Chapter 7 #2
"It was lonely." She doesn't turn around. "Loving someone who won't let you in. Who keeps every emotion locked down because vulnerability feels like weakness. Who stays in operator mode because it's safer than being human."
The description cuts closer than I'm comfortable with. "Is that what you think I'm doing?"
"I think you're trying. Which is more than David managed." She turns. Faces me. "But I also think you're scared. That letting people in means losing control. That caring about anything makes you vulnerable in ways you can't afford."
"Vulnerability gets people killed."
"And isolation kills you slowly." Helena moves closer. "Eli, you survived Syria. You survived years alone in the wilderness. You're strong enough to survive being human again."
I want to believe that. I want to accept that strength and vulnerability aren't mutually exclusive. But Delta Force drilled different lessons. Emotional control. Tactical discipline. The understanding that caring too much compromises operational effectiveness.
"What if I can't?" The question comes out rougher than intended. "What if the damage is permanent?"
"Then you learn to function with it. Like David should have done.
Like I should have helped him do before it was too late.
" Her voice cracks. First break in the professional composure.
"I failed him, Eli. Saw the damage eating him alive and I didn't push hard enough to make him deal with it.
I let him keep burying it until there was nothing left but operator mode and guilt. "
"That's not your fault."
"And Syria's not yours." She holds my gaze. "We both carry responsibility for things we couldn't control. Question is whether we let it define us or whether we move forward."
The parallel lands hard. Both of us carrying guilt. Both trying to function despite damage that won't fully heal.
"How do you move forward?" I ask.
"You find something worth living for beyond survival." Helena's expression shifts. "For me, it was the clinic. Helping people in ways David wouldn't let me help him. For you, maybe it's Traci. Giving her the safety and stability you didn't have after Syria."
"And what happens when the threat's eliminated? When Traci doesn't need protection anymore?"
"Then you figure out who you are beyond the operative." Simple answer. Terrifying implications. "But you don't do it alone. That's the mistake David made. Trying to handle everything himself instead of letting people help."
I process this. The offer underneath the advice. Helena positioning herself as someone who understands this territory. Who's willing to help navigate it if I'll let her.
It's dangerous territory. The kind that compromises tactical discipline and creates emotional complications I'm not equipped to handle.
But also the kind that feels less like weakness and more like something I've been missing for years.
"You're volunteering for that?" I ask. "Helping me figure out how to function as something other than an operative?"
"I'm volunteering to be honest with you.
Which is more than most people will offer.
" Helena steps closer. Near enough I have to fight the urge to close the gap.
"You're not broken, Eli. You're damaged.
There's a difference. Broken can't be fixed.
Damaged just needs time and support and someone willing to see past the tactical exterior. "
She's close now. I can see every line around her eyes. The absolute certainty in her expression that says she believes what she's telling me. The gray in her dark hair catching the dim light. The way she's looking at me like she sees past the operator to something underneath.
My pulse kicks up. Awareness that has nothing to do with threat assessment and everything to do with the woman standing close enough to touch, offering something I stopped believing I deserved years ago.
"Helena—"
Alarm screams through the compound. Perimeter sensors tripping. Lights flashing red on the security panel.
Training takes over. I'm at the panel fast. Multiple contacts. East sector. Moving with purpose toward the compound.
Finn bursts through the door. Armed. Alert. "Multiple contacts. Advancing on the east perimeter. Tactical movement pattern."
"Reconnaissance," I say. "They're probing defenses."
Helena's already moving toward the secure wing. Watching her shift into crisis mode—calm, competent, no hesitation—sends heat through me even as I'm calculating threat vectors.
"I'll stay with Traci."
"Lock the door from inside," I tell her.
"Understood."
She disappears down the hall. I grab my rifle from where it's positioned near the door. Chamber's loaded. Always is.
Cara emerges from the communications room, phone pressed to her ear.
"Rhys, we've got multiple contacts probing the east perimeter.
Tactical movement." Pause while she listens.
"Copy that. How long?" Another pause. "Understood.
We'll hold position." She lowers the phone.
"He's mobilizing response from Whitewater Junction. Under an hour."
"Too long if this escalates." I move to the east window. Darkness makes identification difficult, but the movement patterns tell me everything I need to know. Figures in tactical gear moving through the forest. Coordinated spacing. Disciplined advance. Not civilians.
They stop at a distance. One pulls out equipment—radio or scanning device. They're checking for security systems. Mapping our defensive coverage.
Finn takes position at the northwest window. "Standard reconnaissance pattern. Probe defenses, map security layout, withdraw and plan the actual assault."
"Timeline estimate?"
"Depends how fast they can mobilize reinforcements and finalize their approach plan."
I track the figures visually. They're consulting now. One gestures toward the compound. Planning something.
Then they withdraw. Backing off into the forest. Disappearing into the darkness like they were never there.
"Contacts retreating," I report. "Reconnaissance complete."
"Copy that," Finn says. "They got what they came for."
Which means they now know our security perimeter. Know we're prepared. Know this won't be an easy target.
Next time they come, it'll be with more numbers and better planning.
I stay at the window. Watching. Waiting. Making sure they don't circle back.
Footsteps behind me. Helena's voice, quiet. "Tracy is okay. For now. Are they gone?"
"For now. They were running reconnaissance. Mapping our defenses."
"So they're coming back."
"Yeah. They're coming back."
Helena moves beside me. Near enough that I catch her scent again—clean with that edge of wilderness. Her presence registers even though I'm still tracking the forest for movement. Not afraid. Just assessing the threat with the same calm competence she brings to everything.
"How long do we have?"
"Depends on how fast they mobilize reinforcements."
"Then we use that time." She meets my eyes. Steady. Determined. "We keep Traci safe. We extract what she knows. We build the case against the Marshal. And when they come, we're ready."
Standing here in the darkness with Helena beside me and threats moving in the forest, everything clicks. The conversation we just had wasn't theoretical. It was preparation. Helena showing me I can function as both operator and man. That caring doesn't make me weak.
That maybe I'm not as destroyed as I thought.
"Thank you," I say. "For what you said. About Syria."
"I meant it." She touches my arm briefly. The contact sends heat straight through me even though it's just her fingers on my sleeve. "You're stronger than you think, Eli. And you're not alone anymore."
She leaves me at the window with tactical assessments and the ghost of her touch burning through fabric.
I watch the forest. Run scenarios. Calculate response times and defensive positioning.
But underneath the operative mode, something else is running. The awareness that Helena sees me. Not just the tactical exterior. Not just the damage. All of it.
For the first time in years, that doesn't feel like weakness. It feels like possibility, and that feels dangerous.