Page 158 of Operation: Defiance

Asher hums softly while he cooks. I’m almost done with the coffee when he brings two plates to the table. “I know you’re probably sick of eggs, but at least these aren’t scrambled? And there’s still oatmeal.”

The omelet is simple—spinach and cheese, cut into wedges. Two bowls of oatmeal drizzled with honey.

My stomach warns me to stop a little over halfway through, but Asher finishes what I leave behind.

He leans back in his chair, watching me with that quiet attention I’m starting to understand. Maybe even crave. It’s never demanding. More like he sees me for who I am, and doesn’t look away.

“If none of this had happened,” he asks, “what would you be doing right now?”

The question catches me off guard. Not painfully. More like a shift in terrain I didn’t see coming.

I glance toward the window, where sunlight spills across the floor. “It’s…Saturday?”

The second the word leaves me, I feel the slip—just a small one. My mind searches for a map, a way to resolve the past however-long into periods of time that resemble days, but fails. There were no edges. No breaks. Just…survival and pain.

“Yes,” Asher says. His voice gives me the anchor I need. “It’s Saturday.”

I trace a small chip at the table’s edge. My skin isn’t quite as dry today, but my index finger still catches roughly. My body cools by degrees until I dig my nails into my palms.

“Well, coffee always came first,” I manage.

One corner of his mouth tips up. “And after the coffee?”

I let the memory surface, bringing a tiny slice of peace with it. “Orchids. I used to take care of them on Saturday mornings. Everyone thinks they’re complicated, but they’re not. They just…have rules. Clear ones. If you follow them, they thrive.”

He studies me, but he’s not scanning for weakness. He’s looking for understanding. “You like things that tell you exactly what they need.”

“They make sense to me. More than most people do.”

For a moment, neither of us speak. The pull to keep the conversation going is strong. Deep. Real in a way I’ve longed for so many times, but never found. Until now.

“I don’t know how to do this,” I whisper. “The talking. Seeing. And being seen.”

“You’re doing just fine.” Asher leans forward, elbows on the table, hands relaxed where I can see them. “There’s no pressure here, Raine. Not from me.”

My gaze trails up his arms, noting the slight tension in them. The way his left shoulder is better, but still a fraction higher than the right. The stubble along his jaw, and how it takes on a reddish tint in the light. The deep blue of his eyes.

“What about you?” I ask. “Who were you before you were Asher the Fixer. Asher, the man with too many suits and even more burner phones?”

He’s quiet long enough I start to think I asked for too much. But then he shifts, his fingers flexing once before they still.

“I grew up with a father who believed two things,” he says. “That the world is dangerous. And that you don’t wait for someone else to protect the people you care about.”

The words come softer now. “He lived that with his whole heart. Stepped between people and danger without thinking twice. But when he was the one in danger, I was too late.”

He drops his gaze to his hands, a crack in his armor so small, most people would probably miss it.

I feel the ache of it—along with the trust he’s giving me by letting it show.

“After that, fixing made sense. It wasn’t about being the person who saves the day. It was making sure no one ended up alone when it mattered.”

“That sounds…right.”

“Not always right,” he admits. “Necessary. But now…I’m not sure necessity is the reason I’m doing this.”

My pulse stutters. “What do you mean?”

“You’re not a job, Raine.” His shoulders ease. A quiet motion to accompany the steadiness in his eyes. “I may have gone in for someone else, but I stayed for you.”