Page 103 of Dark Soul

“Do you really care?” Dark asked back.

Thorne shrugged.

“Who is really behind this unit, Thorne? Who do you report to?”

Thorne looked down at his glass. “Why would I tell you that?”

“You want us in the dark ... but you also didn't deny it when Rogue mentioned your links to Interpol. Is that where you built your career? What did you do to get sent here?”

Thorne’s white teeth flashed, then. “What makes you think I did something?”

Dark waved his hand around them. “I’m sorry to say, this doesn’t seem like anyone’s idea of a cushy retirement job, Thorne.”

“All you need to worry about is the job ahead, Dark. Now, if you have no more questions—“

“I do have another question,” Dark interrupted. “Why me? I don’t yet understand everything about what we’re doing, but I know you’re high enough on the totem pole to choose your team. So why did you choose me?”

Thorne swirled the golden liquid in his glass for a long instant. “Your file said you were a creative, unorthodox team leader. A pain in the ass for anybody managing you, but that your men respected you.”

Did my file say all that?

It was true his team had always been the best part of the job.

“It looks like the reports were right,” Thorne continued. He took a small sip of the whisky.

Dark scoffed. “About me being a pain in the ass?”

“Yes. But also about you being a good team lead.”

“Jesus, Thorne. Is that a compliment?”

“Fuck off.” Thorne stood up. “You should all get some rest. I’m putting things together for the next mission.”

“I’ll pay my dues, Thorne. You don’t have to worry about that.”

“Oh, I’m not worried. And maybe when the five years are over—”

“It’s four years and ten months now.”

Thorne scowled. “Maybe when that time is over, you’ll choose to stay on.”

Dark took a sip of the whisky. It felt warm and smoky going down his throat.

He wasn’t sure of anything anymore. He’d wanted that freedom—the honorable discharge, perhaps even the chance to go back to the Rangers. But now, ever since he’d watched Alexia leave, everything felt empty.

He remembered everything about that instant, the one just before she’d turned away—remembered her green eyes, bright with pain, the way her brow had furrowed, as if willing him to do something, to say something.

But there was nothing he could have said. He didn’t have anything to offer her.

The elevator dinged. Soft, light footsteps sounded along the hallway—not any of the men. Maybe Carrie had come back—

Not Carrie.

Alexia walked hesitantly through the doorway.

Dark’s hand shook against the glass, the whisky swirling dangerously close to the edge. “What—what are you doing here?” he croaked.

He looked behind them to where Thorne had been standing, but the man was nowhere to be seen.