Page 5

The silence between us stretches, thick with unspoken words. I know what’s coming before he even opens his mouth.
“I want you in Cerberus,” Fitz finally says, setting his glass down. “We’re going after the bastards who killed your team.”
My fingers tighten around the glass in my hand. The rage is there, buried beneath layers of exhaustion and grief, but it’s still burning, still waiting. “And if I say no?”
Fitz leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Then you go back to whatever’s left of your life. Except there isn’t one, is there?”
My stomach knots. I already know where he’s going with this.
“Cherise,” I say, the name scraping against my throat.
Fitz nods. “If you think she’s safer with you than without you, you’re more of a fool than I thought.” His voice is even, but there’s steel behind it. “The second the wrong people find out you’re still alive, she becomes leverage. Or collateral damage.”
My grip tightens, my knuckles going white. I’d planned to go back to her. I’d clung to that thought when I was bound and bleeding in that pirate camp. She was my anchor, my only reason to keep breathing. But Fitz is right.
“She thinks I’m gone, doesn’t she” I ask, the words tasting like acid.
Fitz nods. “She’s safer that way.”
It’s a gut punch, the kind that has nothing to do with physical pain. But I force myself to push past it, to think like the operative they trained me to be.
“Cerberus,” I say instead, steering the conversation away from the thing I can’t afford to dwell on. “You really think you can take them down?”
Fitz smiles, but it’s not an expression of amusement. It’s the type of smile a predator gives right before it strikes. “We don’t think. We know. It may take time to get them all, but we will.”
I weigh my options. I can go back to the Navy, get debriefed, and fight my way through all kinds of bureaucratic bullshit before I can even think about revenge. Or I can get Fitzwallace to use his influence, get me mustered out, join Cerberus, go off-book, and take justice into my own hands.
It’s not a choice.
I exhale slowly. “Can you work some kind of magic with the Navy?”
Fitz nods. “It’s already done. You’ll need to send them a report, but I’ve cleared it with the powers that be. They will quietly muster you out with an honorable discharge. It’ll be buried deep and classified.”
I let out a humorless laugh. “I didn’t think you had that much pull.”
Fitz’s eyes sparkle with merriment. “You’d be surprised.”
I drain the rest of my whiskey, setting the glass aside. “When do we start?”
He grins, the expression sharp and ruthless. “As soon as you’re ready.”
I glance down at my healing wounds, the bruises that haven’t yet faded—a reminder of what was taken from me.
“I’m ready.”
* * *
The debriefing is a formality, a check-the-box exercise to ensure I’m still loyal to the flag before they let me go. They ask questions they already know the answers to, and I give them the answers they’re looking for—just enough to satisfy their curiosity without painting a full picture.
Yes, I was the only survivor of my unit. Yes, I was taken prisoner. No, I didn’t break.
The rest, the things I left out—the way I’d carved my way through that camp, the bodies I’d left behind, the raw, unrelenting drive to see them burn—those were for me.
The paperwork is signed—my discharge finalized. Just like that, Lieutenant Commander Nick Ryeland is no more.
Cerberus doesn’t do ceremony. There’s no swearing-in, no pomp and circumstance. Fitz and Sawyer meet me outside the Pentagon, a black SUV idling at the curb.
Fitz hesitates, laying his hand on my arm. “Do you want to see her one more time? She’s here in town for a conference.”