"Fine, we rappel down."
"Not happening." Heat spikes behind my eyes. "Your stitches haven’t even been pulled."
Oksana points at the screen like it owes her money. "Rappel insertion from a bird is smarter than driving through three checkpoints with a hemorrhaging man in the back seat."
"That’s actually a good idea," Ettoro says, blessedly helpful at exactly the wrong time.
"Shut up," I snap. "And mark every guard who touches that door."
Oksana wheels on me. "Who do you think you are, telling me what I can and can’t do?"
"Your husband," I deadpan, because I'm not losing ground tonight.
"You’re not my husband," she fires back.
"According to you, I am." I don’t take my eyes off the feed. "Remember the hospital? They called me becauseyoutold them you weremywife."
She glares daggers. I smirk.
On the screen, the two nurses pass out of frame. Ettoro stays flat.
"Movement east," he whispers. "Truck, two men. Patrol."
"Hold," I order. My voice goes automatic, the way voices do when everything you love is standing too close to a cliff.
I think of Nico. Of his laugh when we were boys, mean and wild. Of what we said we’d be by thirty and what we became. I think of him on a slab in a room that smells like bleach while we’re arguing about ropes and parachutes. Fury climbs my spine and locks my jaw.
"We do this smart," I state, quieter than the anger feels. "We get a chopper on standby. The bird will fly him to the plane."
"On it," Ettoro murmurs.
"Oksana," I say, turning to her, "you’re not on the insertion."
Her mouth opens—sharp words lining up for the parade.
"You run overwatch," I push on. "From here. You’ve got the best eye and the worst wound. I need you to watch our backs."
We both know it's bullshit. "If Nico’s circling the drain, I need both hands free to carry him and not worry about you bleeding out beside me."
Her jaw works. "That's not fair."
"To me, losing you is not an option."
Silence sucks the air out of the room for a second at what I just admitted. On the TV, a guard yawns and scratches his neck. Life goes on in the ugliest ways.
Ettoro breaks it. "Cargo building to the north has a roof ladder. I can get a mic planted above the target room if I cross now."
"Negative," I say. "You move when the next floodlight cycles left. Thirty seconds on the sweep."
"Copy."
I push off the bed, pacing once to bleed the adrenaline. "I’m calling in a medic and blood. O-positive."
"O-negative," she corrects mechanically. "Universal donor."
"Both," I say. "And pressure bags. If he’s belly-shot, he’ll crash on movement."
Her eyes are still knives, but they’re pointed at the right enemy now. "We go at moonrise," she says. "Less light on the roof cams."
