I sat with my hands around my mug and didn’t drink. The coffee had gone cold. Betrayal had a specific shape. It never stopped being personal. It never stopped feeling like something I should have caught sooner, should have seen coming, should have prevented through the simple act of paying better attention. I’d been paying attention. That was the problem. I’d been paying attention to everything except the right thing.

I didn’t say that.

Mitch did. Without preamble, the way he did most things that mattered. “You’re going to find him.”

I looked up. Mitch’s boots were still on the bench, his arms crossed, his eyes steady on mine. Not a question. A statement delivered with the flat certainty of a man who had watched me work for four months and had drawn conclusions.

Weapons, Armor, and Military Tactics at the Battle of Hastings (1066)

The Armies of Hastings: Norman Knights vs Anglo-Saxon Warriors

The Norman Landing at Pevensey and the March Toward Hastings

William’s Norman Invasion: Preparing for the Conquest of England

“Yes,” I said.

“And then?”

“I’ll handle it.”

“I know.”

The certainty in it landed somewhere behind my sternum. Complete. Uncomplicated. The kind of certainty that didn’t come from assessment or probability—it came from Mitch looking at me and deciding, without debate, that I was capable. The weight of that was its own kind of warmth, and I filed it under a category that was getting crowded.

Then Mitch said, “I want credit for the traitor theory.”

“I’ll put it in the debrief.”

“I want it in writing.”

“I’m not putting Mitch Pruitt’s name in a classified debrief.”

“What if I used a code name?”

“No.”

“The Handsome Consultant.”

“Absolutely not.”

Caleb’s voice came from the kitchen, pleasant and warm. “What about The Asset?”

Mitch pointed. “That’s better.”

“Neither of you are going in the debrief,” I said.

“Then I want Caleb to know I was right.”