The mission wrapped quickly after that.
Too quickly.
Soon they were back in the truck heading toward the Brave base, tires humming against rough pavement while desert heat shimmered outside the windows.
Routine.
Another operation done.
Another successful sweep.
Clay leaned back against the seat, forearms resting loosely across his chest.
The movement pulled at his ribs again.
He ignored that too.
Outside, the sun dipped lower across the horizon, throwing streaks of orange across the glass.
And somehow—
His mind drifted anyway.
Her.
Hannah.
The last time he’d seen her.
Standing across that medical bay with fire in her eyes and frustration tightening her voice.
“You’re not ready.”
His jaw flexed.
He could still hear it.
Still see the way she’d crossed her arms like she was trying not to shake him.
The anger underneath it.
The concern underneath that.
He’d walked out before he had to deal with either one.
Probably for the best.
Except the thought sat wrong in his chest now.
Heavy.
Unfinished.
“You gonna keep pretending that didn’t get to you?” Miles asked suddenly from across the truck.
Clay blinked once.
“What?”
