“I’m not leaving until you go inside.”
Shannon shifted her weight. “I don’t like long goodbyes. Feels indulgent.”
“This doesn’t have to be one.”
She looked up at him. There was no melancholy in his expression. No plea. Just something steady.
“I meant what I said,” he added. “San Diego’s just a location. Not an excuse.”
Her voice was quiet. “You don’t know where I’ll be in a year.”
He shrugged. “Then I’ll find out when we get there.”
“You make it sound simple.”
“It’s not,” he said. “You’re just worth it.”
She stepped in, arms folding around him. No hesitation or holding back. Her head rested against his chest for three full breaths. Then she pulled back, just enough to look at him. “You better not get soft while I’m gone.”
He smirked. “Not possible.”
“Or smug.”
“Less likely.”
She kissed him once, fast, right at the corner of his mouth. Not a goodbye. Just a reminder. Then she turned, grabbed the duffel, and walked toward the terminal doors. She didn’t look back.
CHASE SECURITY D.C. HEADQUARTERS
The fluorescent lights on Sub-Level 3 buzzed faintly above layers of concrete, steel, and classified conversations. No one smiled down here. No one raised their voice. Everything lived inside briefcases and clearance tags.
Dante scanned into the lower ops wing, his badge chirping green. The steel security door released with a mechanical sigh. He was barely through when a voice called out, “Yo, San Diego.”
Dante turned.
Sean Paulsen approached from the side hallway, hands in his pockets, a hard silhouette under the bland ceiling lights. He wore a plain black long-sleeve shirt and jeans, nothing tactical, but his presence still read command. Paulsen wasn’t just another operator. He was Bravo Team’s head.
They clasped hands, solid and brief.
“You back from escort?” Paulsen asked.
“An hour ago,” Dante said. “She’s wheels up.”
Paulsen gave a short nod. “Good. Need you to swing through Medical.”
Dante raised an eyebrow. “Something I should know?”
“You’re not deploying,” Paulsen said. “Yet. But you need to be medically current. Cholera, typhoid, meningitis, rabies, and all your booster checks.”
Dante folded his arms. “This about Africa?”
Paulsen nodded. “Sahel corridor’s turning into a landfill fire. Multiple factions consolidating. Intel says Russian arms maybe funneling through a front NGO near Burkina Faso. Cartel involvement likely. We’re putting boots on the ground in three sectors. Fast.”
“Who’s leading?”
“I am,” Paulsen said. “Bravo’s got the west route. We were prepped to move forward until Harrison got clipped outside Lagos.”
Dante’s jaw moved slightly. “How bad?”
