I was losing my goddamn mind.

First, I elope with the only woman who’s ever looked at me like I’m more than a shadow, and marry her in some cheap courthouse with a judge who didn’t give a shit about the rings or the vows. Second, she finally finds out why I’ve been so fucking secretive about my career—why the late nights, the burner phones, the unexplained bruises. And third… what the actual hell was going on?

I stood in the middle of the hideout, the air thick with the low hum of monitors and the metallic tang of blood. Floor plans for the next target were spread across the table under the harsh blue glow of the screens. One of my guys was finishing up with the unconscious bastard on the floor—zip ties biting into his wrists, needle sliding into his neck. The serum hit, and the confession started spilling out of him like he’d been waiting his whole life to sing. Standard extraction. Business as usual for a spy who doesn’t officially exist.

I pointed at the blueprints, marking the east-side entry, the camera blind spots, the two-minute window.

“We’ll hit it clean. In and out before they know we were ghosts.”

One of the team raised an eyebrow. “You sure you won’t get made this time, Torres?” I waved him off, voice low and steady. “It’s not our first fucking rodeo. We’ve done worse and walked away smiling.”

That’s when I heard her. Soft shuffle of bare feet on concrete. I didn’t look over. Didn’t stop talking. But every part of me tracked her as she stood up from the inflatable mattress in the corner and walked out of the room. The second the briefing wrapped, I followed.

She was in the kitchenette, glass of water already pressed to her lips, chugging it like she could wash the whole night—hell, the whole truth of what I am—out of her system. I stepped up behind her without a word, slid my arms around her waist, and pulled her back against my chest. Chin resting on top of her head. She was tense under my hands, but she didn’t pull away.

“You still mad, baby?” I murmured against her hair, voice rough.