Page 100 of Whisper

“Another week, maybe two if you follow instructions.” Her tone carries the warning of someone who’s dealt with impatient operators before. “Push it, and you’re looking at complications that could keep you down for months.”

I nod, accepting the timeline. Ghost’s expression tells me he’s calculating operational readiness against mission requirements—the cold math of command decisions.

“I’ll leave you two to discuss business.” Doc Summers recognizes the shift in atmosphere. “Remember what I said about taking it easy.”

The door closes behind her with a soft click, leaving Ghost and me alone in the morning sunlight. He moves with the precision that made him legendary in Delta Force, settling onto a workout bench with the easy confidence of someone comfortable in any environment.

“How are you really feeling?” he asks, cutting through any pretense of casual conversation.

“Ready to get back to work.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Ghost has a way of seeing through operational facadesthat makes lying pointless. It’s one of the qualities that makes him an effective leader and an occasionally uncomfortable friend.

“Better. Stronger. Ready to have a conversation about what comes next.”

“Good. Because we need to talk about Dr. Wren.”

The shift in topic sends tension racing through my shoulders. “What about her?”

“Her future. Her options. What happens when this facility becomes a tactical liability instead of an asset?” Ghost leans forward, elbows on his knees. “She can’t go back to her old life. Phoenix doesn’t give up, and their facial recognition capabilities make standard witness protection useless.”

“Meaning?”

“A new identity requires extensive facial reconstruction surgery to have any chance of success. Even then, Phoenix adapts faster than we can blink.” His expression is grim. “She’d have to disappear completely. New face, new life, no contact with anyone from her past.”

The words hit hard. Complete disappearance means losing her entirely—no communication, no possibility of reunion, no future together.

“What’s the alternative?”

“Integration. She joins the team as a technical consultant, gets training, becomes part of the fight against Phoenix.”

“And the risks?”

“Same as any of us face. But at least she’d be with people who understand the threat and know how to handle it.”

The choice is stark—lose her to safety or keep her in danger. Neither option feels acceptable, but one offers the possibility of a future together.

“What does she want?”

“That’s what we need to find out.” Ghost stands, moving toward the door. “But first, we need to know what you want.Because if you’re not committed to keeping her alive at all costs, this conversation ends here.”

The question cuts to the heart of everything I’ve been avoiding since I woke up. What do I want? The professional answer involves mission parameters and operational objectives. The personal answer is more complicated.

“I want her safe. I want her alive. But I want her to choose to stay.”

“Even knowing what that choice means?”

“Especially knowing what it means.”

Ghost nods, satisfied with my response. “Then convince her. Because witness protection with facial reconstruction is the smart choice. Staying with us is the choice of someone who’s found something worth dying for.”

He leaves me alone with that observation, and I understand the weight of what he’s asking. Convince her to choose danger over safety. Choose me over security. Choose a life where Phoenix will always be hunting her, where every mission could be her last.

The implications are staggering, but the alternative—losing her forever—is worse.

I’m still processing the conversation when Eliza appears in the doorway, carrying two cups of coffee that smell like actual quality beans instead of military-grade caffeine delivery systems.