Cross herself steps out last, her silver hair pulled back in a severe bun, her expression unreadable. "He'll talk," she says to Micah. "Give me seventy-two hours."
"Appreciated," Micah responds.
Cross nods once, then climbs back into her vehicle. Within minutes, they're gone, taking Reeve with them.
We head back to Echo Base, the tension of the last several hours finally starting to ease. The debriefing happens in the operations center. Kane walks us through the engagement step by step, confirming timeline, confirming the surveillance equipment was completely destroyed, confirming Reeve never transmitted any data back to Committee leadership before the ambush. Every detail supports what we already knew, but hearing it confirmed again lets me breathe easier for the first time since we discovered Reeve's trajectory.
By the time we finish, it's late afternoon and I'm running on adrenaline and caffeine, nothing substantial since breakfast. Micah suggests Kane get some rest, and it's just the two of us in the operations center again.
"You did good work today," Micah says quietly.
"So did you." I meet his eyes. He looks as exhausted as I feel. "We kept them alive."
"We kept everyone alive." He moves closer, close enough to feel his body heat. "Including ourselves."
The operations center suddenly feels too small, too quiet, the weight of what we just survived settling between us in a way that makes my pulse kick up for entirely different reasons than tactical anxiety.
"I should go," I say, but I don't move.
"Yeah," Micah agrees. He doesn't move either.
We stand there in the humming silence of the operations center, close enough to touch but not quite touching, the adrenaline crash mixing with a need.
Finally, Micah steps back. "Get some rest, Sarah. It's been a long day."
I nod and head for the door, feeling his eyes on me the entire way. I reach my quarters and close the door behind me. What I saw in his expression follows me in—want, need, the same things I'm feeling.
I try to convince myself I should eat something, but I'm not hungry. My body's exhausted but my mind won't shut down, still running through scenarios and timelines, the weight of what we survived refusing to settle.
A shower. That's what I need.
The hot water feels like heaven against my tense muscles. I tip my head back, letting it cascade over my face and shoulders, trying to wash away the tension of the day. My hands move on autopilot—soap, shampoo, rinse—while my brain refuses to stop replaying every moment of the mission.
A knock sounds at my door.
I freeze, water streaming over me. Late enough that it can only be one person.
"It's open," I call out.
The door opens. Closes. The lock clicks.
"Sarah?" Micah's voice carries through the bathroom door.
"In here."
Silence. Then the bathroom door opens, and he's standing there in the doorway, still in those tactical pants and black t-shirt, his expression unreadable.
"I shouldn't be here," he says.
"Then why are you?"
His jaw tightens. "Because I can't stop thinking about you."
I reach out and open the shower door. An invitation.
For a long moment, he just looks at me. Then he strips off his shirt, and I watch the play of muscles as he moves. He sheds the rest of his clothes, and when he steps into the shower with me, the space suddenly feels too small and exactly right all at once.
Water cascades over both of us. His hands come up to frame my face, tilting my head back as he kisses me. It's not gentle. There's too much tension, too much need built up between us for gentle.
