Chapter 8 #2
“Cray is very thorough, he would have done his homework.”
“Does the Committee know?”
I nod. “Probably…”
“Shit. How long before they use all of that against me?"
"They won't." My hand finds her shoulder automatically. "We'll make sure of it."
"You can't promise that."
"No." Honesty is all I have to give her. "But I can promise I'll do everything in my power to keep you safe. That has to be enough."
She looks up at me, and I see the fear in her eyes. The exhaustion. The weight of everything she's survived in the past three days. I want to take that weight from her. Want to carry it myself. Want to be the shield that stands between her and every threat.
But I can't. All I can do is be here.
"I'm tired," she says. "So damn tired of running. Of being scared. Of waiting for the next attack."
"I know." My thumb traces small circles on her shoulder—probably unprofessional, definitely crossing lines I swore I wouldn't cross. "Come on. You need rest."
I guide her through the corridors to my quarters. The most secure location in the base—reinforced door, emergency exit, direct line to operations. The only place I trust to keep her safe.
"I can't take your room...”
"It's the most secure location in the base." I'm already pulling extra blankets from the locker. "Reinforced door, emergency exit, direct line to the operations center. You'll be safe here."
"Where will you sleep?"
"Operations center. I need to be there when Cray wakes up anyway."
The lie tastes bitter. Truth is, I won't sleep. I'll spend the night checking perimeters, reviewing security feeds, making sure nothing else comes through that door to hurt her.
"Kane." She catches my wrist as I turn to leave. "Stay."
Every lesson learned in twenty years of ops says this is a mistake. Staying means proximity. Proximity means weakness. Weakness gets people killed.
"Willa...”
"Not for that. I just don't want to be alone right now. Please."
That one word—please—breaks my resolve. I nod. "Okay."
I settle into the chair by the door, careful to maintain distance even as my eyes track every movement she makes. She slips under the blankets fully clothed, exhaustion finally claiming her.
"Thank you," she says quietly. "For coming for me. Again."
"Wasn't a choice." The words come rough. "Not with you."
She's asleep before I finish speaking. Her breathing comes steady and deep, each inhale evidence she's alive. My sidearm needs cleaning. The ritual will keep my hands busy and my mind focused.
Can't think about how she looked with Cray's gun to her head. Can't think about the split second where I thought I'd lost her. Can't think about how that felt like losing everything that matters.
The gun comes apart in my hands. I clean each piece with methodical precision, the familiar task grounding me.
Three hours later, movement pulls my attention. Willa sits up, eyes finding me in the darkness.
"You should be resting," I say.
"So should you."
"Can't." I set the pistol aside. "Every time I close my eyes, I see Cray's finger on that trigger."
"I'm alive, Kane."
"You almost weren't." The words come out harder than intended. "One second slower and...”
"But I wasn't. I'm here. Because you came for me."
The chronometer reads 2247. Most of the base is asleep except essential watch rotations. Just the two of us awake in the darkness.
"I can still feel his arm around my throat." Her voice is quiet. "The gun against my head."
"First time someone's tried to kill you up close?"
"Second. But Jack was rage. Cray was just... professional. Like killing me was a job, nothing personal."
"To him, it was." I lean back in the chair. "That's what makes cleaners dangerous. No emotion. No hesitation. Just targets and tactics."
"You sound like you've known others."
"I've been one." The confession comes easier in darkness. "Black ops work isn't just about military targets. Sometimes you're sent after civilians. Journalists who know too much. Whistleblowers. People whose only crime was being in the wrong place at the wrong time."
"Did you...”
"Kill civilians?" I meet her eyes. "No. That's why I'm here instead of following orders. But I came close. Close enough to know what it does to you, pulling that trigger on someone who isn't a combatant."
Silence settles between us, heavy with unspoken things.
"I'm scared," she says finally. "Not of Cray. Not of the Committee. Of what I'm becoming. I've killed people… and it's getting easier."
"That's what scares you? That you're adapting to survive?"
"That I'm not horrified anymore." She pulls her knees to her chest. "That when I shot those men, I didn't feel guilt. Just... relief that they were dead and I wasn't."
I stand, moving to sit on the edge of the bed. Close but not touching. "You want to know what makes you different from Cray? From the people the Committee sends?"
"What?"
"You're scared of becoming them. They never were." My hand finds hers in the darkness. "The fact that you're questioning yourself, that you're afraid of losing your humanity—that's what proves you haven't lost it."
Her fingers curl around mine. Warm. Alive. Real.
"Kane." My name comes out rough on her lips. "When this is over—when we've exposed the Committee and stopped Protocol Seven—what happens to us?"
The question I've been avoiding. The future I don't let myself imagine.
"I don't know." I don't pull away from her touch. "I've spent five years thinking I was done with attachments. That caring about people just gives your enemies leverage. Then you showed up with a dog and stubborn courage, and everything I thought I knew got complicated."
"Complicated how?"
I'm silent too long, fighting the words. Then: "I look at you and I see someone worth fighting for. Worth dying for, if it comes to that. And that terrifies me more than any Committee operation."
"Because you might lose me?"
"Because I might not be able to protect you." My hand tightens on hers. "I couldn't protect my team in Kandahar. Couldn't save Morrison. Every person I care about becomes a target, and I'm running out of miracles."
"So what? You push everyone away? Live alone on your mountain?"
"It's worked for five years."
"Has it?" She shifts closer. "You're surrounded by a team who'd die for you. Stryker, Mercer, Rourke, Sarah, Tommy, Khalid—they're all here because you gave them a chance when no one else would. That's not isolation, Kane. That's family."
"Family gets you killed in this business."
"So does being alone." Her free hand reaches up, touching the scars on my neck. I go still. No one touches the burns. Ever. "You can't protect everyone by pushing them away. Sometimes you just have to trust that the people you care about are strong enough to stand beside you."
The contact sends electricity through my nervous system. Her fingers trace the burn tissue gently, exploring scars I usually hide behind beard and collar.
"Willa...”
"I'm not asking for promises." Her fingers continue their exploration. "I'm not asking for forever. I'm just asking for now. For this moment where we're both alive and together and safe."
"This is a mistake." But I don't pull away. Don't stop her touch. "You should be with someone who doesn't have a kill count. Someone who can offer you normal."
"I don't want normal." Her voice is fierce. "I had normal in Chicago. Had a successful relationship, a nice house and a promising career. Normal tried to choke the life out of me."
My hand comes up, cupping her face. "I can't promise you safe."
"I don't want safe either." She leans into my touch. "I want real. I want honest. I want someone who sees the darkness I'm capable of and doesn't flinch."
"I see it. A woman who killed to survive. Who saved a dog when she should have walked away. Who stitched up the man who tried to kill her because that's who she is at her core. Someone I'm not strong enough to walk away from, no matter how smart that would be."
I’m near enough to feel the heat radiating off her. Her breath mingles with mine, her eyes dark with want that mirrors what I'm feeling.
Walking away from her now feels like tearing free of something vital, and the echo of her touch trails me down the hallway.
As I move through the corridors toward the interrogation, all I can think about is Willa's fingers on my scars—the way she looked at me like I was something worth keeping instead of something broken beyond repair.
Maybe when this is over. Maybe if we survive Protocol Seven and the Committee and whatever comes next.
The rest can wait.