Page 112 of Surfer's Paradise

Isaac met his gaze, nodding once.

“How was it?” Dom asked, his voice level, always calm.

Isaac stripped off the last of his rig, tossing it onto the bench. “Zach held up fine. Shaw’s pushing the new guys, but they’re keeping up.”

Dom huffed out a short breath, clearly unsurprised.

Shaw always pushed hard. It was his job to.

Dom wasn’t a diver—he was their sniper—but he rotated into dive cycles like the rest of them. Every skill had to stay sharp.

And like always, there was an unspoken conversation running beneath his words.

Isaac didn’t have to ask to know Dom had kept an eye on him today.

Even six months later, Dom was still waiting for signs of damage.

Still waiting to see if **what happened back then—**when Isaac had been **taken, beaten, interrogated for information on Isabel—**had left cracks in him.

Isaac knew better.

Dom was watching. Waiting.

Because Dom was going to pay that debt back one way or another.

But Isaac didn’t need it.

Didn’t want it.

Because nothing had changed.

He was still here. Still operational. Still locked in.

Just another rotation.

Dom didn’t press. He never did.

Instead, he leaned back against the bench, crossing his arms. “You sticking around base after this?”

Isaac rolled his neck, stretching out the last bit of tension. “Nah. I got something to handle in town.”

Dom smirked, the barest flicker of amusement crossing his otherwise impassive face.

Isaac ignored it.

He didn’t need the scrutiny.

“Shaw said they might run us through a long-range course next week,” Dom said, shifting gears.

Isaac nodded. They were overdue for one.

“Fast rope insertions still on the schedule?”

Dom sighed, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Still waiting on approvals. Might be next month.”

Isaac just hummed, mind already working through logistics.

One day they were in the water. The next, they were running airborne ops, night navigation, urban combat drills.

---