“Distracted,” he said instead.
“By what?” Nick's too-casual tone meant he’d noticed something and was fishing.
“Training scenarios.”
“Right.” Nick’s tone said he didn't buy it, but he let it drop. “Speaking of which, David, did you fix the HVAC yet?”
“Unlocked,” David said cheerfully. “Mostly.”
“Mostly.”
“There may be a minor issue with the third-floor ventilation, but it’s fine.”
“Define fine.”
“Not actively on fire.”
“That’s a low bar,” Emma commented, a smile in her voice.
“It’s easier to make bonus if you set realistic goals.”
She laughed again, and it hit Zach like a physical wave—warmth spreading through the room, loosening the knots in his brothers’ shoulders, making the space feel less like a staging ground and more like a home.
That was what had changed.
The cottage had been their headquarters. A place to sleep and plan, to maintain operational readiness. They had quarters at all their properties, but that’s all they were. Functional quarters. Only Mimosa Cay was home.
But Emma cooked in the kitchen. Left her shoes by the door. Reorganized his counter, laughed at David’s jokes, and asked Nick strategic questions like she was part of the family.
She made it a home.
Which meant it was something he could lose.
Everyone I care about becomes a target.
His phone vibrated with a notification.
Sensor offline: 14B-2
Zach’s chest tightened. His pulse kicked up—not panic, but the body’s recognition of threat. It was probably nothing. He’d determined they’d received a batch of bad sensors. He’d spent most of the day replacing them. He must have missed one.
Except he hadn’t.
The dinner table now felt too small, too warm, too exposed.
Four people. Four targets.
Multiple entry points. Multiple exposed windows. Too many variables.
He could protect three. Had been for years. Three was manageable. Four introduced a whole new level of complexity. Four complicated the math, divided his attention, and created vulnerabilities he couldn’t patch.
Emma wasn’t trained. Wasn’t tactical. She’d make the right human choice, but not necessarily the one that kept herself alive. She could shoot, but didn’t think like an operator.
She’d be a liability in a firefight.
Or worse—leverage.
Zach’s fingers tightened on his fork. He forced them to relax.
