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The break room still smelled like coffee, but not the burnt, bitter sludge they usually got on deployment. Here, in what used to be a high-end hotel, everything was too damn nice, the gleaming espresso machine on the marble counter, the leather chairs gathered around a polished wood table, the massive flat-screen mounted on the wall that no one ever turned on. The fridge was stocked with protein shakes and energy drinks, the cabinets held organic snacks, and the floor-to-ceiling windows gave a sweeping view of the city below.

Too bad none of it made a difference. Dagger carried too much on his own, like he didn’t trust them to carry it with him. That was a fucking insult. They weren’t just teammates. They were brothers. When a brother shut them out, he might as well have thrown a goddamn grenade into the team. If Dagger wasn’t going to talk? Fine . The SEAL way had two options, spit it out or get your ass handed to you.

The air was thick, tension coiling beneath the surface like a tripwire. The team was loose but not relaxed.

Beast lay stretched out on the cool tile, an expensive Kong toy wedged between his paws, working hard for the peanut butter inside. His ears flicked with each muffled conversation, his sharp eyes sweeping the room like he was waiting for something. Like he sensed it coming before anyone else did.

Brawler leaned against the counter, rolling the tension out of his shoulders, but his pulse was still hammering, his blood too damn hot. He’d been sitting on this frustration since the revelation with that woman who was blaming everyone instead of mourning Brian. He deserved that. Dagger had the hots for his sister-in-law. Damn that had to be fucking hard, but that didn’t absolve him from fessing up to the team.

Then the door swung open. Dagger stepped in. No hesitation. No warning. Brawler moved. His fist slammed into Dagger’s jaw with the kind of force that rattled bone, snapping his head back and lifting him clean off his feet.

Dagger hit the damn floor hard. The expensive tile didn’t give.

Beast let out a low growl but didn’t move. The dog knew the difference between a fight and a lesson.

Brawler barely registered the dull ache in his knuckles. Dagger had a hard fucking head, but that didn’t make it any less satisfying.

For a second, nobody spoke. Dagger was getting some sense knocked into him because he didn’t get it, but that would shake something loose. Brawler didn’t punch people he didn’t care about. But when a brother carried a load, he didn’t have to carry alone, that pissed him off more than anything.

Then Twister cut through the silence. “Fuck, Brawler, take it down a notch.” His voice was sharp, but he wasn’t exactly rushing to stop him. The rest of the team had locked in, standing still, watching.

Waiting.

Brawler flexed his fingers, glaring at Dagger, who was still on the floor, rubbing his jaw. Damn he hated being out of the loop. His anger wasn’t just about loyalty. Dagger was shutting out his fucking battle brothers…his family.

“Don’t start on me,” Brawler muttered. “I should punch you, too.”

Twister scoffed. “For what?”

Brawler’s gaze swept the room. “For not calling this jackass out sooner.”

Dagger exhaled through his nose, still on the ground, his expression unreadable. Still taking it.

Easy let out a low whistle. “Talk about blindsiding a guy.”

“Nope, Easy, I think he saw that coming,” Bondo said.

Flash, arms crossed, grinned a little too much. “That looked like it hurt.”

Dagger huffed a dry laugh, rolling his jaw as he sat up. “I guess I deserved that.” He lifted a brow, locking eyes with Brawler. “Lucky it was you taking a cheap shot instead of Beast.”

Brawler didn’t let himself crack a smile. Not this time. “You dumb bastard,” he muttered. “You think we wouldn’t have your back?” Dagger’s expression didn’t change, but Brawler saw the flicker of something in those pale green eyes. Guilt. The air in the room shifted. The team felt it. No one moved. SEALs didn’t do heart-to-hearts. Didn’t sit around unpacking emotions like some damn self-help group. No, they fought.

Then Tex walked in.

Their long-suffering LT stopped short, his sharp gaze sweeping the scene. Dagger on the floor, Brawler still coiled tight, the rest of them standing like an audience waiting for their popcorn to arrive.

Tex exhaled, unimpressed. “If you’re done getting your aggression out, we’ve got PT in five. I’d rather you beat each other senseless after my workout, not before.”

Silence.

Then, a guy poked his head in. “Sir, Miss Sutherland needs to speak with you.”

Tex’s gaze flicked to Bondo. “You take them through PT.”

Bondo’s slow grin spread. “How many miles, sir?”

Tex lifted a brow. “Make it five.”

He turned and strode out as Bondo clapped his hands together. “You heard the man. Five miles, gentlemen.”

