Chapter 19 - Wyn
The intelligence report slips from my fingers when I read the first line.
“No.” I push back from the table, and the chair scrapes across the floor. “Absolutely not.”
Raegan looks up from her own stack of documents, pen still in her hand. “You haven’t even heard the full proposal yet.”
“I don’t need to hear it.” I grab the report and look over the details again, hoping I misread something. “Infiltrating a Thornridge command post? Are you out of your mind?”
“It’s the only way to get the intelligence we need. Reeyan’s research shows clear patterns in their communications, but we need real-time access to confirm timing and positions. It’s the only way to find Mordaunt.”
“Then we’ll find another way.”
“There is no other way, Wyn. You know that.”
I do know that. The logical part of my brain understands exactly why this mission makes tactical sense. Raegan’s psychic abilities would allow her to identify deception, read emotional states, and gather intelligence that no conventional operative could access.
But logic means nothing when every instinct I possess screams at the thought of her walking into enemy territory.
“We’ll figure something else out,” I insist.
“Like what?” She stands and moves around the desk. “Send in a conventional team that Thornridge will detect within minutes? Hope they volunteer information during casual conversation?”
“Better than sending you into a trap.”
“It’s not a trap if we plan it correctly.”
“Every plan goes to hell the moment you encounter the enemy.”
Raegan crosses her arms. “Is this about my capabilities or your fear?”
The question cuts deeper than I want to admit. “It’s about keeping you alive.”
“That’s not your decision to make.”
“Like hell it isn’t. You’re my wife.”
“I have agency, Wyn. I can make my own choices about acceptable risk.”
I want to tell her that the risk isn’t acceptable, that losing her would destroy me, that I’d rather face Thornridge with half our intelligence than put her in danger. But those words sound selfish even in my head.
“This isn’t about agency,” I argue. “It’s about smart tactical decisions.”
“No, it’s about you treating me like something fragile that needs protecting instead of a trained operative with unique skills.”
Before I can respond, Theodore enters with another report. He takes one look at our faces and stops short.
“Should I come back later?”
“No,” Raegan snaps. “What’s the update?”
Theodore glances at me, then back at her. His usually steady demeanor seems strained. Something about his posture tells me this isn’t routine intelligence.
“Long-range scouts confirm new developments.” He sets a fresh folder on the table. “Based on intercepted radio chatter, we estimate they’ll be ready to attack within forty-eight hours.”
My stomach drops. Forty-eight hours means we’re completely out of time for careful planning or finding alternatives.
“That’s exactly why the infiltration mission is critical,” Raegan adds. “We need to know their exact timing and approach routes before they move into final positions.”
“And if something goes wrong?” I ask. “If they capture you?”
“Then you’ll adapt and continue with whatever intelligence we’ve gathered.”
Her casual tone about potential capture makes me want to throw something against the wall. “That’s your solution? Hope for the best and deal with consequences later?”
“That’s called accepting calculated risk for mission success.”
Theodore clears his throat and raises another piece of paper in the air. “There’s more. This morning’s intercepts included specific references that change our threat assessment.”
“What kind of references?” I ask.
“Thane Mordaunt has issued direct orders regarding high-value targets. Raegan’s name appears on their priority capture list.” Theodore sets the transcript between us.
The world tilts sideways, and the words on the paper go fuzzy. “What exactly does it say?”
“Quote: ‘The omega psychic presents both intelligence value and leverage potential. Priority capture, alive if possible.’ End quote.”
Blood roars in my ears. Mordaunt is actively hunting my wife.
“See?” I turn to Raegan. “They’re targeting you. This mission is suicide.”
“If they want me, we can use that to our advantage,” she counters without missing a beat.
“Or they can use it to destroy us.”
“They’re already trying to destroy us, Wyn. At least this way we fight back with information.”
Theodore looks like he’d rather be anywhere else. His finger taps against the folder nervously as he asks, “Should I let the tactical team know there’s a potential plan in place?”
“No,” I say at the same time Raegan says, “Yes.”
We glare at each other across the room.
“Brief them,” Raegan decides. “I’ll join you in ten minutes.”
“Raegan—”
“Ten minutes, Theodore.”
He nods and scurries toward the door like he’s being chased.
The moment we’re alone, Raegan wheels on me. “You don’t get to override my decisions in front of the team.”
“I get to protect my wife from walking into a death trap.”
“Your wife is a trained operative who’s been preparing for exactly this type of mission.”
“Your training doesn’t matter if they’re hunting you.”
“My training is exactly why this mission has a chance of success.”
We’re talking in circles, both too stubborn to give ground. The worst part is that she’s not wrong. If she could figure out where Thane Mordaunt is hiding, we could put an end to this whole thing without any bloodshed from our side.
But knowing something is tactically sound doesn’t make it emotionally bearable.
“What if I ordered you to stay?” I ask quietly.
“Then you’d be exactly like every higher-ranking wolf who treats omegas as objects instead of people,” she replies. “Just because you outrank me doesn’t mean you own me.”
