Page 231 of Operation: Defiance

“It’s something.” He dips his head, kisses me gently, and pulls me against him. “I need you to promise me you’ll eat.”

“Asher.”

“Promise me.” His voice splinters at the edges, and he slides a hand into my hair. “I need to know you’ll be safe.”

“I’ll eat. I’ll try to sleep.”

He studies me long enough that I avert my gaze and focus on his lips instead.

I want to tell him not to go. That I need him. That last night wasn’t about comfort or fear or strategy or even release.

It was about choice.

About choosing him.

The intense pressure in my chest demands language, but I refuse it. Instead, I reach for the soap again, drag my hands slowly over his shoulders, memorizing the slope. The strength. The small scar near his ribs. The light trail of hair below his navel. The angle of his hips. I’ll carry all of this with me for as long as I can. As long as I need.

Until he comes back to me.

“They’ll try to fold you. Keep your core tight. Don’t give them a target to hit. Soft tissue damage is…an exhausting kind of pain.”

“You’re going to debrief me when I get back, aren’t you?” he asks, after a sound that might be a chuckle.

I don’t answer that. I can’t. I’m stuck on that single word.

When.

Asher washes my hair, and I let the water hit my face so he can’t see my tears. I think he knows I’m crying, but says nothing. Just holds me closer.

We don’t talk as we dry off, brush our teeth, and get dressed.

He chooses his clothes with care. Dark slacks—nothing tight or restrictive—a light gray t-shirt. Old boots.

His jacket stays in the closet. His watch on the dresser. His challenge coin in my pocket.

By the time I’ve towel-dried my hair, he’s already cooking. Eggs and toast, coffee, full water glasses sitting on the table alongside a new burner phone.

“I cloned my number,” he says as the eggs sizzle in the pan. “Northbridge will call me, not you. I’ll destroy my phone before I let them take me. The passcode is in your notebook, along with information about my storage unit. There’s a safe in the closet. It uses the same code as the phone. If you have to run, everything you need is in there.”

“You should change the combination,” I murmur.

His lips curve slightly. “You’ll take care of that.”

We sit at the table like this is any other morning. I don’t taste the food, but I eat because he needs me to. I’ll eat every meal he so carefully labeled last night. Because if I don’t, I’ll make a mistake, and he’ll pay the price.

“I don’t know when I’ll get another meal.” His words are so soft, I almost miss them. But they lodge themselves deep in my heart.

With every minute that ticks closer to nine a.m., it’s harder and harder to hold myself together.

Asher sweeps his gaze around the apartment, lingering on the couch for a beat, then the door to the bedroom, then me. One last chance to commit things to memory.

There are a thousand things I should say.

Don’t be brave. Be strategic.

Don’t give them anything.

Come back to me.