Chapter 15
SARAH
The satellite feed blurs in front of my eyes. I blink hard, refocusing on the infrared imagery from the Montana-Idaho border. Committee vehicle movements, potential safe houses, anything that might tell us where Reeve is operating from.
It's past midnight. I should be in my quarters, getting sleep before tomorrow's operational briefing. Instead, I'm here in the analysis room, chasing patterns through surveillance data because sleep means lying in the dark with my thoughts.
Better to work.
The door opens behind me. I don't turn around. Most of the team is asleep at this hour.
"Burning the midnight oil again?" Micah's voice. Of course it is.
"Couldn't sleep." I keep my eyes on the screen, tracking a vehicle convoy through the thermal imaging. "Thought I'd get ahead on tomorrow's intel package."
Footsteps cross the room. He stops a few feet behind my chair, close enough that I'm aware of his presence but not crowding me. Micah's always been good at reading boundaries.
"Find anything useful?"
"Maybe." I pull up a different feed, showing a warehouse compound outside Missoula. "Committee-linked shell company owns this property. Infrared shows activity in the past week. Could be nothing. Could be Reeve's staging point."
"Good catch." He leans in slightly to see the screen better. "Kane will want eyes on that location."
We fall into the old pattern easily. Too easily. Discussing operations, analyzing data, the professional partnership we built before everything went to hell. Before he disappeared.
Before Gabe.
"I ran into your brother last month," Micah says, casual as if commenting on the weather. "Saw him up at Talon Mountain. He punched me." A wry edge enters his voice. "But he looks good. Mara's good for him."
Everything inside me goes cold, then hot.
"Don't." The word comes out sharp as a blade.
Micah pauses. "Don't what?"
"Don't say his name." I spin my chair around to face him, something vicious uncurling in my chest. "Don't stand there and tell me my brother looks good like you have any right to know. Like you were there."
His expression shifts, guarded now. "Sarah—"
"You weren't there." My voice rises. Years of holding this back, keeping it professional, being the bigger person, all of it shatters. "You weren't there when I sent you that emergency code. When I was bleeding out in a safe house and Gabe had gone missing in Alaska and I needed—"
I cut myself off, but it's too late. The dam has cracked and everything comes flooding through.
"I needed you," I say, and God, I hate how raw my voice sounds. "I sent you that emergency code. The one we swore we'd only use if everything had gone to hell. And you didn't answer."
Micah's jaw tightens but he doesn't interrupt.
"I thought you were dead." The words tear out of me. "For weeks, I thought you were dead. And I was trying to recover from being wounded while coordinating the search for my brother who'd disappeared off the grid in the Alaskan wilderness, and I was doing it alone because you were gone."
"Sarah, I can explain—"
"I know you can!" I'm on my feet now, all the professional control I've maintained since he came back burning away in pure rage. "I know you were deep cover. I know the mission required complete radio silence. I know the intel you gathered saved lives. I know all of it."
"Then why—"
"Because knowing doesn't make it hurt less!" My voice cracks. "Because I understand the tactical reasons and I still spent months thinking you were dead while I was bleeding and my brother was missing and I was so fucking scared—"
I stop, breathing hard. Micah stands there, taking it. Not defending himself, not making excuses. Just watching me with those dark eyes that see too much.
"I searched for him," I say, quieter now but no less furious. "While I was recovering from wounds the Committee gave me, while helping set up Echo Ridge. I worked day and night not to let my team down, and still I searched. Then you show up two years later like it's nothing."
His jaw works, but he doesn't interrupt.
"I don't want excuses." The fight drains out of me as quickly as it came, leaving hollow exhaustion in its wake. "I want to go back two years and have you answer that message. I want to not have done all of that alone."
Silence stretches between us. Micah takes a careful step closer.
"You're right," he says. "You did it alone. You survived being ambushed and found your brother and held everything together while I was dark. And I can't change that."
I wait for the excuse, the justification.
Instead, he says, "The mission required complete blackout. No communications, no contact, nothing that could compromise the infiltration. I was embedded so deep that breaking silence would have gotten people killed."
"I know."
