30. Lyric
CHAPTER 30
LYRIC
I’d survived a firefight with killer drones, been drugged and captured, killed an international arms dealer, and nearly lost Flynn to a knife wound, yet somehow, walking into Edge Ops headquarters felt more intimidating than any of it.
I’d stayed with Flynn for as long as I could at the hospital in France, but neither France nor Monaco was too happy about the chaos we’d caused off their coasts, so Ethan had insisted I return stateside with the team. The doctors had assured us he would make a full recovery, but he needed time to heal.
And I couldn’t deny that I also needed the time and space to figure out what came next.
For me and my career.
For Flynn and this thing between us.
But Flynn left the hospital two weeks ago, and I hadn’t heard a word from him. He’d gone off-grid, which was apparently typical Flynn behavior because when I complained about it, Alistair had shrugged and said, “Shepherd always disappears to lick his wounds. He’ll turn up when he’s ready.”
I wasn’t sure if that was reassuring or infuriating.
Edge Ops headquarters sat on the outskirts of Seattle, in the shadow of Mount Rainier, and looked more like a high-tech startup than a black ops base—all sleek glass and modern furniture, with state-of-the-art security that made the Pentagon’s look like dollar-store padlocks.
I nodded at the security guards as I passed through the final checkpoint, my palm print and retinal scan confirming that I belonged here now. The thought still felt strange, like borrowed clothing that hadn’t quite adjusted to my shape.
Rafe Castellanos was the first to spot me, looking up from where he was cleaning his rifle at one of the workstations. His leg was still in a cast from the op that killed Maya, but boredom had apparently overruled doctor’s orders. Trent had him on light duty to keep him from climbing the walls.
Normally, his expression was as unreadable as a brick wall, but when he saw me, his dark eyes softened by a fraction, and his mouth tugged into the barest suggestion of a smile.
“Renard,” he said in his thick Boston accent. He was a gruff man with a full, neatly trimmed beard and dark, intense eyes that missed nothing. His nod of acknowledgment might as well have been a bear hug and a fruit basket.
“Rafe,” I replied, matching his tone. “How’s the leg?”
He scowled at his cast. “Gonna cut the fucking thing off.”
I looked down at the plaster and couldn’t quite smother my laugh. Someone—probably Nolan—had drawn a big cartoon-style dynamite stick with a lit fuse, labeled “Sparky’s Big Boom Stick.” Under that was a gothic tombstone with “Here Lies Rafe’s Social Life. Killed by Eye Contact” inscribed on it.
“Nolan got to you while you were sleeping, didn’t he?”
Rafe grumbled.
“I mean, that tombstone’s pretty good.”
“Oh, that was my contribution,” Leo Santiago said, appearing from the break room, two coffee mugs in hand. He deposited one in front of Rafe, then flashed a brilliant smile.
And, okay, yes, I was momentarily dazzled. He was the prettiest man I’d ever seen. Where Rafe was all hard edges and stoicism, Leo was charm personified.
Leo had suffered a bad concussion at the same time Rafe broke his leg, but you wouldn’t know it to look at him. His dark hair was artfully tousled, his lean frame casually propped against the workstation as if he were posing for a magazine shoot rather than recovering from a traumatic brain injury.
“Welcome home, Siren,” Leo said, his voice carrying the barest hint of a Spanish accent. “I hear you had an interesting first mission. Killed Moreau, saved the world, and broke Shepherd’s heart all in one mission. Impressive efficiency.”
I rolled my eyes. “I didn’t break his heart.”
“No?” Leo pulled himself up to sit on Rafe’s desk, ignoring the other man’s annoyed grunt. “Then how is our resident lone wolf?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “He disappeared.”
And it still hurt. He’d told me—repeatedly—he loved me and wasn’t going anywhere, but now he was gone without so much as a “see ya, it was fun.”
Leo and Rafe exchanged a look I couldn’t quite interpret.
“That tracks,” Rafe muttered.
A knot of emotion swelled in my throat. Oh, no. I had to go before I burst out crying in front of these guys.
I motioned vaguely toward the hallway. “I need to check in with Ethan.”
“He’s waiting for you,” Leo confirmed, his magazine-worthy smile softening to something more genuine. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re here, Lyric. The team needs you.”
The unexpected sincerity caught me off guard, and I managed only a quick nod before heading down the corridor toward Ethan’s office. The knot in my throat had grown, making it difficult to swallow. Flynn’s absence was a hollow space beneath my ribs that shouldn’t exist after such a short time together. We’d known each other for a matter of weeks, yet somehow he’d carved out a place inside me that now ached with emptiness.
I wasn’t supposed to feel this way. Operatives didn’t get attached. It was the first rule of survival in our line of work.