“This isn’t about rank or ownership.”
“Would you have this same argument with Jay if he proposed the mission?”
I want to say yes, but we both know that’s a lie. I wouldn’t like it, but I wouldn’t try to forbid it.
“Jay doesn’t mean to me what you do.”
“Meaning what, exactly?”
The words stick in my throat. We’ve been dancing around deeper feelings for weeks, but neither of us has been brave enough to voice them.
“Meaning I can’t lose you,” I finally admit. “Not now. Not after we’ve finally started figuring this out.”
Something in her posture loses its edge, but her resolve doesn’t budge. “You won’t lose me.”
“You can’t promise that.”
“I can promise I’ll do everything possible to come home.”
“That’s not enough.”
“It’s all anyone can promise in wartime.”
The truth of that statement doesn’t make it easier to accept. War means accepting that people you care about might not survive, no matter how capable or careful they are. My brain knows that, even if my heart won’t hear it.
“I know you’re scared,” Raegan begins. “I’m scared, too. But fear can’t be our primary decision-making factor.”
“What if it is for me? What if I’m too scared to think rationally about this?”
“Then trust me to think rationally for both of us. Partnerships require both people to have equal voice in decisions.”
She’s right, and I hate it. A real partnership means accepting her choice even when every instinct screams against it.
But knowing what I should do and being able to do it are different things.
“What about using your abilities from a distance?” I suggest. “Set up observation points outside their perimeter.”
“Psychic abilities don’t work that way. I need proximity to read emotional states accurately. At a distance, I might miss crucial deceptions or misinterpret intentions.”
It goes on like that for another ten minutes. Every alternative I propose, she has a logical counterargument. The mission makes tactical sense. That’s the most frustrating part.
“I need to know you understand the stakes,” I tell her. “If they capture you, it’s not just about losing intelligence. They will use you to break us.”
“I understand the stakes perfectly. Do you understand that without this intelligence, we’re fighting blind?”
“I’d rather fight blind than lose you.”
“And I’d rather take calculated risks than watch everyone I care about die because we were too afraid to gather critical intelligence.”
She moves to the table and starts gathering documents. “The briefing is starting. I’m joining it.”
“Raegan, please.”
“I’ve made my decision, Wyn.”
“What if I forbid it? What if I use my authority as your husband and your superior to override this?”
She turns to face me, and the look in her eyes makes my blood run cold. “Then you’ll discover that I don’t recognize that authority. And you’ll lose any chance of us having a real marriage when this war is over.”
The ultimatum knocks the breath from my lungs. Choose between keeping her safe now and having a future with her later.
What the hell kind of choice is that?
“Easy to say when you’re not the one watching someone you care about volunteer for a suicide mission.”
“You think I don’t understand that fear? You think I don’t worry every time you go out on patrol or meet with border units? Every time you leave this compound, there’s a chance you won’t come back.”
I hadn’t considered her perspective. The idea that she might feel the same protective terror about my safety.
“That’s different,” I argue.
“No, it’s not. It’s exactly the same. The only difference is that I don’t try to forbid you from doing your job.”
The comparison forces me to confront an uncomfortable truth. She’s right that I wouldn’t accept restrictions on my duties, even if they came from genuine concern.
But acknowledging her point doesn’t make the fear more manageable.
“I won’t walk into anything,” she assures me. “I’ll go in prepared, with backup plans and extraction safeties in place.”
“Plans fail. Protocols break down. People die.”
“People also die when we don’t have adequate intelligence to plan our defense.”
We keep circling back to the same fundamental disagreement. I can’t accept the risk to her safety. She can’t accept limits on her agency.
“What if something happens to you?” I ask quietly. “What if I never see you again?”
“What if something happens to you? What if one of your patrol missions goes wrong, or Thornridge gets lucky with an ambush?”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“It’s exactly the same thing,” she screams, throwing her hands in the air. “We both have dangerous jobs. We both accept risks for the greater good.”
“I need time to think,” I tell her.
“We don’t have time. The briefing is happening now, and the mission window is tomorrow night.”
“Then we’ll delay it.”
“We can’t delay it. You heard Reeyan’s research. Tomorrow night is the only opportunity before they lock down for attack.”
I feel trapped between impossible choices. Let her go on a mission that could get her killed, or force her to stay and destroy any trust we’ve built.
“I can’t support this,” I tell her honestly.
“Then don’t support it. But don’t try to stop it, either.”
She moves toward the door, and I realize this conversation is ending whether I’m ready or not.
With that, she opens the door and walks out, leaving me alone with a pile of historical documents that prove her mission is both necessary and potentially suicidal.
Through the window, I imagine Thornridge positions in the distance. Forces that are hunting my wife, planning to use her against us.
The thought of her walking into their hands makes me want to destroy something.
I could go to her brother, convince him to forbid her from leaving town. But the thought of betraying her trust and treating her like property makes me equally sick.
I have no idea how to protect someone who doesn’t want my protection.