“Isolation is tactical.” The answer came by rote, a truth he’d built his adult life around. “Emotional attachment creates vulnerability. Anyone close to me becomes a target.”
“Like Ace?” David’s voice was soft but direct.
Zach’s jaw locked. “Yes. Like Ace.”
“That wasn't your fault?—”
“I know.” The words came out sharper than intended. Zach forced himself to breathe, to regulate. “I know I didn't kill him. But the people who did came because of me. Because of what I am. Because he was leverage.”
Nick was quiet for a moment. When he spoke, his voice carried the weight of years of similar arguments. “And your solution is to make sure no one ever gets close enough to become leverage.”
“Yes.”
“That’s not living, Zach. That’s existing. You deserve more.”
The words landed in his chest with uncomfortable precision. Some small, stupid part of him—the part that almost kissed Emma in a cave, that told her his darkest secret, that felt something like peace in her presence—wanted to believe Nick was right.
Wanting didn’t change reality.
“My focus is split,” the admission cost him more than he had expected. “I’m watching her. Thinking about her. Worrying about her. That’s dangerous.”
“Why?” David challenged, “because you might care about someone?”
“Distraction gets people killed.” Zach’s voice went flat and emotionless. Back to the tone he used in briefings, when personal feelings couldn’t be allowed to interfere with tactical assessment. “If the assassin strikes and I’m focused on Emma instead of the threat, someone dies. Maybe one of you. Definitely her.”
“Or,” Nick countered, “you’re more effective because you have something to protect beyond abstract duty.”
Zach shook his head. “That’s not how it works.”
“Isn’t it?” Nick’s gaze was steady, unflinching. “You’ve been sharper these past few days. More engaged. You notice detailsfaster than you would have six months ago because you’re not just going through tactical motions anymore. You’re present.”
“I’m distracted.”
“You’re alive.” Nick leaned back, voice going quieter. “For the first time since you left the Army, you’re alive. Yes, that’s scary. But isolation kills too, Zach. Maybe not physically, but in every other way that matters.”
Zach wanted to argue, to present the tactical realities, the threat assessments, the cold mathematics of vulnerability and exploitation. None of it mattered. He’d made his decision when he woke at 0530, mind haunted with scenarios where Emma became collateral damage because he hesitated for half a second too long.
He stood, carrying his mug to the sink. “We have work to do. Storm prep, security lockdown, threat assessment of the unknown groundskeeper. That’s the priority.”
Nick studied him for a long moment, then nodded. “Fine. David, I need you on generator monitoring. Zach, work with Clay on the perimeter sweeps. I’ll coordinate with Emma on personnel tracking.”
“I’ll handle Emma,” Zach said immediately. "She's still my responsibility to keep safe.”
Nick’s expression was unreadable. “All right. I’ll take Clay, you handle Emma.”
They moved through the rest of breakfast with focused efficiency, discussing backup plans and contingencies, reviewing weather updates that grew increasingly ominous. The storm would make landfall sometime late afternoon, and they needed to be locked down and secured hours prior.
But even as Zach tracked the tactical details, part of his mind was already seventeen steps ahead.
Emma would be hurt. She trusted him in a way that made his chest tight and uncomfortable. She’d looked at him in the cave like he was worth knowing, not something to be afraid of or use.
And he intended to destroy that. Deliberately. Methodically.
She'd pull back. Self-preservation would kick in. She was smart enough to recognize when someone wasn't worth the effort.
Better to end it now. Before she invested more. Before he wanted things he had no right to want.
Better she hate him than love him.
