We shuffle across the room together, slow and careful. His breathing is labored by the time we reach the window, and he has to lean against the frame to catch his breath. The view outside is dark fields and darker sky, stars scattered across the void like scattered diamonds.
"Jagger got new intel," Jinx says.
"I know. He told me earlier."
"Singapore. That's where they moved the kids." His jaw tightens. "Shipped across the world like cargo. Because we weren't fast enough. Because we walked into an obvious trap like fucking amateurs."
"We walked into a trap. There's no way we could have known. Their intel was airtight. Someone on the inside fed us exactly what they wanted us to see."
"We should have known. But who the fuck was it?” He stops, shakes his head. "Doesn't matter. What's done is done. Beating ourselves up over Geneva won't bring Dom back. Won't unfuck the mission. What matters is what we do next."
"What we do next is wait for you to heal."
"I'll heal faster if I have something to focus on. Sitting in bed staring at walls is making me crazy." He turns to look at me, and even in the darkness, his eyes burn with that familiar intensity. "I'm not sitting out the next mission, Asher. Those kids are out there because we failed. I'm going to be there when we get them back."
"Jinx—"
"No. Don't." He grabs my shirt, pulls me closer. The motion makes him wince, but he doesn't let go. "I know what you're going to say. I'm injured. I'm a liability. I'll slow the team down, get someone killed. But here's the thing—I almost died in Geneva. I should have died. And the only reason I didn't is because Dom told you to choose me over him."
The words hit like fists. Because he's right. Because we both know what that choice cost.
"I can't waste that," Jinx continues, his voice rough. "I can't sit in a safe house playing victim while you go into another facility, another trap, another situation where you might not come back. Dom died so I could live. I'm not going to live by hiding. That's not living. That's just existing with a pulse."
"I'm not asking you to hide. I'm asking you to heal."
"Same thing."
"It's not." I cup his face in my hands, force him to meet my eyes. The stubborn set of his jaw, the fire in his gaze—this is the man who almost killed me six years ago. The man who walked away from everything he knew to save a stranger. The man I'm falling for, hard and fast and without a regret in the world. "Listen to me. You're not a liability. You're not a burden. You're the reason I'm still standing. But if you go into Singapore half-healed and get yourself killed, everything Dom sacrificed means nothing. You want to honor his memory? Stay alive long enough to see this through."
His jaw works. The stubborn set of his shoulders doesn't change, but his eyes soften.
"How long?"
"A week. Maybe two. Let the stitches come out. Let the internal damage heal. Then we plan Singapore."
"Fucking hell, that’s a long time to make those kids wait."
"Yeah." I lean in, press my forehead to his. "But it’s my requirement for you to come with."
He's quiet. His breath is warm on my face. His hands have found my hips, holding on like I'm the only thing keeping him upright.
"Partners," he says finally.
"Partners."
"Fine. Two weeks. But if you try to leave me behind after that, I'll shoot you myself."
"Noted."
A smile flickers across his face. "You're annoying, you know that?"
"I've been told."
"Pushy. Stubborn. Completely unwilling to let me self-destruct in peace." He strokes my chin as he speaks.
"Also accurate."
"I hate that I like it."