Nolan spotted me as I crossed the main operations floor, headed toward Ethan’s office. He was sprawled in a chair at his usual station, feet propped on the desk, a protein shake in one hand and a tablet in the other. When he looked up, his perpetual smirk softened.
“Well, if it isn’t our resident femme fatale,” he called, loud enough to draw the attention of everyone within earshot. “Are you back for good or just here for more of Preacher’s tender loving care? I hear his sponge baths are exceptional.”
“I’ve been cleared for work.” I rolled my eyes, but honestly, I was relieved for the distraction. Joking, I could do. The rest of it… I hadn’t figured out yet. “You just love making poor Alistair uncomfortable, don’t you?”
“Someone’s gotta pull that stick out of his arse,” Nolan replied, swinging his feet down and rising with an exaggerated stretch. “Besides, I’m Irish. Antagonizing clerics is practically a national pastime.”
“I’m not a cleric,” came Alistair’s drawl as he emerged from the office I’d been aiming for.
Like Leo and Nolan, the doctor’s expression softened when his gaze landed on me, and I suddenly wished they’d all stop doing that. I didn’t want them to be soft and sensitive. I wanted them to treat me like one of the guys.
“Siren. Pleased to see you up and about. Your shoulder healing properly?”
I instinctively rolled the joint, feeling only the slightest twinge where a chunk of Sentinel’s debris had sliced me open. “Good as new, Doc. Your handiwork holds up.”
“Oh, that reminds me,” Nolan said suddenly and reached into a drawer of his desk. He pulled out a fluffy porcupine toy and tossed it to Alistair.
Alistair caught the stuffed animal with a frown. “What on earth is this?”
“You said you’d rather spoon a rabid porcupine than me, so… there you go, mate. She’s not rabid, but she’s something soft to hold at night. Christ knows you need the practice. You might as well be a cleric with how often you get laid.”
I choked on a laugh.
Alistair didn’t even blink. “Just because I don’t fuck everything with a pulse like you, Mav, doesn’t mean I’m celibate.”
I shook my head, half in disbelief. Two weeks ago, I’d been fighting to prove I belonged here. Now I was watching a trauma surgeon bicker with an Irish pilot over a stuffed animal. And somehow, it was starting to feel right. Maybe… even like I belonged.
“I’m going to set it on fire,” Alistair said flatly, holding the toy between his fingers.
“Oh, you wouldn’t!” I said. “She’s adorable. Besides, how can you say no to that face?” I motioned to Nolan, who gave his best puppy eyes and pouty lips. And the man had really nice lips.
Alistair’s gray eyes turned to me with a mock glare, but I saw the crinkles of amusement at their corners. “That’s manipulative, Siren.”
“No,” Nolan said cheerfully. “That’s teamwork.” He slung an arm around Alistair’s shoulders and grabbed the porcupine, holding it up. “Come on, mate. You know you love her. Her name is Prickles.”
“Of course it is.”
I laughed, genuinely laughed, as Alistair’s expression shifted from long-suffering to reluctant amusement. It was these moments—the easy camaraderie, the teasing banter—that made me realize just how much had changed since I’d first walked through these doors.
“Some of us have actual work to do rather than tormenting colleagues.” Alistair ducked out of Nolan’s grasp but snatched the porcupine back and tucked it protectively under his arm rather than abandoning it.
“Aye, that’s the spirit!” Nolan called as he retreated to the medical wing. He turned back to me with a wink. “Ten says he names it something poncy in Latin by the end of the week.”
“No, twenty that he’ll keep calling it Prickles,” Leo called from across the room.
“I’ll take that action,” I said, smiling despite myself. “Fifty bucks says he’ll name it after Nolan out of spite.”
“Nah, I’m out. I’d never win that bet. Of course he’ll name it after me. I’m magnificent.” Nolan’s grin was infectious, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners. “Speaking of bets, the pool on when Shepherd returns is still open if you’re interested.”
My smile faltered. “You’re running a betting pool on Flynn?”
“Course we are. We’re degenerates with too much downtime between missions.” He shrugged unapologetically. “Current favorite is three more days. Trent’s got money on tomorrow. Ethan refuses to participate but secretly told Kate to put fifty on ‘already back and watching us.’”
I tried to keep my expression neutral, but something must have shown on my face because Nolan’s teasing smile softened.
“He’ll be back,” Nolan said, his voice dropping to a rare moment of sincerity. “Always is. Just has his own timeline.”
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. The idea that Flynn might be somewhere nearby, watching, sent a shiver of awareness along my spine.
“Lyric.” Kate’s voice cut through my thoughts as she approached from the direction of the communications hub, tablet in hand. Her dark hair was pulled back in its usual practical ponytail, her expression warm as she reached me. “Good to see you.”
“You too,” I replied, genuinely meaning it. In the short time we’d worked together, Kate had become something close to a friend—the first I’d allowed myself in years.
