Page 105 of Shadowed Sins: Nitro

"And if that support structure gets compromised during the operation?" Asher asks.

The question hits cold. What happens if Mira's coordination gets cut off?

"Contingency protocols." My voice stays steady even as her hand presses harder against my back, reminding me she's here. "Multiple communication channels, redundant coordination sources."

But we both know without her, I'd fall apart.

Kade's assessment is knowing. "The mission succeeds because your partnership provides stability you can't generate alone."

Not a question. Recognition of reality.

"Partnership dynamics show measurable improvement in coordination and decision-making speed." I don't pretend otherwise. "Roman's rescue probability increases significantly with her involvement."

Personal need as operational necessity. The way we both frame things we can't admit.

"The infiltration tests everything we've rebuilt since Roman's disappearance." Kade activates the final timeline. "No room for psychological complications."

Responsibility settles on my shoulders, but doesn't feel crushing anymore.

Because I won't be carrying it alone.

"Mission parameters finalized. Team ready for infiltration."

My voice carries confidence I haven't felt since Roman disappeared. Mira's hand slides away as the team files out, but the ghost of her touch remains.

Cole pauses at the door. "Whatever's happening between you two—figure it out before the operation."

When we're alone, the air changes. Charged. Dangerous.

"This was tactical support," Mira says, but her voice has gone breathy, affected.

"Right. Tactical." I turn to face her, backing her against the table. "That's why your pupils dilate every time you touch me."

Her breath catches. "We maintained professional—"

"We maintained nothing." I cage her against the table, hands braced on either side. Not touching, but close enough that she has to tilt her head back. "You touched me for twenty minutes straight. Your hands were shaking by the end."

"The mission requires us functional." But her hands come up to rest on my chest, fingers splaying over my heart.

"Functional." I lean closer, lips nearly brushing her ear. "Is that what we're calling it when you show up at my place tonight?"

She inhales sharply. "What makes you think—"

"Because you're counting hours just like I am." I pull back to meet her eyes. "Because professional distance is killing us both."

She nods once, sharp and decisive. "One hour."

Then she's gone, leaving me hard and aching with the promise of what's coming.

My phone buzzes with another betting notification.

For the first time in days, I don't even look at it.

twenty-five

Mira

Fifty-three minutes. I counted every one before giving up and coming early.