Page 154 of Only the Wicked

Quinn’s gaze falls to her hands. Noah scratches his neck. Something is wrong. Is it Rhodes? Did something happen?

“No updates yet. That’s out of our hands and will require security clearance. But…”

“What is it? You’re making me nervous.”

“In the morning, we’ll do a postmortem. Review the good and the bad,” Hudson says, repeating what we already knew.

“Alright. So? Why are y’all sitting here like someone died?” Jake asks.

“We got word about the leak,” Hudson answers, his voice gentler than usual. The hardened former military officer rarely shows this side, which tells me how serious this is. “Dristol. As expected, he’s a goldmine. Singing like a canary.”

“And?” I lean forward, every nerve ending suddenly alert. This is the question that’s haunted me since France—the betrayal that cost lives I was responsible for. “Was it Dristol? Or someone else?”

“It’s classified,” Hudson says, exchanging glances with Quinn. “Dristol’s guilty. But he didn’t act alone. Someone based in D.C. High clearance. Out of the public eye. They were selling asset names to the highest bidder. Dristol learned how much he was making and decided to create a similar business.” His jaw tightens. “But the individual has been detained. The FBI wanted me to assure you personally the leaks have stopped.”

My eyes burn unexpectedly. Maybe they were burning before I walked in the door—it’s been a long day, and the cabin pressure in the small plane we flew here played havoc with my sinuses. But this burn is different. It’s the release of a weight I’ve carried for months, but the vindication comes too late for those we lost.

Quinn reaches across the table, her fingers briefly touching mine. “Your assets in France,” she says quietly. “They didn’t die because you made a mistake. It was always the leak.”

Noah nods solemnly. “System failure, not operator error.”

It’s the absolution I never sought out loud but desperately needed to hear. We’re trained not to dwell on losses, to compartmentalize and move forward. But the responsibility for human lives isn’t something you shrug off, no matter how much training you have.

“I didn’t cultivate those assets lightly,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel. “I took on responsibility for their livelihoods. Their safety.”

“We know,” Hudson says. “That’s why you’re good at this.”

The simple validation hits harder than any medal or commendation could. These people understand the weight of what we do, the cost of failure measured in human lives rather than spreadsheet numbers.

“There’s no way you can tell me?” I ask, needing to know who betrayed us.

Hudson shakes his head. “That’s above my clearance level. All I can tell you is they’re in custody and the breach has been sealed.”

I take in the three of them, coffee mugs filled with what I’m guessing is tea, or maybe whiskey, knowing these guys. “Is that what the long faces are for?”

“Partly,” Hudson admits. “The other part is that this changes things for you.”

“How so?”

“You have options now,” Quinn says carefully. “Your record’s been cleared. The France operation has been officially reclassified as compromised by the leak, not operator error. More than that, it doesn’t appear your name was included in the sold data.”

“Which means?” Though I think I know where this is heading.

“Which means,” Hudson continues, “you could go back to Langley next if you wanted. Full reinstatement, probably a promotion given what happened to you. Likely not in France. A different territory, I’d assume.”

The possibility hangs in the air between us. Six months ago, it would have been everything I wanted. Now, after working with this team, after what we accomplished in D.C. ...

“I’m good,” I say finally. “You know, the way you were looking at me, I didn’t know if something happened to Rhodes, or if you were about to fire my ass.”

Jake barks out a laugh. “Spy girl, I told you, all’s good.”

“Forgive me, southern gent,” I say back to him, echoing what I heard Daisy call him earlier today, “if I didn’t take your word as gospel.”

“We’ll go over it all in the morning, but your job’s safe if you want it,” Hudson says. “You did good work. Real good work. Now grab a mug, pick your poison, and join us. Noah’s been pushing for a card game.”

“A game?”

Quinn grimaces. “Yeah, that’s what I said.”