Chapter 4 Military Hospital, San Antonio, Texas
MILITARY HOSPITAL, SAN ANTONIO, TEXAS
Lark rubbed her good hand against her thigh, fingers itching to roll that stress ball between them. Damn thing had become her lifeline.
Her pulse vibrated in the center of her throat.
The scent of antiseptic had teeth. It clung to the back of Lark’s mouth, mingling with the metallic tang of adrenaline she hadn’t quite shaken.
Her shoulder throbbed in slow, punishing waves—freshly reset, numbed, and wrapped—but the ache was nothing compared to the hollowed-out pit inside her chest.
She paced the far side of the waiting room like a caged animal, booted footsteps muffled against cold tile. One ankle wrapped. Ribs tight with bruises. Shoulder stiff. Nothing broken, but that fixed nothing that had gone wrong.
Three lives lost. Just like that.
Mina. Alvarez. Wes.
And three more lives unaccounted for. Had the enemy taken them? Had they been killed in the crossfire?
Or worse… had they been flipped?
Bradford—most likely. Torin and Bretton? Anyone’s guess.
Lark flicked her gaze toward the corner of the room where Specs sat cross-legged in a rolling chair, hunched over Jupiter’s laptop like a gargoyle guarding secrets.
Jupiter leaned against the wall beside her, arms folded, eyes bouncing between code and her face.
They spoke in clipped whispers, eyes drawn tight.
They shared a common thread, speaking the same tech language.
Lark’s chest squeezed. She should be over there. Helping. Leading.
Instead, she paced. She needled. She bore the guilt of failure like a medal.
“You’re going to wear a groove in the floor,” Thor said from behind her.
She pivoted, heart slamming against her ribs.
Thor leaned against the doorframe like he hadn’t just walked through hell. Broad shoulders, relaxed, and a bandage peeking from beneath his blood-soaked shirt. No visible bruises. Just the calm, grounded command of a man who’d seen too much and knew better than to let it show.
“Pacing helps.” She swallowed, hard. Years of training. Years of being in control. In command… disappeared into a ball of nerves at her feet. She had nothing left. No team to lead. No mission to execute. Just nothing.
“So does sleep.” Thor waved his hand toward the chairs.
“I’ll pass.”
“Then take this.” Thor strolled over and handed her a coffee in a white foam cup. No lid. Burnt-smelling and probably hours old.
Lark took it anyway.
He watched her for a long beat. “I know what you're doing.”
“I’m not doing anything.”
“You’re running a postmortem in your head. Rewinding every frame. Replaying every choice. You think if you find the first miscalculation, you can find the thread that made everything go wrong.” He cocked his head. “You won’t find it. I know because I’ve tried on more than one mission.”
Lark sipped the coffee and nearly choked on the slop. It was worse than the crap that Specs brewed. “I should’ve aborted this mission before it started.”
“You didn’t have a reason to.” Thor arched a brow. “I’ve been where you are, and I’ve thought the same thing. But hindsight is always a distorted version of the truth.”
“Tell me, Thor. Have you ever lost almost everyone on your team?”
“No.” He shook his head. “Not my men. However, the boys have gone in to extract entire teams, only to get there too late. Doesn’t matter that they weren’t on my team. Lives lost are lives lost. It doesn’t make it any easier.”
“Specs is the only one who made it out. And that was because she wasn’t in the field.” Lark pressed her palm against her forehead. “Ironic that her inability to fire a weapon well is what saved her ass.”
“You can’t protect everyone.” Thor’s voice dropped.
“That’s part of my job,” Lark snapped, too fast, too sharp. She winced and stared into her cup. “My team. My responsibility. I figured you of all people would understand.”
Silence stretched between them for a few long minutes.
“I do understand. But you can’t internalize it. You do that, you might as well retire,” Thor said and dropped into a chair. “And you’re too good to do that.”
She rolled her neck, letting the words settle in her brain. She valued and trusted Thor. Hell, everyone on his team was as solid as they came. But that didn’t change the facts.
Her mission had failed—on an epic level. People died. And a prototype of AI battlefield-ready software was missing.
That was on her—no one else.
Raising the cup to her lips, she sipped the stale, lukewarm coffee. It tasted like cardboard and did nothing but sour her belly even more. She marched toward the garbage can and dropped the cup.
“I saw Kawan before I got that disgusting brew,” Thor said. “He’s fine. Stitches. Blood. Bruised pride.”
“He shouldn’t have doubled back for me. I would’ve found a way out.”
“You don’t know that, and if he hadn’t done that on his own, I would’ve sent him or someone else in to get you,” Thor said. “We don’t leave people behind.”