She jerked her thumb toward Ethan’s office. “Boss wants to see you. Debrief and paperwork.”
“Right. Thanks.” I squared my shoulders and moved toward Ethan’s office, bracing myself for whatever came next. The familiar weight of uncertainty settled between my shoulder blades as I approached the frosted glass door with “E. Voss” etched in simple block letters.
I knocked once, heard a muffled “Come in,” and pushed the door open.
My heart stopped. Then started again with a painful lurch.
Flynn Shepherd sat perched on the edge of Ethan’s desk, one leg swinging casually, his amber eyes locking onto mine the moment I appeared in the doorway. He wore dark jeans and a simple gray henley that clung to his shoulders in a way that made my mouth go dry. A fresh scar bisected his left eyebrow, and he looked thinner than before, but otherwise whole. Alive.
“Hey, princess,” he said, his voice rough around the edges. “Miss me?”
I looked back over my shoulder to see Kate, Leo, and Nolan grinning. Nolan gave me a thumbs up. and maybe I was imagining it, but even Rafe looked like he was smiling—as much as he ever smiled. Ethan and Trent stood behind them, arms crossed, trying to look stern but failing miserably.
“You all knew,” I said, my voice coming out steadier than I felt. “Every single one of you.”
“Guilty,” Nolan called cheerfully. “Though technically, I won the pool. He came back yesterday.”
My gaze returned to Flynn, who hadn’t moved from his perch on Ethan’s desk. His expression was carefully neutral, but I could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers gripped the edge of the desk just a little too tightly.
“Can we have the room?” I asked, not taking my eyes off Flynn.
“Take all the time you need,” Ethan said, motioning for the others to clear out. “We’ll be in the conference room when you’re ready.”
The team filed out, Nolan making kissy faces until Kate elbowed him sharply in the ribs. The door closed behind them with a soft click, leaving Flynn and me alone in sudden, weighted silence.
For a long moment, neither of us spoke. I drank in the sight of him—alive, whole, here—while trying to sort through the tangle of emotions churning inside me. Relief warred with anger, joy with hurt. I wanted to throw my arms around him and also punch him in the face.
“Two weeks,” I finally said, my voice low. “Two fucking weeks since you were released from the hospital and not a word.”
Flynn pushed off the desk, wincing slightly as he put weight on his leg. “I know.”
I took a step forward, then another, my anger growing with each. “You tell me you love me, nearly die in my arms, then disappear without so much as a text!”
He ran a hand through his hair, the gesture so achingly familiar it made my chest hurt. “I needed time.”
“And I needed to know you were okay!” My voice cracked on the last word, betraying more emotion than I’d intended. “I thought we were partners.”
“We are.” He moved toward me, closing half the distance between us. “I’m so sorry, Lyric, but I had to go handle some things.”
“Some things?” I echoed bitterly.
“Yes. I wasn’t in a place with a cell signal and told Ethan to let you know I’d be back as soon as I could.”
“Well, the bastard didn’t say a word.”
“Of course he didn’t. Probably thought he was protecting you.” Flynn sighed and rubbed at the space between his eyes like he had a headache. “Did Alistair at least tell you I’m healing and healthy?”
“He did,” I admitted grudgingly. “But I still don’t understand why you left. What things ?”
“I had to go take care of final jobs after I got out of the hospital. Stuff I couldn’t leave hanging if I plan to move here and join Edge.”
I froze, the anger that had been building inside me suddenly stalling. “You’re joining Edge Ops?”
Flynn’s eyes never left mine. “If you’ll have me.”
The double meaning wasn’t lost on me. My heart hammered against my ribs as I processed what he was saying. He hadn’t abandoned me—he’d been tying up loose ends, preparing to commit to something permanent.
“Ethan offered me a position after Monaco,” he continued when I didn’t immediately respond. “Said the team needed someone with my particular skill set. Though I suspect it was just his way of keeping me where he could keep an eye on me.”
I took another step closer, close enough now to catch the familiar scent of him—sandalwood and gunmetal and something uniquely Flynn. “And you accepted?”
“Not then.” His voice softened. “I needed to be sure it was what I wanted. That I could actually be part of a team again.”
“And is it? What you want?”
Flynn closed the remaining distance between us, his hand coming up to brush a strand of hair from my face. The touch was gentle, almost reverent. “I want you, and you want this team. So, yes, it’s exactly what I want.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but he silenced me with a soft kiss. “Don’t deny it, princess. You’re starting to love them.”
“Okay, they’re growing on me,” I muttered and slid my hands up over his shoulders to tangle my fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck.
He grinned and brushed his nose against mine. “I know, right? Like mold.”
“Infectious mold,” I agreed, tugging him closer. “So you’re really staying? Joining Edge Ops?”
“Already signed the paperwork.” His hands settled at my waist, warm and solid. “Got an apartment lined up in Seattle. Ethan wants me to start training with the team next week.”
