I’ve fought wars. Killed legends. I’ve watched worlds burn from orbit and kept walking.
But I’ve never had this.
Not something to protect.
Someone.
Someone who sees through the scars and the bluster and gives a damn anyway.
She’s here. In this. With me.
And that’s the most terrifying thing I’ve ever felt.
I glance at her—focused, fire-eyed, brilliant in the glow of the terminal lights.
If this goes south, they’ll aim for her first.
I swallow hard.
She looks at me. “We’ve got this.”
I nod.
But I don’t believe it.
Not fully.
Not when I finally have something to lose. I have some solace, though. The plan is simple. Dangerous, reckless, and stitched together with equal parts desperation and raw instinct—but simple.
We stage a data drop. Fabricate a conversation about Sable’s “new testimony location.” Pipe it through a feed we know they monitor. Let them think they’ve intercepted something golden.
Then we wait.
Which, for me, is worse than a firefight.
I prowl the warehouse like a restless beast. There’s too much air. Too much silence. Every creak of the beams, every hum of the drones, makes my skin itch.
I sit. Then stand. Then sit again.
My wrist-blaster’s already calibrated, but I disassemble it anyway. Fingers working without thought, muscle memory froma hundred wars. Click, slide, twist. Reassemble. Test the weight. Repeat.
Not enough.
So I sharpen the vibro-knives.
Not because they need it—but because I do.
The edge of steel. The clean bite of stone against blade. It steadies me.
Sort of.
Then I polish my armor. Slow, methodical. Each plate scrubbed to a dull gleam. My reflection catches in the chestplate—my own scarred face staring back. Eyes darker than usual. Mouth tight.
I hate waiting.
Footsteps behind me. Light. Sure.
Sable.
