Slade was a soldier first, a killer second, and a father… well, that part was still up for debate.

But right now, he was all three.

The mission was supposed to be clean—simple recon, no bodies, no heat. But when had anything in his life ever gone that way?

The jungle was thick with heat and tension, the air humming with the kind of silence that meant trouble was breathing down your neck. Slade moved through it like shadow, rifle slung low, eye scanning for movement. And just behind him, his partner—his pregnant partner—moved with practiced grace.

Too practiced.

She shouldn’t have been out here. Hell, he shouldn’t have let her come. But she insisted. She always insisted. And Slade… Slade had never figured out how to say no when she looked at him like that.

She was showing now. Barely, but he noticed. The way her balance shifted. The careful way she stepped over roots. He noticed everything.

He paused near a rock formation, signaling her to stop. His hand brushed hers—silent communication honed by years, not words. She looked steady. Sharp. Ready.

Still, his jaw clenched. He hated this. Hated knowing there was a heartbeat out here, smaller than a bullet, depending on two people with too much blood on their hands.

He adjusted his grip on the rifle. Whatever waited in the trees, whatever target they were chasing—it didn’t matter.

He’d finish this mission. Protect her. Protect them.

Because whether or not he was ready to be a father… He was already theirs.