Chapter 35
THIRTY-FIVE
Shannon woke to warmth everywhere. Not the too-hot, swollen ache of trauma, not the sterile burn of disinfectant and forced movement, but a different warmth running deep in her muscles, in the center of her chest, in the place where her body met memory and finally stopped bracing.
For a second, she didn’t know where she was. The sheets were soft. The air smelled like extinguished candles and Dante. Her hip complained when she shifted, but not with that bright panic. More like her muscles saying, Yeah, you used me.
She opened her eyes.
Dante was on his side facing her, one arm under the pillow, the other resting at her waist. His hair was a mess, the faintest stubble on his jaw, lips slack with sleep.
For once, his face was smooth. There were no lines between his brows, none of that quiet, constant scan he wore around other people. He looked… younger.
She lay there and just watched him breathe. Little things started to come back in fragments —his hands on her, the way he’d watched her like she was the only thing in the room that mattered, the way he’d said I’ve been in love with you like it hurt him to hold it in.
Her throat tightened. She realized distantly she wasn’t wearing anything under the sheet. His skin was warm against her bare legs. The old version of her might’ve flushed with some self-consciousness; this one just felt… present.
It hit her then. She wasn’t thinking about the crash first. Not the drop. Not Mara. Not Krueger. She was thinking about now. Her body. His body. Them. Alive.
That realization stole her breath more than pain ever had.
Dante stirred, like he felt her watching him. His fingers flexed against her side, then slid higher, his palm spreading flat over her ribs. He blinked his eyes open, heavy and slow. “Hey,” he rasped.
“Hey,” she whispered back.
His mouth curved into a sleepy half smile. “You okay?”
She considered the question, then nodded. “Yeah, I am, actually.”
He searched her face like he was checking for any sign this might be regret in disguise. “How’s the hip? And be honest. Don’t give me the ‘I could run a marathon’ line.”
She snorted. “I couldn’t run a marathon.”
His brow arched. “But?”
“But I don’t feel like glass. I’m sore and tired, and my hip’s pissed at me… but it’s the first time since the crash I’ve felt like my body was mine again. Not a crime scene. Not a project.” She swallowed. “Just… me.”
Relief and heartbreak braided together in his expression. “Good. You deserve that.”
They were silent for a while. Her fingers traced small, meaningless patterns on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart under her hand, the warmth and weight of him.
Every second felt numbered in a way it hadn’t before last night.
Because now they’d crossed a line there was no walking back from.
“Dante,” she said finally.
He hummed.
“You got the call last night.” It wasn’t a question.
He closed his eyes briefly, then opened them again. “Yeah.”
“How long?”
“Plane out of DC in less than twenty-four,” he said. “Then staging. Then wheels down in the Sahel.”
“They’re really doing it,” she said. “They’re really sending you into the middle of his mess.”
“Bravo needs operators who know how he thinks.”
“And I’m not one of them?” she asked, but there was no heat in it. Just a tired kind of irony.
“You are,” he said. “But you’re active-duty Air Force. You belong to them.”
She studied his face again and saw the new tension around his eyes, the way his hand hadn’t left her, his thumb unconsciously stroking the curve of her side like he was anchoring himself.
“You’re going,” she said quietly. “Even if I asked you not to.”
He didn’t answer right away. “Yeah. I am.”
She nodded. It hurt, but not in a way she resented. “Then don’t lie to me. Sean asked for you. Don’t do the ‘I’ll be fine, nothing will happen; it’s just another deployment’ speech.”
He huffed softly. “Those speeches are bullshit anyway.”
“Exactly,” she said. “So let’s not.”
He shifted onto his back, staring up at the ceiling for a second before he spoke.
“I’m going into something ugly. Krueger’s fingerprints are all over it, but he’s not the only problem.
There are people who think they’re untouchable.
I can’t promise it’ll be clean. I can’t promise it’ll be quick.
And I sure as hell can’t promise it’ll be safe. ”
He turned his head to look at her. “What I can promise is that I’m going to do everything in my power to come back to you. Not just alive. Whole. Or as close as I can get.”
Her eyes burned. “That’s what I needed. Not the odds. Just the truth.”
He reached up and brushed a tear from the corner of her eye with his thumb. “I need something from you too. Two things.”
“Demanding,” she murmured, trying for light.
“First one is to promise me you won’t chase this on your own. Not Krueger. Not the network. Not some solo hero mission because you’re cleared to fly again.”
She opened her mouth.
He cut her off. “With your unit, with your people? Yes. On your own? No.”
