Chapter Twenty-One – D.C. Wants Their Investment Back
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
D.C. Wants Their Investment Back
I t’s getting dark outside when Jo finally wakes up.
Despite the closeness we just got back, it still feels like unfinished business. If we don’t clear it now, I know we’ll have to dig it up again later, and I don’t want that. I want to fix it now and bury it for good.
I think she knows, because she doesn’t mention getting up, just sits on the bed between us. “I missed you,” she says.
This time, I manage to answer her properly. “We missed you too.”
The coldness that settled in my chest since the barbecue is finally gone, something light and warm taking its place. I want to pull her into my arms and make her curl up in my lap, bury my face in her hair and drown in her scent. But I can’t yet.
“I understand why you left,” I say, trying to keep the harshness out of my voice and failing. “But I can’t go through that again. If you ever need space, time — fine. We’ll deal with it. But you can’t cut us off like that.”
Her eyes start to well up, but the tears don’t fall. “I promise,” she says.
I feel Shane shift beside me, and on Jo’s other side, Jay breathes deep. I glance at both of them and see the relief I feel reflected on their faces.
The cafeteria is almost empty when we get there for dinner. Jo grabs grilled salmon with roasted vegetables and adds it to her tray, but she ends up picking from our plates like always: fries, chicken, even a piece of meatloaf. It’s familiar in the best way.
“I want you to meet them,” she says out of nowhere, like we’re mid-conversation. “My family. My grandfathers were officers too. Retired a few years ago.”
I figured. Most aegis retire as cops or soldiers.
The other paths, like cage fighting and private security, aren’t exactly aspirational.
Private security, when it involves aegis packs, usually means working for people knee-deep in criminal shit.
I don’t want to think about it, but if we get convicted at the trial, cage fighting might be our only option.
Doubt her family will be thrilled to meet us then.
So I dodge the subject. “Your uncles too?”
“Yes,” she frowns, catching my hesitation. “They work in Mountain Home. But when my grandparents told them I was there, they made the trip to meet me.”
I truly wish we could meet them, but hoping for anything feels dangerous now. We try to keep the conversation light, but even Shane and Jay feel strained. I know we’re all thinking the same thing.
Jo picks up on it. “We’ll fight this,” she says firmly. “I talked to Alice after Jenna told me about the charges. I told her everything, and Jayme wants to help. He’s a great lawyer.”
That catches me off guard. Alice had been suspicious of us from the start. And just as she started warming up, this whole thing happened. I figured she’d hate us now.
“Doesn’t Alice think we’re dangerous and violent?” Jay asks.
“No,” Jo says, serious. “She said she would’ve punched Luc herself, if it were up to her. She doesn’t think it should be a crime for anyone to punch a douchebag who said what he said about me.”
That’s really surprising, in a good way.
“So what do you think?” Jo asks. “About Jayme.”
“He really wants to represent us? The department already assigned us someone,” I reply.
“He figured they would. But he says you can have both.”
Jay looks at me, then at Shane. “Wouldn’t hurt to have another lawyer.”
Yeah. It might be smart.
“Good,” Jo says, and I can see part of the tension ease in her shoulders. “I’ll call him tomorrow.”
After we finish eating, we head back to the housing unit. It’s just past seven-thirty, so there’s a game on. Shane grabs the remote and sinks into the couch, Jay and I sprawling out on either side of him.
“Are you guys watching basketball?” Jo asks, standing behind the couch.
I realize she doesn’t know about the portable hoop we installed in our yard, or the Saturday night games at the YMCA court.
“Yeah,” I answer. “We came to like it.”
She goes quiet for a moment, then says softly, “It’s a beautiful sport.”
She slips between Shane and me, settling in, and watches the entire game with us.
The next day, we wake up to my phone alarm blaring. After getting ready, we have breakfast together in the cafeteria, then head back to the housing unit to drop Jo off before making our way to the medical building.
Besides the usual blood they draw for all the tests, they run us through every kind of thing again: treadmill sprints with a mess of wires stuck to our skin, audiometry booths, vision tests where we have to describe flashing figures that blink across the screen in less than a second.
And this time, they throw in a full cognitive assessment too. We go through memory drills, reflex games, attention tests and logic puzzles. Most of it is familiar since we grew up doing this kind of stuff back in the Strays Program.
