this to Kane," I say. "If Reeve is running security audits in the Pacific Northwest, we need to move carefully. He's too good to stumble into accidentally."
Micah nods. "And we need to decide how to approach Masters. If we move too obviously, we tip off the Committee that we've identified him. If we wait too long, Reeve might reach him first."
It requires careful planning, proper coordination with the team. Surveillance, strategy, timing—the kind of work that takes days or weeks to do properly, not hours.
My phone buzzes again. Another message from Victoria:
