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CHAPTER FIFTY

Evangeline

Maybe it's the presence of his brothers, or because less than twelve hours ago I was in his bed. Or maybe it was because the last time I met Bishop, I was handcuffed to a radiator, but Knight’s workspace feels different with the three men in it. Either way, the room buzzes with new energy as the brothers discuss infiltration strategies.

I study them while they work, noting the similarities between them. There are obvious ones—same dark hair, dark eyes, similar heights. They all share the same sharp jawline, though Bishop's is softened by stubble while Rook's is clean-shaven. Knight falls somewhere between them, like he forgot to shave this morning. Given everything that happened last night, he probably did.

The thought brings heat to my cheeks, and I force myself to focus on something else. Like how they move—each wave of a hand, or shift of a foot speaks of years of training. Even the way they stand suggests readiness.

Bishop is leaning against Knight's desk, but his posture holds none of the casual relaxation the position implies. Rook, on the other hand, is pacing the length of the room while examining building schematics.

“The north entrance is our best option.” Rook's voice carries the kind of authority that comes from experience. “Security is lighter, and the camera coverage has gaps during shift changes.”

“Three minutes doesn’t leave us with much time to get through their perimeter.” Bishop studies the patrol patterns displayed on Knight's screens. “Even with perfect timing, we're going to need a distraction.”

“I can handle their security systems.” Knight's fingers don’t stop moving across his keyboard. “But getting inside undetected is different from getting out. We don’t know whether Victor or Michael are inside, if they’re there willingly, or if they’re prisoners and hurt.”

The clinical way they are discussing what they need to do makes my stomach clench. They’re talking about armed guards and security systems like most people discuss weather patterns.

“The west side has less coverage.” Bishop points to an area of the schematic. “But the approach is exposed. There’s no cover within three hundred yards.”

“Their response teams are based on the east side.” Rook's observation draws both brothers' attention. “Standard protocol puts backup at least five minutes from any breach point.”

I move closer to the screens, drawn by the detailed layouts. Somewhere in that facility, Michael might be trapped. Possibly hurt. The thought tightens my chest until breathing becomes difficult.

Knight's hand settles at the small of my back, steadying me. The gesture doesn't go unnoticed by his brothers. Bishop's eyebrow lifts slightly while Rook's mouth curves into what might be a smile.

“We'll need medical supplies.” The words escape before I can stop them. All three men turn to look at me, and I force myself to continue under the weight of their attention. “If they are holding Michael and Victor prisoner, they might need medical assistance. I … I took a first aid course a couple of months ago. I can help with basic treatment, if it’s needed, at least.”

“She's right.” Bishop straightens. “We should plan for injuries, restricted movement, or possible drug effects. What did you learn?” The question is directed at me.

“I know how to clean wounds, and apply pressure bandages.” The words spill out, driven by memories of practicing on mannequins while trying not to think about how lonely my life had become. “I can help with basic triage.”

Knight's hand drops from my back, but he doesn't dismiss the suggestion. Instead, he looks at his brothers.

“She's already proven she can handle pressure.” His tone dares them to argue. “And having someone with medical training, even if it’s basic, makes sense.”

“Having someone who can recognize her brother could save crucial time.” Bishop nods. “Especially if we're dealing with confusion or altered mental states.”

Rook stops pacing to face me. “Can you follow orders without question? Even if they don't make sense in the moment?”

“Yes.” I don’t even hesitate. “If it means saving Michael, I'll do whatever's necessary.”

Something passes between the brothers—another silent exchange that speaks of years working together. Of trust built through shared experiences I can only imagine.

“We'll need to coordinate timing with their shift changes.” Knight pulls up more data. “The best window is just before dawn. Maximum darkness, minimum staff.”

They fall into discussions of tactical details, throwing out terms like approach vectors , extraction routes , and contingency plans . I stay quiet, listening while they build layers of strategy. The way they communicate reminds me of watching a chess game, each move carefully considered, building toward an endgame I can barely comprehend. The thought makes me smile a little.

Knight. Bishop. Rook. A chess game with real life chess pieces.

As they talk and plan, my attention returns to Knight. To the way he moves, so different from the raw need he showed last night. To how naturally he works with his brothers despite clearly preferring solitude. To the way his fingers occasionally touch my arm, my back, like he needs the contact as much as I do.

“The emergency response teams run drills every third day.” Rook's voice draws my attention from Knight. “If we time it right, we can use their practice protocols as cover for our approach.”

“Their communications show a drill scheduled for tomorrow morning.” Knight highlights something on the screen. “Oh-four-hundred hours. Perfect coverage for a north side infiltration.”

Bishop moves to examine the patrol routes more closely. “We'll need specific gear. Night vision. Tactical comms. Medical supplies.” His eyes meet mine briefly. “What equipment are you familiar with from your course?”

“Basic field kits. Pressure bandages. Wound cleaning supplies.” I straighten, remembering hours spent memorizing treatment protocols. “I can handle standard first aid equipment.”

The reality of what we're planning settles over me. In less than twenty-four hours, we’re going to attempt to breach a military-grade facility. To rescue my brother and Knight's mentor, if they’re there, from people willing to kill to keep their operation secret. All those nights spent learning first aid might actually help save my brother's life.

Knight must sense my tension because his hand covers mine, and his thumb draws small circles against my wrist. The gesture is subtle enough that his brothers might miss it, but the intimacy sends warmth spreading through my chest.

This isn't how I expected my life to change when I first walked into Knight's apartment. I never imagined I'd end up planning a rescue mission with three brothers who treat armed infiltration like a business meeting. Never thought I'd find myself drawing comfort from the touch of a man who once held me captive.

But watching them work, seeing how naturally they fall into roles honed by years of experience, I realize I trust them. Trust their expertise. Their determination. Their absolute focus on the mission ahead.

I just hope that trust doesn't get us all killed tomorrow.