Chapter 14 #2
"There's a problem." Tommy's voice cuts through the planning.
"I've been monitoring federal agency communications since Karina arrived.
The Committee has deep surveillance on FBI, Homeland Security, Secret Service—every agency that should be stopping this.
The moment we alert anyone official, the Committee knows.
They'll accelerate their timeline or abort and try again later. "
"So we can't go to the authorities," Mercer says slowly. "We have to stop this ourselves."
"A team of seven against a conspiracy that owns half the government." Stryker's laugh is bitter. "Great odds."
"Eight," Cray corrects. "I'm helping."
"Seven," Karina says firmly. "I gave you the intel. The rest is your problem."
"Then seven it is." Kane returns to the tactical map. "We move in six hours. That gives us time to rest, prep gear, and coordinate with Cross on the DC interceptions."
"What about the Whitefish facility?" I hear myself ask. "How do we verify what chemicals were produced there?"
"Standard evidence collection," Kane says. "Samples, documentation, photographs."
"That's not enough." I stand, ignoring the protest from my ankle. "Odin needs to verify the compounds. He's trained to detect specific chemical signatures. Without his confirmation, we can't prove what was made there or where it came from."
"Willa...”
"You need proper documentation, Kane. Chain of custody. Expert verification. I'm a licensed veterinarian with expertise in chemical exposure from military working dogs. My credentials give that evidence legitimacy that photographs and samples alone won't have."
Karina nods slowly. "She's right. Chemical evidence is worthless in court without proper documentation and expert testimony."
"She's also a civilian," Kane argues. "Not trained for tactical operations."
"I’ve killed people this week," I say quietly. "Held a position under fire. Survived a chemical weapons attack. At what point do I stop being a civilian and start being someone you trust to do her job?"
The room goes silent. Every eye turns to Kane, waiting for his response.
I can see the battle happening behind his eyes—tactical necessity versus the need to keep me safe. But he knows I'm right. He knows we need Odin's verification, and Odin needs me to interpret his alerts.
"Fine," he says reluctantly. "You come. But you follow orders. No improvisation. No heroics. You stay behind cover and let us handle the threats. Clear?"
"Crystal."
"And if I say abort, you abort. Immediately. Non-negotiable."
"I'll follow reasonable tactical orders," I counter. "But I won't abandon the mission if there's still evidence to collect."
Stryker grins. "She's got your number, boss."
"Everyone's got my number apparently." Kane returns to the tactical map.
"Stryker, Mercer, you're with me on the Whitefish raid.
Willa and Odin for evidence documentation.
Sarah, you coordinate communications from here.
Tommy, I need real-time surveillance on the facility and early warning if Committee assets move to intercept. "
"What about me?" Khalid asks quietly. It's the first time he's spoken during the briefing.
Kane's expression softens. "You stay here. Help Tommy with surveillance. Keep Sarah company. This operation is too dangerous for...”
"For a kid?" Khalid's voice carries an edge. "I survived the Committee's detention facility. Watched them kill my family. I think I can handle surveillance duty."
"That's exactly why you're staying here." Kane's tone is gentle but firm. "You've been through enough. Let us handle this."
Khalid doesn't argue, but I see the disappointment in his eyes. The need to do something, anything, to fight back against the people who destroyed his life.
"Meeting adjourned," Kane says. "Get some rest. We move at 2200."
The team disperses. I'm heading toward the quarters when Kane catches my arm.
"Not yet," he says quietly. "I need to talk to you. Alone."
He leads me to a small alcove off the main corridor—private, quiet, away from the operations center's constant activity. The dim lighting makes his scars more pronounced, shadows catching in the twisted tissue.
"I'm terrified of losing you." The words come out without preamble. Raw. Honest. "I know that's not tactical. I know it compromises the mission. But every time you walk into danger, every time you refuse to stay safe, I feel like I'm watching you die and I can't stop it."
"You're not going to lose me."
"You can't promise that."
"No." I step closer, close enough to feel his heat. "But I can promise I'm not running. I'm not hiding. I'm done being protected from the truth, Kane. Whatever comes next, I face it standing up."
His hand comes up to cup my face, thumb tracing my cheekbone with heartbreaking gentleness. "Your father kept you safe by hiding the truth. I'm terrified I'm going to get you killed by letting you see it."
"Dad kept me alive for years. But he also spent those years looking over his shoulder, carrying secrets that literally killed him.
" I cover his hand with mine. "I won't live like that.
I can't. If I'm going to die, I'm going to die fighting for something that matters.
Not hiding from monsters I pretend don't exist."
"You're the strongest person I've ever met." His voice cracks slightly. "And that terrifies me more than anything the Committee can throw at us."
I pull him down, kiss him hard enough to bruise. He responds immediately, hands fisting in my hair, pulling me closer like he's afraid I'll disappear if he lets go.
When we break apart, both breathing hard, I rest my forehead against his.
"Six hours," I say. "Then we hit that facility, we secure the evidence, and we stop the Committee from killing thousands of people."
“Six hours," he agrees.
"Think you can sleep?"
"No." His thumb traces my bottom lip. "But I can hold you while we pretend to."
We make our way to his quarters—our quarters now, I realize. Somewhere in all that’s happened, his space became our space. His bed became our bed. His war became our war.
I change into clean clothes, wincing as the movement pulls at bruises I didn't know I had. Kane strips down to just tactical pants, the fresh dressing on his ribs stark white against tanned skin. We collapse onto the bed together, exhaustion finally claiming its due.
"Kane?" I say into the darkness.
"Yeah?"
"When this is over—when we've stopped the Committee—what happens to us?"
Long silence. Then: "I don't know. I've spent years assuming I'd die on this mountain. Never planned past the next operation."
"Maybe it's time to start."
"Maybe." His arm tightens around me. "But first, we survive the next seventy hours."
Seventy hours. That's all that stands between us and either victory or catastrophic failure. Seventy hours to stop a conspiracy that's been building for decades. Seventy hours to save thousands of lives.
I close my eyes, trying to find sleep that won't come. My mind keeps circling back to the Whitefish facility. To Odin's role in documenting evidence. To the very real possibility that in six hours, I'll be walking into another ambush designed to eliminate me.
But I meant what I told Kane. I'm done running. Done hiding. Done being protected from truths that might get me killed.
My father died keeping secrets. I won't make the same mistake.
Kane's breathing evens out beside me, his body finally surrendering to exhaustion. I stay awake, watching the chronometer tick down.
Six hours until we raid the facility.
And somewhere in that narrow window, we have to find a way to stop the Committee before they deploy chemical weapons against the most protected event in America.
The odds are terrible. The risk is catastrophic. The chances of success are minimal at best.
But we're going to try anyway.
Because that's what you do when the alternative is watching thousands of people die.
You fight. You plan. You execute.
And you pray that when the smoke clears, you're still standing.
I must have dozed off because Kane's urgent voice wakes me. "Willa. We've got a problem."
I sit up, instantly alert despite the exhaustion still pulling at me. We've been asleep for maybe three hours.
"What kind of problem?"
"Tommy just intercepted Committee communications." His face is grim in the low light, already pulling on his tactical vest. "They're accelerating the timeline. The attack on the capitol won’t be in seventy hours."
My stomach drops. "How long?"
"Forty-eight hours." He's reaching for his weapons now, movements sharp with urgency. "They're moving the main weapons shipment to DC tonight. If we're going to stop this, we need to hit that Whitefish facility now. Not in Six hours. Now."
Forty-eight hours.
Two days.
The mission just became a race against a clock we can't afford to lose.