His jaw works, but he doesn't interrupt.
"I don't want excuses." The fight drains out of me as quickly as it came, leaving hollow exhaustion in its wake. "I want to go back two years and have you answer that message. I want to not have done all of that alone."
Silence stretches between us. Micah takes a careful step closer.
"You're right," he says. "You did it alone. You survived being ambushed and found your brother and held everything together while I was dark. And I can't change that."
I wait for the excuse, the justification.
Instead, he says, "The mission required complete blackout. No communications, no contact, nothing that could compromise the infiltration. I was embedded so deep that breaking silence would have gotten people killed."
"I know."
"Intel I gathered stopped a Committee weapons shipment that would have killed hundreds. Identified key operatives in their network. Gave Echo Ridge actionable intelligence that we're still using."
"I know that too."
"But you still needed me." His voice drops. "And I wasn't there."
The simple acknowledgment cracks something in my chest. No justification. No minimizing my pain by pointing to the greater good. Just the truth.
"Yeah," I say. "I needed you and you weren't there."
Micah moves closer, into my space now. Not crowding, just present in a way he hasn't been since he came back. Since we've both been so careful to maintain professional distance.
"I made the only choice I could make," he says. "The mission required it. The greater good required it. And I'd make the same choice again because those lives mattered."
I nod because I know this. I've always known this.
"But knowing I made the right tactical decision doesn't stop it from hurting you." He pauses. "Doesn't stop me from wishing I could have been there anyway."
"You can't have it both ways," I say. "You can't be Ghost, the operative who disappears for months on deep cover missions and also be the person who answers when I call."
"I'm not Ghost anymore." His voice is steady, certain. "I left the CIA. My loyalties are to you and this team now."
"So where does that leave us?"
"Right here." Raw honesty. "I'm not going anywhere, Sarah. Not unless you physically throw me out."
I should tell him to leave. Should protect myself from getting hurt again. Should remember that working together and being together are different things.
But standing here in the analysis room, looking at him, remembering what it felt like when we worked together, when we were together...
Silence fills the room. Every piece of my anger lies scattered across the floor, sharp and glittering and still capable of drawing blood. Micah stands a few feet away, close enough that I'm aware of his presence but not crowding me. His explanation hangs in the air with my accusations, neither of us quite ready to acknowledge what we've just torn open.
Two years of messages that went unanswered. Two years of wondering if he was alive or dead while I bled out and searched for Gabe alone. Years of choosing between hating him and missing him so desperately I couldn't breathe.
Understanding his reasons doesn't erase any of it.
"I get it," I say finally. My voice sounds scraped raw. "Deep cover. Complete blackout. Intel that saved the team. I understand why you made that choice."
Micah's jaw tightens, waiting for the rest.
"I'm not angry you went dark." Each word costs me more than I want to admit. "I'm angry I needed you and you weren't there."
His eyes darken, but he doesn't move.
"I'm angry I still need you."
