Chapter Five
The next morning, the smell of coffee hit first—burnt but strong.
Viper followed it down the narrow hall, boots quiet on tile, the low hum of the jammers threading under the silence.
Washed in the faint gray that came before dawn, the kitchen was already busy, though they hadn’t slept much.
His team rarely slept past daylight.
Memphis stood at the range, sleeves pushed up, frying pan in one hand, spatula in the other. Bacon from a grocery run sizzled loudly in the small room, the grease popping like static.
Phoenix lounged beside the counter, shoulder against a cabinet, watching the pan with a grin. “You sure that’s edible?” he asked.
Memphis didn’t look up. “Define edible.” He flipped the bacon, the motion quick, practiced.
“Something I can feed you in gratitude,” Phoenix said, tone all charm.
“Try that, and I’ll feed you the pan.”
He laughed, low and lazy. “See? Breakfast and entertainment.”
Memphis only shook his head, reached for another pan, and cracked two eggs one-handed. The smell of salt and smoke thickened the air.
Viper stepped into the doorway. The sound of boots on tile shut them both up. Phoenix straightened, grin still there but smaller. Memphis flicked the burner off and wiped his hands on a towel.
“Morning, Colonel,” Memphis said. “Coffee’s fresh. Sort of.”
Viper poured himself a mug, scanning the blinds while he spoke. “It’ll do.”
Phoenix recovered fast. “He cooks like he fights—lots of smoke, minimal survivors.”
“Keep talking, and you’ll be one of them,” Memphis muttered.
Viper took a slow sip. Beyond the slats, the desert stretched pale and still—nothing moving. Nothing safe.
Viper left his mug on the counter and stepped outside. The door clicked shut behind him, muting the noise from the kitchen.
Out here, the world felt stripped to bone—sand, wind, and a horizon drawn in dust.
The air carried the chill that came before heat settled in. Light climbed over the ridge, thin and colorless. He adjusted his earpiece, eyes scanning the perimeter. The cul-de-sac ended in scrub and open sand, no traffic, no sound, no threats.
He moved in a slow circuit around the house—methodical, silent, every footfall measured. Habit more than thought.
Discipline check.
Containment.
A dog barked once in the distance, the sound carrying thin through the morning air. Beyond that—quiet.
When he circled back toward the kitchen windows, movement caught his eye. Inside, Titus sat at the table, back to the wall, coffee mug near his elbow. The man had stripped and cleaned his sidearm—parts lined up like pieces of armor.
He hesitated and lingered—a second too long, watching Titus reassemble the weapon—fast hands, clean motion.
Efficient. Titus handled the weapon like he’d never stopped training.
Viper had tried pulling his service record once—ACCESS DENIED past the enlistment date. Army. Ghost-level clearance. Figures.
Watching Titus now, a memory came quick—the jolt of impact, the hollow thud of the fridge behind Titus, heat caught between them—broken by the interruption before it could form.
Viper turned away, jaw set, forcing his focus back to the sweep.
Law’s voice drifted from the side gate. “All clear down this stretch.”
“It’s been pretty quiet,” Viper said, a faint grin flickering across. “Guess we live another hour.”
“At our age, that’s practically a victory,” Law smirked.
He huffed out a short laugh, and Law just grinned at him before heading off, boots whispering over the cracked concrete. The quiet settled in again.
He made the last turn and scanned the stretch of desert beyond the cul-de-sac. The quiet felt heavier now, pressing in against the hum in his ears.
Early light cut thin through the window glass. The air smelled like coffee and fried bacon—normal, almost. The kind of quiet that didn’t belong to men like them.
At the table, Titus worked through half a plate of bacon and eggs, coffee cooling at his elbow.
Steam lifted from the skillet Memphis had left cooling on the stove; he had to admit it wasn’t bad.
Across from him, Phoenix shoveled food like the world might end in seconds, talking just enough to be irritating.
“Next time,” Phoenix said between bites, “maybe try flirting with your words.”
Titus didn’t even glance up. “Careful, Knight. People might think you’re interested.”
Memphis snorted into his coffee. “Told you to leave it alone.”
Phoenix grinned, unbothered. “What? I’m just saying—some of us prefer conversation to blunt force trauma.”
“Some of us prefer you shut up while we eat,” Titus muttered.
Memphis pushed his plate back, a smirk hiding behind the rim of his mug. “You two are gonna make me regret cooking.”
A chair scraped against the floor as Phoenix stood, laughing. He grabbed his mug and looped around the island toward the exit. “Worth it.”
Catching sight of Viper near the entry, Phoenix flashed a grin. “Oh—hello, Boss.”
Titus flicked his gaze up and wondered how long Viper had been standing there.
Phoenix’s footsteps faded down the hall, leaving the sound of ticking metal and distant wind through the vent. The kind of silence that made every small sound count.
The warrior stepped further into the room, calm as ever, taking up space. Titus didn’t pause—he had finished breakfast in worse company.
A chair scraped behind him as Memphis stood and carried his empty plate to the sink.
Without missing a beat, Viper nodded once and crossed to the counter, pouring coffee in a motion too deliberate to be casual. The sound grated—steady, unhurried, self-assured. The coffee streamed dark into the mug, steam curling toward the light.
Titus cut another bite and chewed slowly. If the man wanted to act like he didn’t exist, fine. He wasn’t handing him attention he didn’t deserve.
Memphis placed his plate on the drying rack, shot Titus a look that said I’m not touching this, and slipped out the door.
The quiet that followed wasn’t awkward, but it was tense—two generals sharing command of the same ground.
He’d never answered to anyone. In the Army, he’d given orders, not taken them. And after the military, he’d run his own outfit for years while hunting his brothers. So, if Viper thought he could pull rank, he could think again.
A pop of tension ran up his neck as he finished the last of the bacon and pushed his plate away—no way was this guy interrupting his morning.
Viper leaned against the counter, arms folded, mug in hand. Titus stood and carried his plate to the sink, passing close. Not intentional. Not avoidant. Just moving through his own damn space.
Setting the plate in the sink, he turned and finally met Viper’s eyes. Nothing said. Nothing needed.
Memphis stepped back into the doorway. “I’m going to make the rounds…”
“All right,” Titus said, as if Memphis answered to him.
Viper squinted, holding Titus’s stare.
Something flickered in those pale gray eyes—annoyance, maybe. Titus didn’t care.
Memphis’s footsteps faded down the hall.
Viper drained the rest of his coffee, set the mug in the sink, and turned for the door. He didn’t look back, didn’t speak—just walked out like he had somewhere better to be.
Titus watched him go, jaw tight, eyes steady. Good. The room felt bigger without him in it.
Lifting his mug, he topped it off and leaned against the counter. Outside, a truck passed on the distant road, the sound fading quickly. The kind of ordinary noise he wasn’t used to anymore.
Titus let it roll past, the stillness settling again like dust after a storm. For the first time all morning, he could breathe.