The briefing broke and people moved to their stations. Mara stayed in the ops center, looking at the satellite imagery of the compound. Forty kilometers from Erbil. The same region where she'd met Logan. Where everything had changed.
Her phone buzzed. Logan. "Hey beautiful. Just finished training. You around to talk?"
Mara stared at the message. She should tell him. Should mention that she was deploying to Iraq. That she'd be in his old operational area. That there was a chance, however small, that she'd be in danger.
But telling him meant worrying him. Meant him spending the next week unable to do anything but stress about her safety. Meant complications she didn't have time to navigate right now.
She typed back, "Hey. Just wrapped a briefing. Can I call you later? Kind of swamped right now."
"Sure. Everything okay?"
"Yeah. Just work stuff. Talk tonight?"
"You got it. Love you."
Mara stared at those two words. He'd started saying them more often over the last few weeks. Casual declarations that made her heart do complicated things. She hadn't said it back yet. Hadn't quite found the courage to put that much weight into words even though she felt it.
"Talk tonight," she typed back, avoiding the issue.
She pocketed her phone and turned back to the satellite imagery. Six days. Then wheels up to Iraq for an operation that could save fifteen lives or get her whole team killed.
She'd tell Logan after. When it was done. When she was safe. When the worry would be retroactive instead of anticipatory.
It was the right call. The tactical call. The one that kept everyone focused on the mission instead of the personal complications.
At least that's what she told herself.
The next six days were a blur of planning and preparation. Nadia built three different tactical approaches and they ran through simulations for each one. Entry through the main gate versus scaling the walls. Simultaneous breach versus sequential entry. Fast extraction versus methodical clearing. Each approach had advantages and risks. They practiced all of them until everyone could execute in their sleep.
Reese coordinated with Quinn's contact in Erbil and arranged for a staging area at a private airfield. Not the same one they'd used for Steele's extraction, too much risk of pattern recognition, but another option forty kilometers west of the city. Quiet. Discreet. Owner asked no questions as long as the money was good.
Winter assembled equipment lists and triple-checked every piece of gear. Body armor for everyone. Weapons with enough ammunition for a sustained firefight if things went wrong. Breaching charges. Communications equipment with encrypted channels. Night vision. Medical supplies organized by triage priority. Fifteen emergency packs with water, basic first aid, and thermal blankets for the women they'd be extracting.
Kira prepared medical protocols for trauma, malnutrition, and potential drug withdrawal. She coordinated with Harper on what resources would be needed at L'Abri Sûr when they brought the women back. Fifteen new residents meant strain on their systems. Medical wing capacity. Counseling resources. Living space. Everything had to be ready before they even left.
Quinn continued monitoring the intelligence, watching for any changes that might affect the operation. The chatter remained consistent. The sale was still scheduled. The location hadn't changed. Security patterns at the compound stayed predictable. Everything pointed to this being legitimate intelligence, not a trap or a false flag.
But Quinn also kept tracking Nazari's network. The arms dealer had gone quiet after losing Steele, but that didn't mean he'd disappeared. His organization was still active, still moving weapons and occasionally people through the region. There was always a chance they'd cross paths with his operation. Always a risk that someone in his network would recognize Shadow Veil's patterns even though they'd worked hard to stay invisible.
"Nazari's not directly involved in this sale," Quinn reported on day four. "Different networks. Different players. But some of his old contacts are tangentially connected. Third and fourth degree separation. Not enough to worry about active interference, but enough that we need to stay alert."
Mara coordinated everything, making sure all the pieces fit together. She talked to Logan every night, carefully editing whatshe said. Mentioned she'd be busy with work. Didn't specify where or when or what kind of work. He didn't push, never pushed, just accepted what she could tell him and trusted the rest.
The guilt ate at her. The knowledge that she was lying by omission. But the alternative was worse. Was him worrying. Was him potentially trying to help or coordinating with his team or doing something that would compromise both their operational security.
On day five, they did a full mission walkthrough. Every phase from wheels up to wheels down. Entry scenarios. Extraction routes. Medical triage procedures. Emergency protocols if things went sideways. Everyone knew their role. Everyone was ready.
That night, Logan video called. He was in his quarters at Fort Liberty, looking relaxed and happy. "Hey. You've been quiet this week. Everything okay?"
"Yeah. Just a big project at work. Lots of moving parts." Mara hated how easy the lies came. How natural it felt to compartmentalize. "Should wrap up soon."
"Good. I miss hearing from you more than once a day." He smiled. "Hawk's got us running training scenarios all week. New guys coming into the team. We're making sure they're up to speed."
They talked for an hour about nothing important. His team. Her compound. The weather. The kind of comfortable conversation that came from months of learning each other's rhythms. When they finally said goodnight, Logan's last words were the same as always.
"Love you, Mara. Talk tomorrow?"
"Talk tomorrow," she agreed, still not saying the words back.
