37. One More Thing
Chapter thirty-seven
One More Thing
Matt
The safe house is nondescript—just another concrete block in the middle of nowhere. No signs, no markings. The kind of place you don’t ask questions about.
The SUV rolls to a stop in the dirt lot. Silence settles as we climb out. Exhaustion has settled in deep, every step slow and heavy. The mission isn’t over. Not until we’re home.
Inside, the air is stale but cool. Food is already waiting—canned goods, protein bars, bottled water. Aegis never promises luxury, only efficiency.
No one rushes to eat. Showers first.
I move into the bathroom and brace my hands against the sink, staring at my reflection. Dark circles. Blood smudged along my jawline. A thousand-yard stare that won’t leave. The bulk I’ve built over the years stripped bare. My fingers tremble—not from fear, but bone-deep exhaustion.
Hot water hits my skin, washing away sweat, grime, trauma. It should feel good. It doesn’t. It feels like nothing.
I barely register getting dressed, pulling on clean cargos, and a plain shirt from the stockpile. The others do the same.
By the time I return, the smell of nourishment fills the room. It isn’t fancy—just rations. But it’s hot, it’s there, and that’s enough.
Steele is at the table, stirring something out of a dented can. He sniffs it, makes a face. “Okay, someone explain why every safe house meal tastes like feet.”
Demo rips a protein bar open with his teeth. “Because you’ve got the taste buds of a toddler.”
Steele jabs his spoon into the tin and lifts a chunk of grayish-brown mush. “This is a crime. We survived Niger only to die of food poisoning.”
Charlie smirks, picking up a ration pack. “Eat it or don’t. But if you keep whining, I’ll shove that can down your throat.”
Steele sighs dramatically but takes a bite anyway, chewing with exaggerated misery. “Unbelievable. The things I do for this team.”
Hale drops into a chair, grabbing a better-looking meal and a bottle of water. He nods toward me. “You gonna actually eat that?”
I hadn’t realized I was only looking at the food.
Demo arches a brow. “Not that we aren’t fond of your moody brooding, but you kind of need calories to function.”
Steele points his spoon at me. “Yeah, man. You’re looking a little scrappy. Borderline stray dog.”
I shoot him a look. He just grins and keeps eating.
They aren’t wrong. But I pick up the utensil and force down a few bites. It’s disgusting, but the second it hits my stomach, I feel how empty I am.
Steele smirks. “See? Not so bad once you accept we live in a circle of disappointment.”
Charlie exhales. “Jesus Christ, Steele.”
Demo tosses him another protein bar. “Here. Shut up and eat.”
Steele catches it midair. “Gladly. I’ll even pretend it’s steak.”
Then the radio crackles. “Bishop.”
All conversation dies. Steele lowers his spoon, Demo sets down his water, and Hale straightens.
Bishop grabs the receiver. “Go ahead.”
Callahan’s voice is flat, unreadable. “Good work getting out of Niger. You’ll be wheels-up tomorrow. Transport is arranged.”
The tension eases slightly. For the first time, it feels real. We’re going home.
Then Callahan adds, “Mason—one more thing.”
The way he says it makes the air shift. His tone is clipped, carrying a sharpness that doesn’t belong here—not after everything we just crawled out of.
I sit up straighter, heart ticking harder in my chest.
The silence stretches. My stomach sinks.
“There’s been an attack.” He waits. “Melina’s in the hospital. She’s a little banged up, but okay.”
The blood drains from my face. The room blurs at the edges, my pulse slamming against my skull.
Nobody moves. Nobody speaks. Even Steele is silent.
I grip the edge of the table. “How bad?”
“Vehicle ambush after dropping the kids at school,” Callahan states, calm, controlled. “Deliberate. Tactical.”
My lungs locks down. “Mercer and Brooks?”
“Brooks is fine. He wasn’t on duty.”
Callahan hesitates—long enough to set my teeth on edge, before adding. “Mercer’s stable. Admitted after surgery. We almost lost him. He put up one hell of a fight.”
The breath leaves me in a sharp exhale. That should’ve been me. If I’d been there, I could’ve stopped it. But I wasn’t. Darren put her in a hospital bed while I was half a world away.
“Darren?” I ask, my voice laced with venom.
Another pause.
“Gone. Took off when Melina shot at him. He’s in the wind.”
My gut twists. Rage claws its way up my throat. That son of a bitch is still out there.
“When do we leave?”
“0800,” Callahan replies. “Get some rest.”
***
The next morning is a blur. The drive to the airfield is silent. Aegis has arranged a charter—small, discreet, nothing flashy. We board a sleek Gulfstream, meant for executives, not us. Nobody cares.
As soon as we’re airborne, Steele shifts in his seat. “You gonna sleep at all?”
I stare out the window. “No.”
Bishop exhales. “You won’t be any use to her if you collapse the second we land.”
The layover is nothing—barely enough time to switch planes. We never touch the terminal, never breathe outside air. Another jet waits on the tarmac, unmarked and anonymous, the kind you only find if someone wants you invisible.
This one carries us farther—twelve hours across the ocean with nothing but time and silence. Steele dozes against the bulkhead, Hale pretends to sleep, and Charlie and Bishop sit quiet, eyes closed but awake. I can’t shut down. My mind won’t stop moving.
Demo nudges my boot. “You should at least try to rest.”
I shake my head. “I’m fine.”
He exhales, unconvinced. “You’ll be there soon. Don’t burn yourself out before you even walk in.”
I don’t answer. Because he’s right. And I don’t care.
The hum of the engines becomes a blur. Hours vanish.
Then the wheels slam onto asphalt, jolting us back to reality. Dallas. Finally.
The door opens. Callahan waits at the bottom of the steps, unreadable.
“Inside. Now.”
We follow him into an unmarked hangar. The debrief is fast. I barely hear it. Every second in this room is a second not at the hospital.
Finally, I cut in. “Updates?”
“Discharged,” Callahan says.
A knot loosens in my chest—until he adds, “She’s still at the hospital.”
“Why?”
“She refused to leave him.”
My stomach twists.
She should be in a safe house. Protected. But she isn’t. She’s still there. With him.
“That’s not secure.”
Callahan exhales. “I know. The surgical floor’s locked down. Aegis only. No one in or out without clearance.”
It should reassure me. It doesn’t.
He nods toward the door. “Go.”
I don’t wait.