Chapter 17
He hadn’t stopped replayingthe look in her eyes since she’d asked. Fierce. Determined. A little desperate. Clara wanted to see her friend. Needed to. And he’d known in that moment he’d say yes, even though every part of him screamed no.
Now he sat in the command room, screens glowing in the dim light, maps and surveillance feeds spread across the table. Duchess stood beside him, arms crossed, her sharp eyes tracking the scrolling data. Reaper lounged against the wall, deceptively casual, though Watchdog knew every detail of the room was already catalogued in his head.
“This is a bad idea,” Duchess said flatly.
“Most of what we do is a bad idea,” Reaper countered, smirking.
She ignored him. “You’re taking her into the open, Watchdog. Oliver’s watching for her. He’ll have people watching for you. It’s risk stacked on risk.”
“She’s not a prisoner,” Watchdog said, sharper than he meant. His jaw clenched. He forced himself to lower his voice. “I won’t cage her.”
Reaper arched a brow, amusement glinting. “You care.”
Heat crawled up the back of his neck. He bent closer to the keyboard, fingers flying across the keys. “I care about operational security.”
“Mmm.” Reaper’s grin widened. “If that’s what we’re calling it now.”
Duchess shot him a look before turning back to Watchdog. “Then what’s the plan?”
He tapped the screen, bringing up a map of central London. “Neutral ground. Café on the south bank. Public enough Oliver won’t want a scene but not so crowded we can’t control it.”
“Overwatch?” Duchess asked.
“Multiple angles. Cameras, comms, fallback routes.” He shifted, restless energy buzzing under his skin. “You and Reaper on the ground. Titan and Hurricane close by for exfil if it goes wrong.”
“And it will,” Duchess murmured.
Reaper chuckled. “That’s the spirit.”
Watchdog leaned back, scrubbing his hand down his face. His chest still itched with the same restless heat from the gym, the same unsettled pull he couldn’t shake. Clara had a way of getting under his skin, into his thoughts, looping through his system like code he couldn’t debug.
And yet the thought of denying her, of leaving her cut off from Lena, had been worse.
He closed his eyes for a moment, steadying his breathing. She trusted him. God help him, he didn’t want to break that.
“Fine,” Duchess said finally. “We’ll do it your way. But if this goes south….”
“It won’t,” he cut in, opening his eyes. His voice was steel, but the truth hummed beneath:it might. And I’ll burn for it if it does.
Reaper clapped him on the shoulder, smirk sharp. “You’re in deep, buddy. Just admit it.”
Watchdog ignored him, turning back to the screens. His fingers danced across the keys, pulling up feeds, securing lines.
Tomorrow, Clara would see Lena.
And he had no idea if it would keep her safe…or crack open something none of them were ready for.
He foundher in the large, shared kitchen and living area of the bunker.
She was curled into one corner of the sofa, a book resting open on her knees, though her eyes weren’t on the page. Her mind was far away, caught somewhere between hope and dread.
When he cleared his throat, her head snapped up. The shift in her expression when she saw him, wariness melting into expectation, hit him harder than he expected.
“I’ve arranged it,” he said, forcing his voice steady. “You’ll see Lena tomorrow.”
The words seemed to hang in the air for a beat before they landed.