After we finish all the tests, they lead us to the waiting room. Last time, a doctor called us into his office less than an hour after we were done, but this time, they make us wait longer.
It’s past two in the afternoon when we’re finally called, but strangely, not by a human doctor. It’s an aegis officer. He tells us to report to the administrative building.
I glance at my brothers as we stand to follow the officer, and both of them look concerned, confused. We don’t know what this is about. When we enter the administrative building, the officer takes us straight to a room we’ve been in before: Deputy Commander Julius Eneas’ office.
Eneas doesn’t stand. He just looks up and nods. “Sit.”
We do.
He glances down at the tablet on his desk, taps once, then looks up.
He studies us for a long moment before speaking.
“About three months ago, one of my brothers brought me a risk assessment report with his name on it. A human captain from a small PD in Greenster, Pennsylvania, had submitted it directly to the MAB.”
He opens a drawer, pulls out a file, and flips it open. “Highly irregular,” he says. “But the captain claimed it was a matter of risk mitigation.”
He lifts a single page. “He wrote, and I quote: ‘This aegis pack has shown repeated poor impulse control. Given the danger they’ll pose if allowed to enter a mating arrangement and receive further enhancements, I felt it necessary to escalate my concerns. Commander Eneas, despite being warned, proceeded to push this group toward some kind of breeding arrangement, which I find irresponsible and dangerous.’”
Fucking Balls. I always knew the little bastard was pathetic, but this is a whole new level of low.
Eneas sets the page down. “We reviewed the situation and concluded that the human captain was deliberately trying to sabotage a pack with a high probability of bonding with a Prime nyra and reaching Tier-One. So we intervened. That’s why my pack showed up during your Use-of-Force Review after the school shooting op.
“The captain didn’t take it well. He bombarded the MAB Inspector General with complaints, accusing us of interfering with local discipline, shielding violent aegis and abusing our authority.”
Jay shifts beside me. Shane’s jaw ticks once.
“MAB leadership chewed us out for it,” Eneas continues. “But at the time, we believed it was worth it. You bonded a Prime nyra, and that set you on the path to Special Ops.”
He closes the file and folds his hands over it. “Then, after everything we’d done to make sure your pack had a fair shot, another report landed, this time involving a hospitalized civilian, a police response, and a mention in the local press. ”
My stomach drops, and my mouth goes dry.
Eneas’ tone hardens. “Lucky for you, Internal Affairs and the Use-of-Force Board cleared you. So despite your recklessness, your progression won’t be delayed. As of today, you’ve completed Tier-Two and are being transferred to the Great Sky Special Ops Garrison.”
I blink. Not sure I heard him right.
“That’s… already?” Shane asks, frowning.
Jay leans forward. “Commander Eneas said this usually happens by the third month after the bond.”
“Most packs take three,” Eneas says. “You took two. Early advancement is rare, but not unheard of. You cleared every benchmark: physical, tactical, psychological.”
He pulls three sealed envelopes from his desk and slides them across the table. “These are your orders. Your temporary assignment at the High-Risk Unit is over. You report to the Garrison starting tomorrow.”
He meets our eyes, one by one. “That transfer updates your rank. Your badges, files, and call signs will also be amended. You’re no longer Officers Larsen; you’re Special Agents now.”
“Monthly monitoring ends here,” he adds. “The jump to Tier-One takes longer, so your next scheduled medical evaluation with the MAB is in four months.”
Then his voice drops. “But you’re walking into Special Ops with an active criminal charge over your heads. If it sticks, you’re done. You’ll be stripped of rank and terminated.”
He leans forward slightly. “I want to make sure that you know what is at stake here. The humans are watching. The Department of Defense has been trying to drag Special Ops under its command for years. They don’t like the idea of an aegis-run agency, especially not one made of Tier-One operatives, and your case is exactly the excuse they’ve been waiting for. They’ll use it if they can.
“As of your transfer, you're no longer under Great Sky’s jurisdiction, and that includes their legal protections. The city-assigned attorney won't be representing you going forward. The MAB has its own legal resources, and I’ve already filed a request for federal counsel, someone equipped to handle Special Ops liability cases. You’ll be contacted soon. ”