That should’ve been the end of it. But Brawler wasn’t letting Dagger off that easy. He stepped forward, towering over him. “You wanna sit there and take it? Fine. But you don’t get to pretend like you’re in this alone.”

Dagger’s eyes flicked up.

Brawler jabbed a finger at his chest.

“You keep pulling this lone-wolf bullshit like we don’t see it. Like we don’t know what’s going on inside that thick-ass skull of yours.” His voice dropped, low and rough. “You’re not the only one who lost Brian.”

Dagger flinched. Barely. But Brawler saw it. A crack in that steel.

The others stayed silent.

Brawler’s throat felt tight, but he swallowed past it. “You think we wouldn’t have your six? That we wouldn’t back you up? You think you gotta carry all that guilt by yourself?”

Dagger held his gaze, breathing slow. Controlled. That damn wall was still there, but the edges weren’t as sharp.

“Kade, you’re not alone,” Brawler muttered, voice like gravel. “So quit acting like you are.”

For a second, neither of them moved.

Then Dagger exhaled, slow and rough, like something inside him had shifted.

Brawler let out a sharp breath, dragging a hand through his hair. “Five miles, huh?”

Dagger cracked the ghost of a grin. “Guess I deserved that too.”

Brawler huffed, shaking his head. This asshole. “Yeah,” he muttered, rubbing his sore knuckles. “You did.” Then he turned and headed for the door. They had five miles to run. After that? Brawler was still debating about round two.

Fifteen minutes later half the milage had been eaten up. But damn, the fucking heat, fucking foothills. What a bitch to run. He wasn’t the fastest guy and had often gotten dinged in BUD/S getting relegated to the goon squad.

Humidity clung to the morning air, thick and oppressive, wrapping around them like a second skin. The sky was a deep, burning blue, the kind that promised heat and trouble before noon even hit. The terrain was all loose dirt, jagged rocks, and patches of stubborn grass fighting to reclaim the path. In the distance, the sprawl of the city stretched toward the horizon, buildings stacked like uneven teeth, a mix of wealth and desperation barely separated by winding streets.

The team’s boots hit the ground in rhythm, a steady cadence of controlled breath, pounding heartbeats, and unspoken tension. Brawler wrestled with his anger, and his compassion, but the hurt won out. He wanted to be part of this team, indispensable. When Dagger cut them out, that made a statement. Slow, simmering deep, twisting inside his ribs and refusing to let go. Dagger took the damn punch like he expected it, like he wanted it, but that didn’t mean Brawler was ready to let it slide. Not yet. So when the moment came, he took it.

Dagger had just settled into his pace, strong, steady, that fucking unshakable presence like nothing had happened at all. Brawler stuck out a foot. Dagger’s next step hit nothing but air.

The tough guy went down hard, dust kicking up around him as he ate dirt on the rocky terrain.

Flash barked out a laugh, damn near choking on his breath.

Easy shook his head, already seeing where this was going. “Here we go.”

Twister stopped running and turned to look at Brawler with a groan. “Dammit, Brawler.”

Dagger wiped dirt off his face, spitting grit from his mouth. No warning. Dagger was all knives out. He shot out a leg and swept Brawler’s feet right out from under him.

Brawler hit the ground with a grunt, rolling onto his back just in time to see that same smirk aimed down at him.

Gloves off.

The team moved.

Flash didn’t even hesitate. He tackled Twister, taking them both down into the dirt in a tangle of limbs, no humor in sight. Twister had to take his lumps, too.

Bondo and Easy locked up like a pair of wrestling heavyweights, arms around each other’s heads, trying to gain the upper hand.

Shark stayed back until Flash, laughing like a damn lunatic, tried to drag him into the mess.

Beast was losing his shit.

The big Malinois was barking his damn head off, pacing back and forth like he couldn’t decide which idiot to help first. His ears flicked between the chaos, tail high, whole body tense with anticipation.

Brawler dodged a hit, blocked another. Moved through it, around it, like a street fighter dodging swings in a back-alley brawl.

But then in the chaos, someone landed a solid punch. Probably Dagger. Didn’t matter. The impact snapped something loose, sending a white-hot jolt through his system. His knuckles curled into fists before he even thought about it, and just like that, every bit of tension he’d been bottling up detonated.

Dagger came back swinging. Not out of anger. Not out of revenge. But because this was how they let go. They didn’t talk about it. They didn’t sit around unpacking emotions like civilians in therapy. They fought.

