King slams his hand so hard against the wall that the sound is loud enough to make me jump. I whip my head in his direction just in time to catch him grumbling, “Fine. What about the other one? Tide?”
Of course. He’s referring to Caspian.
I clench my teeth, biting back the reaction. Out of everyone,he’sthe one they like? I’ll never understand it. Caspian’s terrifying, commanding, intense, always looking like he’s ready to snap a neck without blinking—and yet people cling to him like he's magnetic. Meanwhile, I smile too much and get written off as charming instead of dangerous. It’s not something I envy, but I notice it.
I always notice.
I slow my steps, narrowing my eyes as Jon carefully steps over a cracked tile on the floor. Oh my fucking God, wait… These hallways don’t have numbers, letters, or even signs. There’s no directional guidance at all but now I notice the subtle markers; cigar burns on the walls, chipped bricks, and slight color variations in the floor tiles. They're not just walking me around—they’re teaching me how to navigate—training my brain to read a place without ever giving away its secrets.
“They’ve got personal matters to tend to. I’m the next best thing you’ve got,” I chime in, rolling my shoulders back as I glance around, cataloging every detail of this section. The placement of the security camera. The faint scratch marks on the left wall. The heat vent slightly crooked overhead.
This place is built like a fortress. If anyone tried to break in, they’d be lost in seconds. No windows. No bearings. Just a giant steel maze designed to chew up enemies and spit out bones.
“I’d say! Your mission statuses are impeccable,” Jon says, eyeing me. “Your acceleration from basic to high-level tasks is impressive. It’s probably the good genes in you. Your father was the same—picked things up the second they touched his hands.”
The words hit harder than I expected. He's talking about my adoptive father, and coming from Jon, they sound sincere, earned, not like Caspian, who compliments because he has to. But the comparison throws me off. I didn’t inherit anything, not like Caspian, who came out of the womb with a genius-level IQ and a superiority complex. Everything I have, I bled for the moment his father took me in.
“He wasn’t—” I start to say, but I stop myself. “Thank you.”
Jon nods, then gestures forward. “You’ve probably got the layout already locked in. Our little tour taught you more than you realize. So, nothing more for today. There’ll be a briefing in the morning, training to follow, and if this lead pans out, we’ll head out the next.”
He pauses, gaze cutting toward King, who’s already trying to wander off down the opposite hall. Without missing a beat, Jon stretches up—he’s not even tall, maybe six foot max, but somehow he still manages to grab the back of King’s shirt and yank him backward like it’s nothing.
“Tour’s not done,” Jon mutters.
King grumbles, tugging at the weird shirt-mask thing he’s got on to fix it back into place. A streak of unnaturally dark hair slips out from under the fabric and I cant help but stare. At least it’s not red; then again, my mother’s was, so there’s no doubt I got my hair color from her.
“Right,” I say slowly, stopping when King turns to glare at me. His gray eyes stay locked on mine. They’re lighter than my own and almost blinding with how similar they are to silver.
“It’syes, sir,” he snaps.
I grin, even though my chest tightens. The way he says it feels too familiar–it reminds me of my adoptive father. This place seems to be full of mind gamesthough so maybe thats all that's happening here. My brain is trying to convince me of the impossible.
“Damn it. You know we haven’t used titles since—”
“She came along,” King finishes Jon’s statement, but I can tell he didn’t say the right thing, considering how Jon jerks the fabric of his shirt, forcing the large man to come eye level with him.
“I was going to say that it’s been over four years since it’s been unnecessary, considering most of our work is either undercover or silent. Understood?” Jon says in a low voice. I don’t know what this older man is capable of—hell, he looks like a big teddy bear if you ignore the scars flexing along his biceps and the hardened features of his face that definitely scream war—but whatever it is, it’s enough to keep King steady, not budging a muscle as he gives a slow nod of his head.
Jon breaks out into a smile again and lets him go.
“Need anything else today?” I ask. “I can start on files, help monitor surveillance feeds, or catch up on intel. Hostage recovery cases seem to be picking up lately, and—”
Jon laughs, tipping his head back before shaking it. “There’s only one other person on this base that eager. Most just want to get out of here as soon as they walk in.”
I shrug, tossing my bag over my shoulder. “It’s my job. I either do it well, or I don’t do it at all.”
“Bloody brilliant.” Jon claps a hand on my back. “Alright, then. If you can find the locker room, we’ll grab a bite later, and I’ll fill you in.”
He says it like a challenge–like I’ll get lost.
But I remember the blueprints. We passed three intersections. If I’m where I think I am, the west wing should be behind me. North leads to medical. East goes to weapons and training. South is barracks and common areas. Locker rooms should be–
“I’ve got this,” I say, stepping toward the right hall.
“You should be done in no time,” Jon calls after me. “And if I heard right, you brought your girlfriend?”
My breath catches and my steps stutter to a halt.