She watched him, saw the fear under the order. He had to be thinking about her broken on a stretcher. “I’m not going to sit still.”
“I know, and I don’t want you to. Honestly? Knowing you’re out there flying, being you will keep me sane. But I need to know you’ve got a team at your back. That you’re not in the sky alone.”
She swallowed. “Okay, I promise, no solo missions.” Then, because it seemed important, she gave him a sassy smile. “Even if it kills me not to.”
He smiled a little. “Thank you.”
“What’s the second thing?” she asked.
He hesitated. “Don’t… put your life on pause for me.”
Her brow furrowed. “Dante—”
“Listen,” his voice dropped, “I’m not saying ‘move on’ or any of that other nonsense.
I’m saying… keep living. Keep flying. Keep being annoying to your COs and terrifying to your enemies.
Go out with your brother. Eat carbs.” His mouth quirked.
“Don’t sit by the window and wait for a phone call.
If something happens… you’re allowed to keep going. ”
She stared at him then shook her head, almost in disbelief. “You’re in my bed telling me you love me and also giving me permission to survive you?”
His throat worked. “Pretty much.”
“You’re an idiot,” she said softly.
He smiled. “Fair.”
She pushed herself up onto one elbow, body protesting a little, and looked down at him,. “All right, here’s my counteroffer.”
“I’m listening.”
“You go. You do what you do. You come back. We both keep breathing and bleeding and working while you’re gone. No martyr speeches. No tragic music.” Her eyes softened. “And when you get back, we figure out what this is without a stopwatch hanging over us.”
He reached up and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, fingers lingering at her jaw. “And what is it?”
She didn’t look away. “It’s not casual. It’s not temporary. It’s not something I forget how to want when you’re not in the room.”
“So what is it?” he pushed gently.
“It’s you.” She inhaled. “It’s us. It’s... real.”
He blew out a breath like she’d just pulled a trigger, not in a bad way, but in a finally way. “Okay. I can work with real.”
She smiled, small but sure. “Do you have to leave right now?”
“Not yet,” he said. “My flight is tonight. Brief in DC after that.”
“Good.” She lay back down and pulled him with her. “Then we’ve got a few more hours to make it hurt to go.”
He laughed quietly, then kissed her, slow and deep and full of all the things they hadn’t said before this morning.
And for a little while longer, there was no Sahel, no Krueger, no nukes, and no deployment clock ticking down. Just the two of them in a borrowed bed, holding on like they’d both finally decided they were worth holding on to.
CHASE SECURITY SCIF – 1903 HOURS
The SCIF hummed with low, constant noise of fans, servers, encrypted comms, all chewing on data no one outside this room would ever see. On the main screen, the Sahel corridor glowed in red overlays: Talba, Gao, the ghost villages in between. A convoy track pulsed faintly like a heartbeat.
Ford Cox stared at the highlighted route. Ian Chase leaned against the far side of the table, gaze fixed on the same projection. Dante dropped his go-bag beside a chair, eyes flicking between both men and the map.
Ian broke the silence first. “Ford’s going in undercover as a buyer.”
Dante didn’t bother hiding his reaction. “For a nuclear device.”
“Best assessment,” Ford said calmly. “Multiple. Suitcase packaging. Mobile. Hidden inside that convoy or one just like it. They’re shopping it to people who can afford to be ghosts.”
Dante’s jaw worked. “Whose idea was it to put your face in the middle of that?”
“Mine,” Ford said. “We need someone with a believable pipeline into that world. My history buys us credibility. My lack of a public footprint buys us time.”
Ian nodded once. “I volunteered him before Martin and Zach could talk me into something safer that likely wouldn’t work.”
Dante snorted. “Sounds right.”
Ford tapped the screen, shifting to a still of the burned-out storage site Bravo hit.
“But we can’t explore this building with a drone and call it a day.
Not without confirming what’s inside. We need hard proof.
We think there’s a half basement with some digital information, probably computers, servers, or hard drives.
Hell, if this mission gives the wrong hit, it becomes an international incident.
The press could expose us and incite a conflict, especially if that building belongs to an unexpected nation. ”
“And the right hit?” Dante asked.
Ford’s eyes hardened. “Ends a lot of heartache before it starts.”
Ian pushed off the table. “Ford goes in as the money. We needed to decide who goes in as his shadow. We had options.”
Dante met his gaze. “But you called me.”
“Ford requested you,” Ian explained.
Dante glanced at Ford. “Why?”