The words stung, but not as much as how close they were standing. Or how her breath had gone shallow.
"You think I don't understand what I signed up for?" Her voice dropped lower than she intended.
Logan closed the final distance. His chest brushed the front of her vest. Rachel's pulse kicked hard. Up close, she could see the way his shirt stretched across his shoulders with each breath, could feel heat radiating off his skin.
His voice dropped even lower. "You don't have a clue."
His gaze dropped for a heartbeat. To her mouth.
Rachel forgot how to breathe. Those arms that had caught her earlier were right there, close enough to touch. She thought about what those hands could do, pull someone out of danger, handle a rifle with deadly precision, or...
Stop.
Her pulse kicked hard.
He exhaled then, stepped back. The space between them cooled. Whatever had been building broke apart. "You're not coming this time. Stay out of trouble, Parker."
His voice stayed low as he turned away, boots quiet against packed dirt. He didn't look back.
Rachel stood there, chest heaving. Then she snapped out of it and crossed the compound in quick, furious strides. Distance first. Processing later. Right now she just needed him out of her immediate vicinity.
She didn't slow until she reached her tent, yanking the door aside hard enough that the canvas snapped. Her hands were shaking from anger or adrenaline or something else entirely, she didn't want to examine. Inside, the air was stifling. The overhead light flickered once, buzzed, then steadied. She stripped off her vest and let it fall beside her boots. Dropped onto the edge of her cot.
Her notebook rested on the table beside the folded map.
Something was wrong.
The pen no longer sat tucked beneath the edge. The cover was slightly off-center. Barely changed, but she saw it. She always saw it. Rachel froze. She never left things that way.
She reached for it carefully, noting the top page was creased at one corner, a small fold she didn’t do. Her handwriting covered the page in tight lines. Interview prompts. Notes on the convoy. Loose threads she planned to string together tonight.
Nothing was missing, but the order felt wrong. Shifted. As if someone had lifted it, thumbed through it, and put it back exactly how they thought it had been.
Her pulse climbed again, a slow coil beneath her sternum.
She leafed through the last entries, everything was there, but nothing matched the way she kept it. Her system was exact and clean with no creases and no misaligned corners. Ever.
She stared at the open page. The silence in the tent pressed in.
She slid the notebook beneath the spare hoodie in her rucksack. Not her usual spot, but the desk felt exposed now. Her space didn’t feel untouched anymore.
She checked the barracks door and ensured it was locked.
She sat, slower this time, adrenaline still buzzing under her skin. She tried to sort through it rationally, but the knot behind her ribs wouldn’t loosen.
Someone had been inside her space and whoever it was had handled her notebook.
8
Ridge Line - Kunar Province
Two days later, after more arguing than he had patience for, Ghost finally relented and allowed Rachel on a surveillance run. The valley tightened around them, carved between two fractured ridgelines that funneled the wind into a constant whisper. Their boots scraped against loose shale. Ghost winced at the sound. One bad step could send someone sliding into a line of fire they never saw coming.
Ghost moved ahead, rifle steady, eyes sweeping the slope. The team spread behind him in a staggered formation. Rachel stayed near the rear with Echo and Reaper. She kept her gear close, her steps controlled, her breathing even. She had kept the pace all the way up from the FOB without complaint.
She was trying. Ghost saw it, but trying did not erase risk and consequences.
They approached a blind bend where the rock walls closed in. Ghost raised a fist. Full stop. He scanned the high edges, then the low cuts between rock. Nothing moved except the wind sliding across the stone.