"Intel I gathered stopped a Committee weapons shipment that would have killed hundreds. Identified key operatives in their network. Gave Echo Ridge actionable intelligence that we're still using."
"I know that too."
"But you still needed me." His voice drops. "And I wasn't there."
The simple acknowledgment cracks something in my chest. No justification. No minimizing my pain by pointing to the greater good. Just the truth.
"Yeah," I say. "I needed you and you weren't there."
Micah moves closer, into my space now. Not crowding, just present in a way he hasn't been since he came back. Since we've both been so careful to maintain professional distance.
"I made the only choice I could make," he says. "The mission required it. The greater good required it. And I'd make the same choice again because those lives mattered."
I nod because I know this. I've always known this.
"But knowing I made the right tactical decision doesn't stop it from hurting you." He pauses. "Doesn't stop me from wishing I could have been there anyway."
"You can't have it both ways," I say. "You can't be Ghost, the operative who disappears for months on deep cover missions and also be the person who answers when I call."
"I'm not Ghost anymore." His voice is steady, certain. "I left the CIA. My loyalties are to you and this team now."
"So where does that leave us?"
"Right here." Raw honesty. "I'm not going anywhere, Sarah. Not unless you physically throw me out."
I should tell him to leave. Should protect myself from getting hurt again. Should remember that working together and being together are different things.
But standing here in the analysis room, looking at him, remembering what it felt like when we worked together, when we were together...
Silence fills the room. Every piece of my anger lies scattered across the floor, sharp and glittering and still capable of drawing blood.
Micah stands a few feet away, close enough that I'm aware of his presence but not crowding me.
His explanation hangs in the air with my accusations, neither of us quite ready to acknowledge what we've just torn open.
Two years of messages that went unanswered. Two years of wondering if he was alive or dead while I bled out and searched for Gabe alone. Years of choosing between hating him and missing him so desperately I couldn't breathe.
Understanding his reasons doesn't erase any of it.
"I get it," I say finally. My voice sounds scraped raw. "Deep cover. Complete blackout. Intel that saved the team. I understand why you made that choice."
Micah's jaw tightens, waiting for the rest.
"I'm not angry you went dark." Each word costs me more than I want to admit. "I'm angry I needed you and you weren't there."
His eyes darken, but he doesn't move.
"I'm angry I still need you."
Cracks appear in the wall I've built between us. Micah takes one step forward, then stops himself. Muscle tension cords through his shoulders, visible even under his tactical shirt. Restraint drawn tight in every line of his body makes my pulse spike.
"Sarah." Just my name, rough as gravel.
"Don't." But I'm not sure what I'm asking him not to do. Don't come closer. Don't stay away. Don't make me feel this much when I've spent years building walls against exactly this.
He takes another step. Close enough now that gunpowder and leather and old blood fill my senses, making my breath catch.
"Tell me to leave." His voice drops lower, edged with danger. "Tell me you don't want this and I'll walk out that door."
I should. Every tactical instinct I possess screams that crossing this line will complicate everything. We're in the middle of an operation. Reeve is hunting for Echo Base. The Committee has their fingers in wounds we haven't even identified yet. This is the worst possible timing.
But timing hasn't mattered since he left.
"I can't." Words tear loose from somewhere deep. "I've tried. God knows I've tried to stop needing you."
Micah moves before I can process the decision. His calloused palm cups my face, thumb brushing my cheekbone with devastating gentleness. The touch and violence coiled in his frame create a contrast that makes my breath hitch.
"I'm here now," he says.
"For how long?" Bitterness edges the question. "Until the next mission. Until Kane needs Ghost for work that requires you to disappear into the dark again."
"As long as you'll have me." His other hand finds my hip, fingers pressing deep enough to anchor. "However long that is."
No promises about forever. No guarantees about the future. Just brutal honesty that cuts deeper than pretty lies ever could.
I grab his tactical vest and pull him down to me.
We collide, years of grief and rage and desperate need exploding in a rush that buckles my knees.
Micah's arm locks around my waist, hauling me against him.
Every rigid line of muscle presses into me.
He fists his other hand in my hair, tilting my head back at an angle that gives him complete control.
Nothing gentle. Nothing careful.