"Both contractors confirm it," I tell him. "Federal-level authority running the operation. Personally present at the staging area. Multiple teams, several klicks south in an abandoned hunting lodge."
Zeke's expression hardens. "Combined with Traci's testimony identifying Graves, Cara's evidence of his federal access, the financial connections—this builds a prosecutable case. Federal prosecutors can't ignore this."
"Yeah." I look toward the infirmary where Traci's safe. "We've got him."
Helena crosses to me. Studies my face. Her hand lifts like she's going to touch me, then drops. Professional distance maintained even though I can see the want in her eyes.
"You're bleeding again."
I'd forgotten about the graze along my temple from the first assault. The blood's dried but the wound's still open.
"It's nothing."
"Let me clean it anyway."
She guides me to a chair. Works with efficient precision, cleaning the wound, applying a bandage. Her hands are steadynow. Clinical. But they tremble when her fingers brush my skin. Her breathing changes when she's this close.
Heat crawls up the back of my neck. Awareness of exactly how she felt wrapped around me. How she sounds when I take her apart.
"You okay?" I ask quietly.
"I should be asking you that. You just fought off two coordinated assaults by trained contractors."
"Part of the job."
"Was. Past tense." She finishes with the bandage. Steps back but her eyes stay on mine. "You've been living isolated for years. And in the space of hours you dropped right back into being an operative like you never left."
"Muscle memory. Training doesn't go away just because you're not using it."
"That's not what I mean." She holds my gaze. "I watched you out there. The way you moved. The way you assessed threats and responded. You weren't scared. You weren't hesitating. You were in your element."
"So?"
"So I'm wondering if isolation was what you needed or if it was just what you thought you deserved."
The observation cuts deeper than she probably intended. Because she's right. I told myself I went off-grid to manage what the field made me. To build control. To keep the operational mindset from bleeding into civilian life.
But maybe I was just punishing myself for Syria. For the incident that sent me running. For the civilians caught in crossfire because I made a call that seemed right in the moment but cost lives anyway.
"I don't know," I tell her honestly. "Maybe both."
She nods slowly. Her hand lifts again, her fingers brushing along my jaw. Light touch but it sends heat straight through me."Well, for what it's worth, I'm glad you were here. Whatever else you think about yourself, you kept Traci alive. You kept all of us alive."
Before I can respond—before I can do something stupid like pull her into my lap—the radio crackles. Cara's voice. "Vehicles approaching. Multiple units. Looks like the backup from Whitewater Junction finally arrived."
I stand. Move to the window, putting distance between me and Helena before I lose what's left of my control. Sure enough, sheriff's department vehicles are pulling into the clearing. Doors open. Deputies emerge wearing tactical gear, Rhys Blackwater among them.
They're here to secure the scene and take custody of the contractors. To hold them until federal prosecutors can move on the warrants.
But Graves is still out there. Still at the staging area several klicks south. Still coordinating whatever's left of his network.
We held the line. Captured two contractors. Got tactical intelligence about his operation.
But this isn't over.
I key the radio one more time. "All positions, stand down. Backup from Whitewater is here. We're clear for now."
Finn emerges from his position. Zeke comes out from the eastern window. Cara steps out of the communications room. We stand in the clearing as Rhys's deputies start their work.