Something unfurled in my chest, a tight knot loosening for the first time in two weeks. I searched his face, looking for any signs of hesitation or regret, but found only certainty in those amber eyes.
“What about your lone wolf thing?” I asked, my fingers absently tracing the new scar above his eyebrow. “The whole ‘teams get people killed’ philosophy you’ve been living by for years?”
Flynn’s expression sobered. “Yemen was a long time ago. And Monaco...” His grip tightened slightly. “Monaco showed me that sometimes having people at your back is the difference between making it out alive and not making it out at all.”
“So this is gratitude? For saving your life?”
“This is me choosing a future instead of running from the past.” He leaned his forehead against mine. “And yes, choosing you.”
The words sent a flutter through my stomach that I couldn’t quite suppress. After Elodie died, I’d locked myself away from any real connections, convinced that loving people only led to pain. Yet here I was, heart racing at the simple admission that someone had chosen me.
“I don’t know if I can say it back yet,” I whispered, honesty seeming the only fair response. “What you want to hear.”
Flynn’s thumb traced my cheekbone, a tender gesture that belied the intensity in his gaze. “I’m not asking you to. I just want a chance to prove I’m not going anywhere this time.”
“You’d better not,” I said, trying for lightness but hearing the vulnerability beneath. “Because if you disappear on me again, I’ll hunt you down myself.”
His smile returned, slow and devastating. “I’d expect nothing less, princess.”
I closed the remaining distance between us, pressing my lips to his in a kiss that started gentle but quickly deepened, weeks of worry and longing channeled into the contact. His arms wrapped around me, pulling me flush against him as he returned the kiss with equal fervor. My fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, anchoring myself to him, to this moment.
When we finally broke apart, both slightly breathless, Flynn’s eyes had darkened to burnt honey. “So, we’re good?”
I pretended to consider, though we both knew my answer. “You’re on probation.”
“Fair enough.” He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, his expression turning playful. “Does probation include dinner tonight? I found this place near my new apartment that serves the best Thai food this side of Bangkok.”
“Dinner sounds good,” I admitted. “Though I’m not sure how I feel about you making plans before knowing if I’d forgive you.”
“I’m an optimist.”
I snorted. “Since when?”
“Since I met you.” The sincerity in his voice caught me off guard, stealing the witty retort from my lips. Flynn took advantage of my momentary silence to steal another quick kiss before stepping back. “Ready to face the team? They’re probably placing bets on whether we’re killing each other or making up.”
“Both, technically.” I straightened my shirt where his hands had rumpled it. “And Nolan’s definitely listening at the door.”
On cue, there was a shuffling sound from the hallway, followed by a muffled curse that sounded distinctly Irish. Flynn grinned, shaking his head. “Some things never change.”
He moved toward the door, but I caught his hand, stopping him. There was one more thing I needed to say before we rejoined the others.
“Flynn,” I began, my voice dropping to ensure it wouldn’t carry beyond us. “I may not be ready to say... that. But I’m glad you’re here. With me. With the team.”
His expression softened, understanding in his eyes as he squeezed my hand. “One day at a time, Lyric. That’s all I’m asking for.”
One day at a time. I could manage that. And maybe, with enough days strung together, I could finally learn to trust this fragile, unexpected thing growing between us.
“Let’s go,” I said, nodding toward the door. “Before they send in a rescue team.”
Flynn’s laugh was warm as he pushed the door open, revealing Nolan and Leo attempting to look casual in the hallway, while Kate rolled her eyes behind them. Rafe stood a few feet away, arms crossed, his scowl firmly in place, but a glint in his dark eyes.
“Pay up,” Leo said immediately, holding out his hand to Nolan. “Told you they wouldn’t kill each other.”
“She could still change her mind,” Nolan grumbled, reaching for his wallet.
I met Flynn’s gaze and found him already watching me, amusement dancing in his eyes. He winked, a silent acknowledgment of our shared secret—that whatever lay ahead, we’d face it together.
For the first time since Elodie died, the future didn’t look like something to survive. It looked like something to embrace.
“Conference room,” Ethan called from down the hall, his voice carrying the authority that had earned him command of Edge Ops. “Debrief in five. That means all of you.”
As the team began moving toward the conference room, Flynn’s hand found mine, his fingers intertwining with my own in a gesture that felt both possessive and protective. It should have made me uncomfortable—this public display, this acknowledgment of attachment. Instead, it felt right. Natural. As if all the broken, jagged pieces of my life were finally beginning to fit together into something whole.
“Ready, Siren?” Flynn asked.
I squeezed his hand, meeting his gaze with newfound certainty. “Ready, Outlaw.”
Whatever came next—whatever mission, whatever danger—we would face it as partners. As a team. And for now, that was enough.