I’m convinced he won’t even if it means letting go of this outpost completely.
If we’re going to take the Arsenal, we need to hold on here for at least a month.
When the team leaders arrive, Ben motions them into the room one by one. Then he gestures for Georgie to take his place at the door so he can join the conversation.
As I hear the reports, I get the first aid kit out from under the desk so I can clean and wrap Vella’s arm better, reassuring myself it is indeed only a superficial graze.
Vella is a large, competent woman in her forties, and she’s been with me for almost six years, longer than anyone else but Ben. I don’t want anything to happen to her.
I don’t want anything to happen to any of my people, and sometimes I can’t sleep at night, imagining I get all of them killed.
The reports are all good. The guards were taken by surprise, and not a single one got away. There were no accidents with weapons or explosives, and the mood in the ranks is optimistic.
“Okay,” I say when I’ve heard all the details. “Good job with your teams. Start the rotations and bring everyone not on duty back here to rest.”
When they’ve left the command station, I’m thinking about doing a circuit of the building to reassure myself all is in order, but Ben comes to stand in front of me.
“What?” Damn, the man is big. I wish my physical form was intimidating in the same way.
He nods toward a chair and takes a roll of stretch wrap out of the first aid kit.
With a sigh, I sit down. Not because he told me to but because he’s right. My ankle does hurt, and it will only get worse if it’s not wrapped.
It’s easy for him to reach my ankle because I’m still wearing the silly little dress. He kneels down and extends my foot, gently sliding my sock down to the ball of my foot.
We’ve helped each other with injuries for years, so I don’t know why his big fingers on my skin bother me so much right now. They do though. The light feel of them makes something shake and shudder deep inside me.
It would help if Ben would act in his normal, laid-back manner, but he seems kind of stiff too. He’s not meeting my eyes. Probably because he’s mad at me.
“It’s barely twisted,” I say at last, a restless energy inside me finally pushing me into speech. “It’s not even sprained.”
He’s binding my ankle with the stretchy wrap, and he doesn’t respond until he’s tied it tight. With both hands holding on to my foot, he finally looks up at my face, tense and sober.
“It’s fine, Ben. You’re being ridiculous.”
“I haven’t said a word.”
“You don’t need to say a word. I could feel you bristling at me from a mile away. And what the hell else was I supposed to do? He was about to shoot you.”
“You were supposed to not put yourself in danger.”
“Youwere in danger. That mattered more to me right then.”
“It shouldn’t.”
“Ben, you can’t expect—” We’ve been talking softly so no one else can hear us, but frustration raises my voice.
“I can expect you not to get yourself killed out of some half-baked instinct to rush to my rescue.” His tone is gruff now, and his eyes are cold. He’s still angry.
Really angry.
I’m not used to it, and I don’t like it.
“You would have done the same th?—”
Again, he doesn’t let me finish. “Because that’s my job. That’s what I’m here for. To keep you safe.” When I start to object again, he talks over me. “Just stop. You know I’m right. Your job isn’t to keep me safe, and our entiremission will fall apart if you throw yourself away for no reason.”
I’m angry now too. So much so I’m almost shaking from it. I wrap my fingers together so my trembling won’t be visible. “Maybe I thought there was a reason.”