Fists met ribs, elbows connected with shoulders. Boots kicked up dust as the team did what they did best, fight through it.

It was chaos, it was brutal, it was exactly what they needed.

The damn dog just kept barking.

The fight didn’t end clean. It burned out.

Fists slowed. Punches turned into halfhearted swings. Someone, maybe Bondo, got in one last solid hit before everything just collapsed into the dirt.

Now, they were a wreck.

Panting. Bleeding. Dirty as hell.

The foothills stretched out around them, dust and sweat clinging to their skin as the heat of the morning sun bore down like a judgmental bastard. The city shimmered in the distance, oblivious to the group of battle-worn brothers lying in the dirt like a bunch of pigs in mud.

Beast had finally stopped barking, standing over them with his tongue hanging out, looking thoroughly disappointed in their life choices.

Brawler wiped the back of his hand across his face, smearing blood across his cheek. His lip was split, knuckles raw from the dirt and impact. Didn’t matter. The fight had burned it all out. Nobody was mad anymore.

Dagger sat next to him, just as wrecked, blood dripping from his chin, dirt streaked across his face, shirt torn at the shoulder. His breath was steady, measured, but his posture was loose in a way it hadn’t been in weeks.

Brawler nudged him with an elbow, voice a low grumble. “Next time, don’t be a jackass.”

Dagger, still wiping blood from his chin, just smirked. “I’ll think about it.”

Flash, flat on his back, spread-eagled in the dirt like he was trying to merge with the earth, let out a satisfied sigh. “Worth it.”

Brawler shook his head, spitting blood onto the ground, then eyed Dagger again. Only he got to hit his brothers. They could throw down, break each other apart, but at the end of the day, he’d die for every one of them.

Twister, groaning as he stretched out his arm, glared at Dagger. “Are you happy with this riot?”

“How you figure?”

Twister shot him a look. “You were the one who got the ball rolling. If you’d just told everyone about your hell-on-wheels woman from the start, we wouldn’t be lying here like a bunch of idiots.” Twister grinned, wincing as he rolled his shoulder. “Tell them the rest.”

Dagger exhaled, still catching his breath. But now, all eyes were on him.

Easy mumbled brushing dirt off his legs. “There’s more?”

“What the fuck?” Shark growled. “I thought I had secrets.”

Dagger’s throat worked, and he looked away, like if he didn’t say it, maybe it wasn’t real. The silence stretched. The team didn’t breathe. He could still brush it off, still sidestep the truth. But Brawler saw it, that moment of hesitation, of war waging behind those pale green eyes.Brawler could feel the tension winding tighter, thick as a tripwire waiting to snap. Then, finally, Dagger exhaled. Low. Rough as sandpaper, “I’m Ezra’s and Elijah’s biological father.” The admission was soft.

Flash let out a low whistle. “Fuck! That training accident, right?”

Dagger nodded. “Yeah. He was devastated. He asked me, and I-I agreed.”

“That’s some heavy shit man,” Bondo said.

Twister shook his head, rolling his shoulder again. “Yeah, well, guess what, Dagger? You got me into this, so now we’re getting regular updates.”

Brawler nodded. “Next time, I’m siccing Beast on you.”

Beast perked up at his name, ears flicking like he was considering it. The look on Dagger’s face said it all. He knew there was no way in hell he was walking away without telling them.

Shark, leaning in, grinned as sharply as hell. “So. Spill it.”

Flash, still lying in the dirt, completely unfazed by the bruises. “Yeah, you two gonna kill each other, or was all that tension going somewhere else?”

Dagger glared. But at this point? He was trapped.

He rubbed a hand over his face, sighed. “…I kissed her.”

Silence. A long, weighted silence filled with not only male shock, but male admiration. Their brother had tamed a hell of a woman.

Every damn one of them lost it.

Flash shot up so fast it was a miracle he didn’t break his own damn neck. “You what?” He squinted. “You still got your jewels, man?”

Brawler smirked, shaking his head. “So, all your shoving matches bullshit were just foreplay?”

Shark looked like he’d just won the damn lottery. “What did she say?”

Dagger smirked, his face transforming into something Brawler recognized immediately.“That she wasn’t mad at me anymore.”

Flash snorted. “Well, damn. At this rate, it’ll be beddy-bye and lights out. She’ll have you by your swollen jewels.”

