Page 47 of Lost Hope

Right behind him came Kenji, moving with the fluid grace of a martial artist. Six feet of lean muscle and focused intensity, his Japanese-American features set in their usual careful neutrality. But those dark, observant eyes missed nothing—especially not Axel’s state.

“Dr. Marshall,” Christian nodded respectfully. “Your paper on battlefield trauma response protocols changed how we train.”

“Just Kenji,” he corrected quietly, still watching Axel. “And I hear your team’s implementation of those protocols is exemplary.” They’d talk later, away from curious eyes.

Star was still glaring at Zara. “You completely bypassed our quantum encryption. How did you?—”

“Trade secret,” Zara winked. “But I left you some notes. Check your second backup server.”

An engine roared in the parking lot—custom headers, triple exhaust.

“That would be Izzy,” Kenji grinned. “Still running that souped-up Raptor?”

“The one she rebuilt after that explosion in Kandahar,” Ethan added. “What did you do to the engine management system? The specs are insane.”

Isabella Reyes sauntered in—their mechanical genius, all five-foot-two of her, wearing her usual cargo pants and tank top that showed off impressively muscled arms. Her black hair was still pulled back in that messy bun, streaked with engine grease despite the gold hoop earrings she refused to give up.

“Still driving that monstrosity?” Ronan asked.

“Still being a killjoy?” she shot back, dark eyes flashing. There was an edge under the banter, a hint of the hurt they’d all been carrying these past three years. “And my ‘monstrosity’ could outrun anything in your fancy garage.”

“Is that a challenge?” Austin perked up.

“Focus, people,” Axel cut in smoothly, drawing attention away from the growing tension. “Now that Zara’s done showing off”—a grateful look from Zara—“maybe we should talk about why we’re all here.”

Ronan had forgotten how good Axel was at managing the team’s dynamics. Or maybe he’d just tried to forget everything about those days.

“Yeah,” Ronan said, forcing himself to meet their eyes. His team. His responsibility. “We should talk about Tank.”

The room went quiet. Deke leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “We lost touch. I shouldn’t have let that happen. I have no idea what he was working on.”

“He was looking into something big,” Zara said quietly. “Week before he died, he asked me to run background on a list of names. All military contractors.”

Kenji’s fingers tightened around his coffee cup. “He called me too. Wanted to know about certain medication trials. Combat enhancement protocols.”

“He reached out to all of us,” Axel said, his voice carefully neutral. “Scattered pieces of intel, like he was building a puzzle but didn’t want any of us to see the whole picture.”

“Protecting us,” Ronan muttered. “Stupid guy was always trying to protect everyone else.”

“That’s what got him killed,” Deke growled. “Whatever he found, whoever he was investigating?—”

“They got to him first,” Zara finished. The edge in her voice was razor-sharp now. “Maybe Griff, too.”

Silence fell again, heavy with three years of unanswered questions and unspoken guilt. They’d all been busy with their own lives, their own missions. None of them had seen the danger until it was too late.

After the teams settled into an uneasy rhythm of introductions and shop talk, Christian caught Ronan’s eye and jerked his head toward the hallway. Ronan bristled at the summons—he wasn’t some rookie who could be called out for a lecture. But he followed anyway, if only to keep Christian from making a scene. He noted how his brother positioned himself where he could still see into the command center. Old habits.

“About Axel,” Christian said quietly.

Ronan’s shoulders tensed. Here it came—the big brother routine. Like Christian had any right to question how Ronan handled his team. “He’s fine.”

“Yeah. Like I was fine.” Christian’s voice was neutral, but his meaning clear. “Took me three years to admit I needed help. Would’ve been four, but Jack and the team ... they knew. Didn’t push, just had my back.”

The unexpected confession knocked the defensive anger right out of Ronan. He studied his brother’s face, seeing past the hard exterior to something unexpected—understanding.

“It’s better now,” Christian continued. “Not gone, but better. Your boy in there? He’s got good people watching out for him.” A ghost of a smile. “Even if they’re a bunch of dramatic show-offs who like terrorizing our security system.”

The tension in Ronan’s chest eased slightly. “Christian?—”

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