Page 83 of Dozer

The question is so direct it almost makes me laugh. "You." His expression doesn't change. "Ghost. Ruby and Hack running comms from somewhere I can't see them. Hunter sitting in the front of this van pretending he's not calculating seventeen ways this can go wrong. Everyone walking into a building Cole's people are actively guarding to take something they've already proven they'll kill to protect."

His hand finds mine. His fingers close around me and the simple contact does something to my breathing that none of the techniques I’ve tried ever have.

"We've done harder with less,” Dozer says.

"That's not actually as comforting as you think it is."

"I know." He says.

That almost gets me. A laugh catches somewhere in my chest, because of course it does. Of course Dozer's version of reassurance is essentially things have been worse, which is objectively terrible emotional support and somehow exactly what I need to hear.

I squeeze his hand once before letting go. The van slows. Ghost's voice comes through the comms, confirming the perimeter is as clear as it's going to get.

"Two minutes," Hunter says from the front.

Two minutes.

The words settle over me with more weight than they should. I look through the windshield at the dark outline of the museum and think about Ryan. About Reyes. About Torres and Whitfield, names I now carry because Dozer trusted me enough to tell me about the people he lost. I think about every patient in that hospital cabinet, every family handed a carefully constructed story, a lie, because somebody with enough money and authority decided the truth was inconvenient.

All of them are coming with me into this building. Not literally. But close enough.

Dozer catches the shift in my face. "Hey." His voice is quiet, meant only for me while the rest of the team finishes their checks around us.

I turn toward him.

"Whatever happens in there," he says, "you already did the hardest part." I wait. "You found the truth when everyone assumed there wasn't one to find. Everything from here is just delivering it."

My throat tightens. "That's not nothing to be scared of."

"No." His thumb moves once across the back of my hand. "It's not." He reaches up and tips my chin gently, making me look at him instead of the building waiting outside. "But you're not doing it alone. Not this part. Not any part after this. I need you to know that going in, whatever happens."

Something about the way he says after makes my chest ache. It isn't a goodbye. I understand that immediately. It's a promise. A declaration that this isn't the last conversation we're going to have. That there is something waiting on the other side of this operation besides another briefing, another body, another case file.

An after.

"I know," I say. And this time I mean it without reservation.

"I'm holding you to that." He says

"After this is over, there's an after. I need you to promise me that too." I say.

"There's an after." He says it without hesitation. "I don't say things I don't mean."

Sitting beside him on the edge of the most dangerous thing either of us has done yet, I believe him. "Okay," I say. "Then let's go get it."

The van doors open. Cold air rushes in. Ghost is already moving toward the service entrance, silent and efficient. Hack's voice comes through our earpieces, steady as he confirms the security-feed loop is holding. Ruby's confirmation crackles through a half second later. "Upload sequence is primed."

I close my eyes for one second. I think again about the victims and their families. Then I open them.

I’m ready.

Dozer squeezes my hand once more before letting go entirely. The warmth disappears. The operator takes over. His eyes sharpen on the building ahead, and suddenly the man who kissed me in a safe house and held me while I cried is hidden behind the lethal precision that got both of us this far.

Except I know what's underneath it now. And I know he knows what's underneath me and under my clothes, but I can’t think about that right now.

"Stay close," he says. "Stay ready." I nod. "And Kenzi⁠—"

"Yeah?"