Twister rolled his shoulders, wincing. “So, what now? You two getting serious? You still playing dumb? Because if you screw this up, I swear to God?—”

Dagger cut in, absolutely delighted now. “Do you think I want to face Brawler with a side of Beast? Nah, nah. Regular updates. I promise.”

Twister’s eyes narrowed. “Weekly. Hell, daily. Maybe Start a fucking team newsletter.”

Flash laughed, his right eye starting to swell. “Dagger’s Disaster: A Love Story.”

Easy said solemnly, “Sponsored by bad decisions and poor emotional regulation.”

Bondo, who had been watching the whole thing with a smirk, finally chimed in. “I just hope you got some sense knocked into you before you knocked something into her.”

Dagger groaned, shoving his face into his hands.

After picking themselves up they finished their fucking five miles, stumbling into the breakroom a walking disaster of bruises, torn shirts, and general battle-worn bullshit.

Dirt streaked their faces, dried blood crusted at their lips.

The air conditioning hit like a damn blessing, but it didn’t make them look any less wrecked. The sleek espresso machine hummed in the background, the scent of freshly brewed coffee a stark contrast to the sweaty disaster they’d just dragged in from the foothills.

Beast trotted in after them, tail high, tongue lolling, looking like he’d had the best damn morning of his life. He was the only one who wasn’t limping.

Brawler rolled his shoulders, still feeling the phantom ache of Dagger’s hits. He felt good. The tension from earlier was gone, the fight had worked out everything they weren’t going to say out loud, and now they could breathe.

Tex walked in. Stopped. His piercing blue gaze swept the room, taking in their collective disaster of an appearance, the torn shirts, the bloody noses, the general look of men who had absolutely not been doing PT the way they were supposed to.

He stared at them. Expression blank. Long enough that it started to get uncomfortable. Like he was mentally calculating how much bullshit he had the patience for today.

“Let me guess. You all tripped,” he said deadpan as hell.

Utter silence. Then Flash, straight-faced, not missing a damn beat, said, “Dagger ran into a door. It was tragic, really.”

Dagger muttered under his breath, “A whole damn stampede of doors.”

Tex sighed, lifting a brow at Bondo. “Let me guess, you were letting team dynamics run its course?”

Bondo, straight-faced as ever, growled, “Yeah, LT. Ah, that’s it. Team dynamics.”

Flash grinned. “Textbook execution, really.”

Tex just stared at them. Then, without another word, turned on his heel and walked out. The second the door shut behind him, the team lost it.

Easy nearly doubled over laughing, wheezing out, “Textbook execution….”

Shark grinned, shaking his head. “We’re gonna be feeling this for days.”

Brawler just smirked, rubbing his knuckles. “Worth it.”

Dagger, exhaling, finally looked at him. “Next time, just say you wanna hug.”

Brawler snorted. “Next time, don’t be a jackass.”

Easy laughed harder now. “Next time, Tex is gonna put us all through log PT until we throw up.”

Twister, groaned. “Yeah. Yeah, that tracks, now line up and I’ll fix you idiots up.”

Brawler grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, cracked it open, and grinned.

Hell of a morning.

It wasn’t even 0800 yet.

She stood in flame.

Not burning. Not hurting.

Burning with purpose.

Fire curled around her skin like silk, warm, alive, a living ember beneath her skin. It didn't consume her, it crowned her, gilded her in gold and heat and wild defiance. She stood bare in the blaze, unashamed, reborn from ash and agony, her body glowing with renewed strength.

She looked down at her hands, no scars, no tremble, only power and light. The fire within her had stopped being rage. It was her now. Whole. Fierce.

A shift in the air.

Water moved toward her.

At first, a ripple. Then a surge.

She turned, and he was there.

Dagger.

Not in uniform. Not armed. Just elemental.

The embodiment of tide and shadow and stillness before the storm. Water clung to his skin, his chest slick and bare, droplets sliding down every ridge of muscle. He stepped toward her, the steam rising where the fire of her skin met the moisture of his presence.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to.

His eyes burned hotter than the flames ever had.

He reached out, his wet palm pressing to her flame-touched waist, and instead of extinguishing her, the fire pulsed hotter beneath his touch. Steam curled between them, billowing in the air like breath held too long, desire aching between exhale and surrender.

She shivered, not from cold, but from sensation. From need.

He pulled her into him, and the hiss of flame meeting water was almost audible, a soft, sultry sizzle as her chest pressed against his damp skin.

His mouth found hers, hungry and reverent, a kiss that felt like being pulled under a wave and rising breathless for more.

