“The northwest access point.” Cassie points. “It’s the most heavily defended, which means Phoenix expects attacks from the other directions. If we approach from where they’re watching most closely, using the terrain to mask our insertion?—”
“We use their paranoia against them,” I finish. “They’ll have resources concentrated on the obvious approaches.”
“Exactly.” She looks up at me. “Am I wrong?”
“You’re not wrong.” I study the map, running tactical calculations. “Ghost and Torque would need to sign off, but the logic is sound.”
“See?” Brass saves the notation. “Natural tactical instinct. I told you she’d be useful.”
“Never doubted it.”
Cassie’s hand finds mine under the table. Squeezes.
The rest of the afternoon passes in a blur. Briefings and equipmentchecks and the small, essential tasks that separate success from failure. Through it all, Cassie stays close. Not hovering—she’s learning too much, contributing too much tobe in the way—but present. A constant reminder of what I’m fighting for.
We eat dinner together, all of us—Ghost, Brass, Whisper, Fuse, Torque, Thorne, Cassie, and me. Eight people around a metal table in an underground bunker, sharing terrible food, dark humor, and the easy camaraderie of soldiers preparing for battle.
This is what I’ve been missing. What I told myself I didn’t need.
Family.
The evening briefing runs long. Ghost and Brass debate approach vectors while Torque paces and Whisper calculates odds none of us want to hear. By 2100, we’re no closer to a solution than we were at dawn. The facility is a fortress. Phoenix has seen to that.
“We reconvene at 0600,” Ghost finally says. “Fresh eyes. We’ll find a way.”
The team disperses. Thorne disappears like smoke. Fuse and Whisper head toward the armory. Brass stays at the console, running simulations that keep coming back red.
Cassie catches my eye across the room.
I cross to her. Take her hand.
“Hey.”
“Hey.” She looks up at me. In the blue glow of the operations center, her eyes are luminous. Determined. Beautiful. “Walk with me?”
“Always.”
I lead her through the corridor to a quiet corner where the hum of electronics fades to silence.
She takes my hands. Her fingers are smaller than mine, softer. “You’ll figure it out. The approach. You always do.”
“We’re close. Just missing something.”
“Then you’ll find it.” Her certainty is absolute. “But that’s not what I wanted to talk about.”
“No?”
“No.” She steps closer. “Ten days ago, I didn’t know you existed. I was living my life, doing my job, pretending that being invisible was the same as being safe. And then you crashed through my window and everything changed.”
“I used the door, and you pepper-sprayed me.”
“You know what I mean.” A smile flickers across her face—there and gone. “You showed me what I was hiding from. Not Phoenix. Myself. The version of me that was too scared to want things, too careful to risk anything, too invisible to matter.”
“You always mattered.”
“I didn’t believe it. Not until you.” She’s close enough now that I can smell the gun oil on her hands, the industrial soap from the HQ showers. “You looked at me like I was real. Like I was worth protecting. Like I was worth dying for.”
“You are.”
