Page 41 of The Final Cut

“Survive long enough to make choices.”

Her eyes narrow. “That sounds like something written on a gym wall.”

“It should. People might learn.”

“Ever.”

I draw a slow breath. “I’m not turning you into an assassin overnight. That would be stupid, and you don’t have the patience.”

Her mouth opens.

I put my hand lightly over it.

“You don’t.”

She bites my palm.

I let her.

Then I move my hand to her jaw, thumb resting near her mouth. “We keep working on the things we started. Escaping holds. Creating space. Using what’s around you. Shooting under pressure. Reading exits. Not freezing when someone bigger grabs you. Not wasting energy when fear tells you to fight wrong.”

The room changes as she listens.

I can feel her attention sharpen. This is something better than peace. It’s a direction. Something to grab hold of.

“I’m not fragile,” she says.

“No.”

The answer leaves me without pause. Her eyes search mine in the low light.

“You’re furious and untrained,” I say. “Which makes you a vulnerable target. Those are different problems.”

A breath slips out of her. It sounds almost like relief.

“We keep you secure here while Nash builds a map. Deacon stays near Cal until we rotate. Shiloh works people because people hand him things they should keep. I break down routes, cameras, habits. When we know where Delia is, and when we can move without handing Isabel another target, we go get her.”

Her throat moves.

“And if that takes too long?”

“Then we adjust.”

“That’s vague.”

“That’s honest.”

She turns back onto her side, facing away again, but her body stays against mine.

“I hate waiting. I hate hiding. This…I hate all of this.”

“I know.”

“I hate that you walked away from me earlier.”

My arm tightens before I can stop it. “If I stayed, I was going to say something I couldn’t take back.”

“What?”