She had always feared being consumed. But this wasn’t destruction. This was alchemy.

He touched her like he knew every inch of her new body like he had seen her burn, seen her rise, and wanted to worship every part of what she’d become. His hands left slick trails over her hips, her breasts, her thighs, steam curling between their bodies with every brush, every grind, every whispered promise she couldn’t quite hear but felt in her bones.

When he sank into her, it wasn’t just desire. It was destiny. The ocean embracing fire. The phoenix taking flight on waves.

She moved with him, fire lit from within, water rushing over her skin, steam seeping from every point where they met. He thrust into her slow and deep, a rhythm like the tide, a crashing pull and release, overwhelming and anchoring all at once.

She cried out, head thrown back, sparks exploding behind her eyes.

She wasn’t falling. She was flying. Not burning. Blazing.

Just before release hit her like an inferno wrapped in a wave, he whispered in her ear, “You were always meant to rise.”

Quinn startled awake to the muted glow of her first Caracas morning, a sheen of sweat clinging to her skin, even with the air conditioning pumping out cool blasts. That dream. God, she could barely breathe, her ragged breath mingling with the faint hum of traffic seeping through the luxurious hotel curtains, a reminder that the city was already stirring, alive and unpredictable, mirroring her state of mind so closely that it was disconcerting.

But it wasn’t just that thought making her heart race. It was him . Even half-asleep, her heart thumped with a fresh surge of adrenaline. She’d dreamt of his mouth on hers, the same way it had been last night. No longer did her usual shield of wrath slot neatly into place. It had splintered, leaving her unsteady and furious at herself for wanting more.

She fisted the sheets, trying to quell the unsteady tremor in her belly. If I let go of my anger, she thought, am I betraying Brian’s memory? But that didn’t seem to fit anymore, and her next thought made her almost as breathless as Dagger’s kiss. If I do let go, I have to face the truth about Brian, about Dagger, about everything I’ve done.

She willed the knot in her stomach to ease, but last night’s kiss refused to fade. It pulsed in her veins, a slow heat that wouldn’t be ignored. She could still feel Dagger’s lips, firm and warm, coaxing her out of every carefully laid defense. She clamped her eyes shut as if that might filter out the craving she’d discovered in his arms. The craving that threatened her entire existence.

She pressed a hand to her chest, willing her breath to slow. God, how could a single kiss unravel me so completely? Each heartbeat seemed to echo his name. It was absurd, really. She had spent months, years, using that heated shield, telling herself he was to blame. Now, a single brush of his mouth had splintered that wall. She hated how much she loved it.

With a groan, Quinn swung her legs over the side of the bed, bare feet meeting the cool floor. Even that slight shock was nothing compared to the heat of Dagger’s voice in her ear, low and rough, I want to fuck you so badly right now, it’s physically painful.

Her core clenched at the echo of his words, warmth fluttering deep in her belly. She gripped the edge of the bed, her breath snagging in her throat. If she wasn’t careful, she’d slip back into that haze, replaying every heated second until she was dizzy with longing. Because Brian… She swallowed hard. Brian is gone. But does that mean I’m not allowed to feel this?

Her nipples tightened at those words, a heated flush sweeping over her skin. She felt the press of his body in her mind, all that contained strength and burning need.

Shaking off the thought, she forced herself upright and padded to the stylish hotel bathroom. The doorknob felt clammy beneath her palm, the faint metallic smell of new plumbing mixing with the city’s haze. Steam billowed the second she turned on the shower to glorious hot water.

She stepped under the spray, letting the heat pound into her muscles. For an instant, her mind drifted to how Dagger’s body had felt pressed against hers, solid and impossibly warm. It was enough to stir a fresh ache in her chest, so she cranked the knob to cold. Icy rivulets bit into her skin, shocking her lungs into a gasp.

Get it together, she told herself as she scrubbed away the sweat and desire that clung to her before stepping out, wrapping herself in a thick towel. Fog blurred her reflection in the mirror, condensation dripping like tears.

She knew what letting herself want Dagger really meant. She couldn’t go on pretending Brian had been perfect and about the cracks in her marriage she refused to see. She couldn’t keep blaming Dagger for everything. But if she accepted that Brian wasn’t this flawless hero, she’d have to dig deeper. Resentment, raw and familiar, twisted in her chest, offering a moment’s relief. Indignation was safer, simpler. But the small, insistent voice in the back of her head kept whispering that if she let herself open up to Dagger, if she traded her rage for a new kind of vulnerability, she’d have no more excuses not to examine her marriage. She impatiently swiped over the mirror, turning away.

