Chapter 64
Clay
“Clear.”
The word leaves my mouth low and steady as I sweep the last room.
Empty.
No movement.
No threats.
Just dust and silence.
“Clear,” Lucas echoes over comms.
“Clear,” Miles follows.
Good.
I lower my weapon slightly, scanning one more time out of habit.
Because habit keeps you alive.
Not comfort.
Not instinct.
Habit.
“You’re slow today,” Miles mutters as he steps into the doorway.
I don’t look at him.
“I’m thorough.”
“You’re stiff.”
That—
That gets my attention.
I turn just enough to level a look at him.
“Say that again.”
He grins.
Doesn’t back down.
“Stiff,” he repeats. “Like you’re still working through something.”
I roll my shoulder once.
Subtle.
Controlled.
Pain flickers through my ribs.
Gone just as fast.
“Feels fine to me.”
“Yeah?” Lucas cuts in over comms. “Because from here it looks like you’re compensating on your left side.”
I exhale slowly.
Of course they notice.
They always notice.
“I’m good,” I say.
There it is.
That word again.
Miles huffs a quiet laugh.
“Man, if I had a dollar for every time you said that—”
“Focus,” I cut in.
Because I’m not having this conversation.
Not here.
Not now.
Silence falls again.
Professional.
Tight.
We move.
Sweep the next section.
Clear.
Everything clean.
Everything controlled.
Exactly how it should be.
Except—
It doesn’t feel the same.
Hasn’t for a while.
I don’t think about why.
Don’t need to.
Because I already know.
I just don’t—
Deal with it.
Mission wraps fast.
Too fast.
Back on the move.
Back in the truck.
Back to base.
Routine.
Simple.
Predictable.
I lean back against the seat, arms folded loosely across my chest.
Ignore the pull.
Ignore the tension.
Ignore—
My mind drifts anyway.
Uninvited.
Unwanted.
Her.
Hannah.
The way she looked at me the last time we were in the same room.
Angry.
Frustrated.
Something else underneath it.
Something I didn’t stick around long enough to figure out.
Probably for the best.
I shift slightly.
Jaw tightening.
Because that’s not entirely true either.
“You gonna keep pretending that didn’t get to you?” Miles asks suddenly.
I glance over.
“What?”
“That whole ‘doctor ripping you apart’ situation.”
I look away again.
Out the window.
“Wasn’t personal.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” he says.
Yeah.
Probably.
Still not dealing with it.
Lucas leans forward slightly from the front seat.
“You ever talk to her after that?”
“No.”
“You going to?”
“No.”
Silence.
Then—
“Yeah,” Miles mutters. “That’s not gonna last.”
I don’t respond.
Because I know he’s right.
I just don’t know why yet.
And I’m not sure I want to.