Page 226 of Operation: Defiance

“The next day, I made sure someone was at the bus stop before she got there. Close enough if something happened, she wouldn’t be alone.

My heart stutters. “That wasn’t part of the job.”

“No.” His mouth shifts faintly. “It wasn’t. It didn’t change the outcome of the op. Didn’t mean a damn thing on paper. But I couldn’t stand the idea of her waiting there all alone.” That hint of a smile deepens. “I kept tabs. A neighbor took her in, then adopted her a year later.”

I cup his cheek and brush a gentle kiss to his lips. His stubble tickles my palm, settling me more than I expect.

By the time I’ve decided what part of me to give him, the silence is almost unbearable. “I’ve never really…dated.”

His eyebrows lift. “At all?”

“I’ve had sex. You weren’t my first,” I say quickly. “But relationships? The whole ritual? I never saw the point.”

He watches me with such intensity, it’s hard to keep my voice level.

“People asked. Mostly men. A couple of women. Agents I worked with. A neighbor once, when I was on a long-term field op in deep cover.”

Asher’s gaze softens, but he doesn’t stop me from this embarrassing admission. “I told myself it was discipline. Focus. My job required clarity, and clarity doesn’t survive entanglement. I moved every year for a while. Didn’t keep furniture. Or plants. Or friends. No attachments.”

I take a slow, steady breath.

“I’ve walked away from cities without looking back. From apartments I’d barely unpacked. From neighbors whose names I never learned.

“I’ve never built my life around someone coming back.” The tremble in my voice isn’t small enough to hide this time. “Around choosing someone to wake up next to every day.”

The admission tears something loose inside me—something I’ve hidden for years finally breaking free. My throat tightens, but I don’t look away. I hold his gaze even as every instinct I have demands distance.

“I’m choosing you, Asher. And you…might not come back to me.”

The room stays the same. Nothing dramatic happens. The world doesn’t come crashing down around us from my truth laid bare.

He swallows hard enough for me to hear it. “I’ll come back.”

“You can’t know that.” I’m not proud of how small the words sound.

“When this is over…” he says after a moment, something new threading through his tone. It’s not reassurance or bravado. It’s longing. “...we build something that doesn’t look like this.”

“What does that mean?”

“Protection,” he says. “Real protection. We take clients who don’t have leverage. We extract when they need extraction. We prevent harm when we can.”

I can see it. For the first time since he told me his plan for tomorrow, I don’t see restraints or concrete or a room with no windows.

I see light. Frosted glass walls. Desks that aren’t bolted to the floor. A coffee mug that says, “Caffeine before tactics.” And Asher. Smiling.

“You’re assuming you’ll be there to build it,” I say.

“I am. And I will.”

“You don’t get to promise that.”

“I’m not promising.” He squeezes my hand. “I’m planning.”

The difference is microscopic and enormous at the same time. Promises hope for mercy. Plans assume survival.

“I don’t know how to build that without you,” I admit.

He presses his lips to the curve of my neck below my ear. “Then build it with me.”