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“Do you see where this is all leading?” Shark asked.
“He’d have to be as dumb as that log Tex made us carry after Shark had to be reschooled on what team really means,” Twister said.
“Yeah,” Easy said. “Shark was the poster boy for trying to be a lone wolf in a pack that knows how to correct that stupid behavior.”
Tex’s eyes, steady and searching, didn’t flinch. Instead, voice gruff with concern, he continued, “You’ve got some heavy-duty shit on your plate here, and I don’t just mean Quinn. Brian’s death happened in this city, just miles away from here. Quinn… she almost died today at the compound.”
The weight of Tex’s words pressed on Dagger like a physical blow. Memories of Brian, whose death had shattered him, swirled in his mind, each recollection a painful reminder of how things had spiraled out of control. The conversation was no longer just about the breach at the embassy site. It was about the cascade of losses and the responsibility that felt more like a curse than a duty.
Tex’s tone softened slightly as he continued, “You’ve been dealing with a lot since Brian was killed. Quinn’s breakdown, taking those boys away, your feelings for her, and the fact that she’s your brother’s widow. Those boys… they’re biologically yours.”
At that, even Twister couldn’t help but murmur in agreement, “Yeah, just a few things,” his voice tinged with both sympathy and quiet reproach. The rest of the team, hardened by their own battles yet capable of empathy, offered silent nods that stung more than any reprimand.
“We all know how it is to carry guilt and feel like there was something we could have done to change the outcome,” Shark said, “I was no different and it took some time before I could think of your brother without that heavy burden. But Brian’s death?” He shook his head, his throat working. “That wasn’t on us. Hard pill to swallow, but we weren’t involved with the planning of that distraction to get our guys into the prison and Astraea out. He gave up his life for Easy…” He swallowed hard. “Me…and the hostage, fulfilling his duty. When I heard what happened, I pretended that I didn’t hear Tex’s orders to returnto the team.” He glanced at his CO. “I had to go after Ramos, and there was no way I was leaving Easy out to dry. No way.”
Tex acknowledged Shark’s words with a bow of his head, the understanding in his eyes carrying some heavy weight. Shark took a soft breath, relief rushing out with the air. “We all loved him, man.” His voice wavered, breaking. “We all felt his death keenly, and we all mourned with you for you, those boys, and Quinn’s loss.”
Inside, Dagger felt the familiar fortress of control beginning to crumble. His belief that if he let his guard down, he’d lose the people he loved had always been his shield. He thought that had been reinforced when Brian was killed, but now he was reassessing all of that.
His brother’s death wasn’t his fault, and he wasn’t responsible for carrying the weight of Quinn’s grief, and denying himself love didn’t undo the past. Dagger wasn’t involved in that mission. He didn’t plan it, didn’t execute it, so it wasn’t about his physical strength, speed, or intelligence. It was about being out of the loop, uninformed, powerless. That’s what destroyed him, not failing in action but failing to see it coming. It applied to Quinn, too. He didn’t just lose Brian. He lost Quinn and the kids. Her grief and anger pushed her into self-destruction, and he had to step in and take the kids. He felt like he lost her twice. First to her grief, and then to her resentment toward him. It fueled his need for control.If I’m the one making the calls, if I know everything, if I’m the one standing between danger and the people I love, then I won’t lose them.“I thought keeping my distance would protect them.”
Tex’s face softened in the same way he looked at his wife. “But it’s not distance that keeps people safe. It’s showing up, Kade.”
Hearing all this, standing before Tex and his team, the truth gnawed at him. It wasn’t his responsibility to carry Quinn’s griefor to believe that distance would keep those he cared for safe. The realization cut deep. If he continued holding back, he wasn’t protecting anyone at all.
“Get your head out of your ass, Dagger. You want to be her shield, fine. But don’t you dare make this about your guilt instead of the mission.” Tex’s words hit Dagger like a freight train.
He could take a page out of Tex’s book. He never coddled, but he was always with them, an officer who waded into the thick of it all right along with the men he commanded. He pushed hard, but even when he had to take the heat from the brass, he always had their backs. It drove home to him that he was letting his emotions overshadow his duty. He’d taken an oath, and he was part of a team. He didn’t have to go this alone. That attitude adjustment sank in hard. Tex leaned in, his next words both an accusation and a lifeline. “What do you hope happens with Quinn, Dagger?” The question was direct, leaving no room for evasion.
Dagger clenched his jaw, trying to deny it all. To keep pretending this wasn’t about him, that he wasn’t selfish enough to want Quinn for himself. But the words stuck like a blade in his throat, because the truth was a wildfire he could no longer contain.
After a heavy pause, Dagger’s voice, uncharacteristically soft, replied, “I want her to be happy. To be healed. I want her to get her boys back and be their mom, and for her to move on.” There was an undeniable tremor in his tone, a crack in his façade as an unflappable warrior.
Tex’s gaze narrowed, almost challenging him, “With you?”
In that moment, the vulnerability in Dagger’s admission was laid bare. He’d kept his distance, convinced that control meant safety. Yet here, in the presence of men who had seen their own scars and losses, he felt that distance had onlycost him more. The team, many of whom had found love or embraced fatherhood, offered quiet, understanding looks. Their silent solidarity spoke volumes, making him look at himself as a reflection not only of his own inner turmoil, but these men he’d fought with, laughed with, and unequivocally had their backs every step of the way. So, it was his turn to allow them to have his back in not only combat, but this, his love for Quinn tying him up into knots that even a sailor had trouble unraveling. It was also a chance for Dagger to confront the self-imposed chains of guilt and fear.
“What about her kids? They’re more than your nephews,” Tex asked. “As a dad, it’s intimidating to hold those innocent lives in your hands and worry that you’re doing a shit job.”
“I’ve protected them…that’s all I felt I could do.”
“You can’t just be the guy in the shadows making sure they’re safe, Kade. They need more than that.”
“What if I’m not enough?”
“You think being a father means never letting them see you bleed? That’s not strength, Kade. That’s fear.”
Bondo said quietly into the silence. “You show up anyway. You do the work because that’s what they need. Just you.”
As Tex spoke about the heavy burdens of fatherhood and responsibility, even Bondo’s few supportive words, reinforced the idea that leaning into one’s vulnerabilities wasn’t a sign of weakness but of growth. For the first time in a long while, Dagger felt the stirrings of possibility, and maybe showing up, really showing up, for those he loved could be the way to truly protect them, perhaps even to start healing himself.
“Get some rest. We’ll regroup at 0600 tomorrow, assess whether Quinn is ready to tackle the embassy site again, and go from there.”
Dagger walked over to Shark. “Thank you for what you said.” He glanced over at Easy and Shark’s gaze followed, his throatcontracting. Losing Easy would have been devastating to the team. He was their heart and soul. If he’d been in Shark’s shoes, he would have done the same thing.
His voice fierce, Shark just said, “We are brothers.” They fist bumped and Easy’s lazy smile made them smile back.
He left the briefing room and walked to Quinn’s door, using her key card to enter. She was where he left her, sleeping peacefully. Relief rushed through him again as he stared at her, but the weight of it all hit harder than it should have. His knees buckled, and he let himself sink against the wall. For the first time in years, he wasn’t standing guard. He was just…there. Tired. Fractured.