6. Jon #2
“Not always simple,” Jenny corrects. “But that’s the idea. Some missions are client-funded, others Forest takes on pro bono. Either way, we don’t leave people behind.”
Storm grins. “Sounds like my kind of operation.”
My phone buzzes against my hip. Aria’s face lights up my screen, and I can’t help the smile that follows.
“There it is,” Mac points his fork at me accusingly. “That dopey look. Man’s in love.”
“Shut up,” I mutter, but there’s no heat behind it.
“The Holbrook heiress, right?” Storm whistles low. “Aim high, brother.”
“It’s not like that.” I silence my phone, promising myself I’ll call her back after dinner. “She’s not what people think.”
“Never are,” Razor says quietly, pushing food around his plate. “The good ones, anyway.”
The conversation shifts to past missions, Blaze regaling the new guys with increasingly embellished versions of our greatest hits. I watch them integrate, noting how Storm naturally falls into banter while Razor observes, offering precise comments at perfect intervals.
They’ll fit well, in time.
As we’re finishing, the mess hall doors open to admit Ember and Ryn.
Blaze straightens immediately, his attention magnetized to Ember like she’s true north. He still looks at her like she might vanish if he blinks too long.
“Ladies, what brings you to HQ?” he calls, waving them over. “Meet the new guys.”
Ember approaches with confident steps, her once-haunted eyes now bright with purpose. Ryn follows more cautiously, her posture still holding echoes of her trauma despite six months of freedom from Damien Wolfe’s captivity.
“Did they survive Jenny’s welcome party?” Ember slides onto the bench beside Blaze, accepting his arm around her waist as naturally as breathing.
“With flying colors,” Jenny confirms. “Matias Kane, David Rodriguez, meet Ember and Ryn.”
“The candle makers,” Storm says with recognition. “My quarters smelled like a locker room until Jenny gave me one of your eucalyptus things. Life-changing.”
“Glad to help.” Ember laughs, the sound still new enough to draw attention. “We’re actually expanding our men’s line. Forest thinks tactical teams might appreciate scents that don’t make them smell like a flower shop.”
“Sandalwood, leather, gunmetal,” Ryn offers quietly, her eyes briefly scanning the table before dropping to the table—her way of participating without making direct contact. “For focus and grounding.”
Razor’s attention shifts, his careful assessment of Ryn more thorough than mere curiosity. Something in her tentative presence has caught his interest.
“I’d try that.” His voice gentler than I’ve heard it all day. “Hard to find candles that don’t smell like Valentine’s Day threw up.”
A ghost of a smile touches Ryn’s lips before disappearing.
Progress.
“You should come by the shop,” Ember offers. “Friends and family discount for Delta team.”
“It’s doing well then?” Jenny asks. “The business?”
“Better than I expected. We’re connecting with clients who appreciate artisanal work.” Ember beams with the success of her candle-making business. It’s a good look on her.
“She’s being modest,” Blaze interjects proudly. “They’re creating custom lines.”
“We just make candles,” Ember says, but the pride in her voice is unmistakable.
“The crystal designs in the reception area,” Razor says, addressing Ryn directly. “Those are yours? The way you suspend the minerals in the wax… Not many people could do that.”
Ryn looks up, startled at being directly addressed, a flush creeping across her pale cheeks. “Thank you,” she murmurs, the words barely audible.
The mood at the table shifts—just a flicker, barely perceptible, but enough to prick the back of my neck.
Ryn’s talking. Not to us, not to Ember. To Razor.
And she’s not shutting down. No walls. No glassy-eyed retreat.
Just—talking.
“I should get back,” she says softly, already halfway to her feet. “The new crystal wax needs temperature monitoring.”
Ember glances at her watch, catching the cue. “We’ve left Aria alone all morning.”
She leans in, kisses Blaze’s cheek, casual as always. But her eyes linger on Ryn a little longer. Watchful.
Then both girls stand.
“Hey,” Blaze calls after them, brows lifting. “You never said why you’re at HQ.”
“You’re right.” Ember flashes that sly grin of hers. “I didn’t.”
She tosses a wink over her shoulder. “See you later. Nice to meet you, Storm. Razor.”
“Well met,” Razor says—and I don’t miss how his gaze never leaves Ryn.
Not even for a second.
Ryn pauses at the door. Just a heartbeat. Then her gaze flicks back to him.
Color rises up her throat, blooming fast across her cheeks like she wasn’t expecting whatever that was—whatever just passed between them.
She drops her gaze, pushes through the door, and Razor finally blinks.
He watches her go like he’s marking her silhouette into memory.
“She seems young,” he says after a beat, voice low. Calm. But something sharp threads beneath it.
“She looks younger than she is.” Jenny crosses her arms over her chest, eyes still on the mess hall door long after it swings shut. But something shifts. “She’s eighteen.” Her spine straightens, chin lifting slightly like she’s bracing for impact.
The edge in her voice tightens—barely—but I catch it.
“What’s her story?” Razor asks.
“Foster system. Then Damien Wolfe’s Night Pack.” Her mouth hardens around the words. “She’s survived more than most people twice her age.”
A beat of silence.
Then her shoulders lower, arms falling to her sides, fists unclenching. “She’s been through hell,” she murmurs, quieter now. “And came out standing.”
Jenny’s gaze flicks sideways. Sharp. Calculating.
She clocked the way Razor watched Ryn walk out—curious, quiet, focused in that way only operators get when something matters. Jenny doesn’t bristle. Doesn’t issue a warning. She doesn’t have to. Instead, she straightens, turning to face him fully, the tilt of her chin pure Guardian.
“She’s a part of the Delta team family.” Her voice is steady and low. “Every single one of us would take a bullet before letting her get hurt again.”
“Understood.” Razor doesn’t flinch. Just meets her gaze, expression unreadable.
Jenny studies him for a long second. Then something shifts—barely visible—but I feel it all the same. A loosening at the corners of her mouth. A subtle nod, almost imperceptible.
“She’s got a long road ahead of her,” she adds, quieter now. “Tread carefully.” She turns without another word, moving toward the armory with that same fluid, coiled stride that always makes people get the hell out of her way.
I glance at Razor.
He’s still watching the door, but now, there’s something else on his face.
Respect. Maybe a little awe.
And the faintest flicker of something I recognize all too well. His jaw ticks once, like he’s locking something down behind his teeth.
“I’ve got to make a call before our next briefing.” I check my watch and stand.
“Tell Aria we said hi,” the entire table choruses, followed by laughter.
I flip them off good-naturedly as I exit, already pulling out my phone. Their teasing is relentless, but underneath it lies the only truth that matters: we’re family. Dysfunctional, dangerous, and fiercely loyal.
And now, we’re two members stronger.
Outside, the evening air carries the scent of pine and possibility. I find a quiet spot near the training field and dial Aria’s number.
“Hi, Jon.” I smile as Aria’s voice fills my ear, bright with stories about her day and questions about mine.
New beginnings all around.