She had a job to do today. Meetings. Site inspections. Absolutely no time to indulge in fantasies about the man she’d spent years blaming and tried even harder to forget.

By the time she dressed, her skin still prickled, and not just from the cold. She buttoned a lightweight professional dress with trembling fingers, grabbed her sun hat, her briefcase, and her blueprints. The contract went with her everywhere.

But the echo of Dagger’s voice was still in her head, rough and hot. She tried to bury it as she stepped into the mess hall, letting the clinking dishes and casual chatter pull her back into a world that made sense.

Military uniforms. Business suits. David’s detail in matching polos. People drinking dark coffee, laughing like the world wasn’t on the brink. The scent of arepas and bacon wrapped around her like a lifeline, something real in the swirl of chaos still tangling her insides.

David lifted a hand from a corner table. She hesitated. After last night, the idea of facing anyone, especially someone who might notice her unraveling, made her pause. But he looked relaxed, unconcerned. She made her way over, drawn by caffeine and the illusion of control.

“Morning,” he said, sliding a cup toward her. “You look…like you didn’t sleep much.”

Understatement. She offered a nod and took the cup, the heat pricking her palms. “Big day,” she said, keeping her voice even. “Meeting with Gabriel Rojas, site inspections, updated security recs.”

Anything to drown out Dagger’s voice in her head, that whispered confession still burning in her blood.

David sipped his coffee, his eyes drifting lazily over the mess hall. “Our first day in paradise,” he quipped. “Could be worse. At least there’s good coffee.”

She envied how easily he floated through the tension. No knots in his gut. No war raging in his chest. He frowned suddenly. “But they always roll out the good stuff for those over-glorified water boys.”

Of course. SEAL jab.

“I get it,” she said quietly. “But Dagger and his team are good men. You can think what you want. Just keep it to yourself around me.”

She heard the edge in her voice. Felt it. The defense of them had come out fast and it was true. That shook her.

David’s face tightened, then eased. “Fair enough. Grudges won’t help anyone. Too much at stake.”

She nodded, her heartbeat loud in her ears. Especially after what she’d said. After last night. After everything.

“You okay?” he asked. “You’re pale.”

“I’m fine,” she lied, clutching the cup tighter. Fine , if she ignored the wildfire still smoldering inside her. The memory of Dagger’s mouth. His hands. That kiss that had undone her in ways she hadn’t known were still possible.

David reached for sugar. “Let me know if you need anything. My detail’s here for you.”

“I will.” But doubt clung to her skin. After the way Dagger’s team had exposed the cracks in Aegis, she wasn’t sure what protection even meant anymore.

He dropped the subject, turning to his phone. She exhaled. Relief and unease curled together in her chest like smoke.

Outside, Caracas bristled with tension. But she —she was the real war zone.

Damn him , she thought. For seeing me. For knowing how to undo every knot I’ve twisted myself into.

Because if she let go of the resentment, if she admitted that Brian’s death wasn’t Dagger’s fault, she’d have to face something worse. That her marriage hadn’t been perfect. That maybe, deep down, she’d known it.

Brian had loved her with patience. She’d cherished that. But never, not once, had her head spun like it had from Dagger’s kiss. That kiss had carved through her, brutal and tender all at once. He’d seen every crack she tried to hide…and kissed her like he wanted them all.

That terrified her. Because it felt like the truth.

Later, she told herself. Not now. She needed a clear head today, not a breakdown in the mess hall.

David briefed her on security threats. She nodded where appropriate, sipping coffee that tasted like survival.

“Let’s grab some breakfast,” he said, standing. “Then we head out. Tight schedule today.”

Quinn followed, chin high, her mind buzzing. Dagger’s voice still hummed in her bones.

I want you… I want you… I want you.

She scanned the room. Hoping. Dreading.

Then, there he was. Dagger. Striding in like he hadn’t torched her entire world the night before. Like his mouth hadn’t left her breathless and burning.

The air thickened. Her breath stuttered. That rough whisper played on a loop in her head.

I love your impulses… especially this one.

He threatened everything she thought she knew. That Brian’s death wasn’t Dagger’s fault. That losing her boys had been her consequence, not his. That she’d turned away from the one man who hadn’t tried to contain her but had seen her. Encouraged her. Wanted her.

She wasn’t ready to face him.

But God help her, she still wanted him near.