Disciplined.
Comfortable.
That bothers me.
Because comfortable men don’t expect trouble.
Which means nobody’s hit this place before.
Russ crouches beside me, studying the tablet in his hands.
“No confirmation she’s here yet,” he says quietly.
Every muscle in my body tightens at that.
No confirmation.
We came all this way, and we still don’t know if Hannah’s inside.
My jaw locks hard enough to ache.
“She’s here.”
Miles glances toward me.
“You sound real sure about that.”
I don’t answer.
Because I am sure.
I can feel it.
And maybe that sounds insane, but I don’t care.
Eight months.
Eight months since I last saw her, standing in that medical bay, glaring at me like she wanted to punch me and save my life at the same time.
Eight months since she walked away for that survival training course.
I remember laughing when she first told me.
“You voluntarily signed up for six months of hell?”
“It’s called preparation.”
“It’s called insanity.”
Her eyes narrowed immediately.
“Funny coming from a man who jumps out of helicopters for a living.”
Fair point.
But I still remember the look on her face before she left.
Focused.
