Page 123 of Operation: Defiance

Chapter Twenty-Six

Asher

I jerk awake with a cramp in my neck and my right foot buzzing. One of the chair’s springs digs into my back, right over the old wound that never healed properly.

Raine’s out cold.

Not the brittle collapse she’s fallen into every other time. Her breathing has weight now. Depth. Like she might—finally—feel safe here.

I check my phone.

She’s been under for a couple of hours. Progress.

I stand slowly, stretching until my spine lets out a series of pops and the strain eases.

The ache is familiar. Ten years ago, I could have pulled an all-nighter, handled a twelve-hour op, and still gone for a run. Now my body likes to remind me there’s a bill for everything.

This one’s worth it.

My stomach growls. Shit. I haven’t eaten anything since this morning.

Raine will need food soon too. It takes a while to come back from such extreme deprivation. A few sips of tea, half a banana, and some crackers won’t hold her for long. Not with the amount of repair work her body needs to do.

The safe house kitchen is small, but I stocked it before I started this job. Canned chicken, frozen broth, dried noodles, carrots, celery, onions. A loaf of decent bread. Butter. Cheese.

I pull things out in a quiet rhythm. Pan on the stove, low heat. Stock first. Vegetables in a small, even dice. Chicken shredded with practiced fingers. Noodles last so they don’t turn to mush.

I make a grilled cheese for myself while the soup simmers. Something to keep my hands busy so they don’t drift back toward the laptop.

The rich scent fills the room. It’s ordinary. Domestic. The kind of thing people take for granted.

The kind of thing Raine deserves.

After my first bite of the sandwich, I hear it.

The soft drag of fabric over carpet. A pause. Another quiet sound. Maybe a gasp. Or a hiss.

I take a step so she can see me from the bedroom and drop my hands to my sides.

Raine stands in the doorway, bracing herself against the wood. Exhausted, eyes still haunted, but present.

“I…think I’m hungry?” Her brows pinch together, and her lips part briefly on an inhale. “It smells…good out here.”

“I made soup. If it’s too much—or too little—I can throw something else together and bring you a tray.”

She looks from the stove to the small table in the center of the room. The effort of standing is already wearing on her. I can see it in the way she’s holding herself.

“No. I mean…yes. Soup. But I want to sit at the table.”

Want.

She’s so careful with the word. For a moment, the why of it escapes me. Until I realize that’s exactly what they took from her. Wanting.

I swallow hard. “Then the table it is. Pull up a chair.”

Raine

I move the chair first, angling it so the door stays in my line of sight and the rest of the room doesn’t disappear behind me. The position will put us closer, but maybe that’s okay.