His face in that moment, guard dropped entirely, cracks open a place in my chest I'm not ready to examine.
We stay locked together for several heartbeats, foreheads pressed together, both gasping for air. Slowly, carefully, he lowers my leg back to the floor. My knees wobble and his arm locks around my waist immediately.
"I've got you," he murmurs.
The tenderness in his voice after the violence of what we just did makes my throat tight. I lean into him because my legs aren't quite steady and because I can. Because for the first time since he left, he's here and solid and real against me.
We sink to the floor, Micah pulling me across his lap. His fingers trace idle patterns on my shoulder while I try to remember how breathing works. We're on the analysis room floor, both of us naked, professional boundaries thoroughly incinerated.
I should probably care more about that.
"Sarah." His palm cups my face, turning me toward him, serious now. "This changes things."
"I know."
"We'll have to figure out how to make it work with operations, with missions that might separate us."
"I know that too." I meet his eyes steadily. "Are you having second thoughts?"
"No." Immediate and certain. "Are you?"
I should. Tactical considerations say this complicates our effectiveness. But looking at him now, feeling the warmth of his skin against mine, remembering the way he said my name like a prayer and a curse combined...
"No," I say. "No second thoughts."
Micah kisses me, slow and deep and entirely different from the desperation minutes ago. This kiss tastes like promises neither of us is ready to speak out loud. When he pulls back, his expression makes my pulse skip.
"We should probably get dressed before someone needs the analysis room."
Reality returns. We're still on an active operation. Reeve is still hunting. The Committee is still out there. But for these few stolen moments, none of that mattered.
We dress in comfortable silence, stealing glances that make my skin heat as we move. When Micah hands me my shirt, fingers linger on mine just long enough to make intention clear. Not done, not even close.
I'm pulling my boots on when my tablet chimes from the desk where I left it earlier. Micah tenses immediately, hand moving toward the weapon he's not wearing. Operator instincts don't turn off.
I cross to check the notification. Encrypted message from Cross's network. Priority flagged.
Cold slides down my spine as I read.
"What is it?" Micah's already at my shoulder, reading over me.
"Intelligence leak identified." My voice sounds hollow. "Committee's SIGINT operation intercepting our external communications."
His jaw tightens. "How long?"
"Months." I scroll through Cross's data. "Maybe longer."
"And Reeve?"
I pull up the second attachment. Surveillance intercepts, location data, search pattern analysis. Each piece of information lands like a punch to the gut.
"He's narrowed his search grid." My fingers move across the tablet, overlaying Reeve's pattern with Echo Base's actual location. The overlap makes my blood run cold. "We're inside his radius."
His hand finds my shoulder, grip tight enough to ground. "How close?"
"Close enough."
We stand there for a moment, the warmth of what just happened between us cooling rapidly in the face of operational reality. The Committee knows too much. Reeve is too close. And we're running out of time to stop both threats before they converge on Echo Base.