“You didn’t give me the chance to dust myself off.” She closed her eyes, inhaled. “He took a bullet for me.”
“He’s taken a couple for me as well,” Thor said.
“You’re allowed to be human, Lark. You’re allowed to be shocked.
Grieve. Feel guilty. Hell, even be angry.
But what you’re not allowed to do is fold in on yourself.
We still don’t know what the hell went wrong out there, and if anyone can figure it out—it’s you. ”
Lark dropped into the seat beside him. Every muscle screamed in protest, but she welcomed the pain. “I can’t even look at Specs without wanting to beg her to forgive me.”
“She doesn’t blame you.”
“Doesn’t mean I don’t.”
Across the room, Specs stood abruptly. Her ponytail was messier than usual, and her cheeks were hollowed with exhaustion. She grabbed the laptop and crossed toward them, Jupiter right behind. “Lark,” she said, voice quiet but urgent. “You need to see this.”
Lark stood, heart kicking up.
Specs tilted the screen. A simple, encrypted message blinked in green.
FROM: M.G.C.G.
NOT SECURE. WAIT FOR INSTRUCTIONS. NEED TO TALK.
Lark stared. The initials punched like a fist.
Major General Clayton Grady.
Thor read over her shoulder. “Have you spoken to Lorre?”
“No.” Lark’s jaw clenched. “Not yet.”
“Why?”
“Because outside of you and your team, I don’t know who the hell to trust.” She held Thor’s gaze. “Grady sent you in, and I get the impression that Lorre had no idea. That’s more than concerning.”
“Agreed.” Thor nodded.
The door swung open again.
Colonel Graham Lorre stepped inside with the kind of authority that expected everyone to snap to attention.
Uniform crisp. Shoes shined. Jaw locked so tight, it looked like he could grind steel.
His timing a little too fucking perfect.
His gaze swept the room—Specs, Jupiter, Thor—before landing squarely on Lark.
Wonderful.
Out of habit, she stiffened, as if to salute, though she didn’t. But she did stand close to attention.
“Strattan. A word,” Lorre said.
“Yes, sir.” She followed him into the hallway, her spine snapping straight. Her muscles twitched. Her fingers rubbed together. God, she wanted that damn stress ball in the worst way.
“You want to explain to me what the hell happened?” Lorre asked, voice low and sharp. His gaze didn’t waver.
“We were compromised.”
“I gathered that from the fucking body count,” he said with a clenched jaw. “Care to explain how that happened?”
Lark didn’t flinch, but her pulse raged like a rabid raccoon. “Our asset never confirmed the location change until it was too late. Comms hijacked. Surveillance rerouted. Our field teams picked off one by one. We tried to abort, but—”
“And why was a SEAL team on my mission? I had an evac team in place… after the mission was complete.”
She met his eyes. His gaze was flat and unapologetic. “Support and extraction. Authorized through proper channels.”
“Don’t feed me bureaucratic bullshit, Strattan. I didn’t sign off on that. They weren’t supposed to be in the village. Hell, they weren’t supposed to be there at all.”
Shit. She’d been in precarious situations before with command, but nothing like this. She had no idea what to say or how to say it.
“Sir, I mean no disrespect, but I received orders for support and evac,” she said. “I used the resources I had. Perhaps we need to take this higher up the chain.”
Lorre's face flushed red, a vein pulsing at his temple.
Well, shit. That wasn’t too smart, but it was the truth and her only play.
Lorre stepped into her space, breath hot, nostrils flaring. “Those orders didn’t come from me, and I’m your commanding officer on this op. I’m the only one that matters.” His jaw flexed. “I want a copy of whoever sent the orders.”
“I’m sorry, sir. But that’s not possible.”
“Oh, yes, it is,” Lorre said. “You fucked up, and I want to know who permitted you to do so. So does the congressional committee, which trusted you with a prototype AI system worth more than most black budgets. And now it’s gone. You think this looks good on either of us?”
“No,” she said simply. “But you’re not the one who watched your team die.”
Something flickered in his expression. Regret? Doubt? It didn’t matter.
“I’m truly sorry about Wes, Mina, Alverez…
they were good operatives.” Lorre wiped a hand across his brow.
“We’ve got two other men missing, and Senatrix is going nuts about Bradford.
Unfortunately, that puts you in the hot seat since you were the one calling the shots.
You were the one who accepted changes in the plan.
Brought on the SEAL team…” Lorre’s shoulders slumped.
“I’m sorry, Strattan, until the review board completes its investigation, you’re on administrative leave.
Effective immediately. I want the after-action reports on my desk as soon as possible, along with any intel you’ve gathered. I also want Specs’ equipment.”