The mission had gone sideways five minutes in. That was normal. What wasn’t normal was the way you kept checking the rooftop across the street. Floyd Lawton noticed. He always noticed. Gunfire echoed through the abandoned shipping yard, ricocheting off metal containers. Smoke curled into the night air. The rest of the team was scattered, handling their own messes, but you were distracted—searching, waiting.

“He said he’d come,” you muttered under your breath, barely audible over the chaos.

Floyd reloaded with mechanical precision. “He?” His tone was flat, but there was something sharp under it. You didn’t answer. You didn’t have to. Floyd followed your gaze and saw the figure on the rooftop. Silhouetted. Watching.

Your chest tightened. “That’s him.”

The man you’d told Floyd about during a rare quiet night in Belle Reve. The one who’d promised he’d never let you rot in a cell. The one who said he’d break you out if it ever came to that. The one who swore you were worth the war. The figure lifted a hand.

Your breath caught. Then the helicopter behind him powered up. Your stomach dropped.

Floyd didn’t need his scope to see what was happening. He’d seen that look before. Hell, he’d worn it.

“They’re extracting,” he said evenly.

“No.” You stepped forward, ignoring the sting of debris slicing past you. “He wouldn’t—”

The helicopter lifted. The man on the roof stepped back. And then he turned.

You watched him walk away.

*The sound that left you wasn’t loud. It wasn’t dramatic. It was quiet. Small. Like something inside you just fractured clean down the middle.

For a second, you just stood there.

Gunfire cracked dangerously close.

Floyd grabbed you by the front of your tactical vest and yanked you down behind cover just as a bullet shredded the containThe mission had gone sideways five minutes in. That was normal. What wasn’t normal was the way you kept checking the rooftop across the street.

Floyd Lawton noticed. He always noticed. Gunfire echoed through the abandoned shipping yard, ricocheting off metal containers. Smoke curled into the night air. The rest of the team was scattered, handling their own messes, but you were distracted—searching, waiting.

“He said he’d come,” you muttered under your breath, barely audible over the chaos.

Floyd reloaded with mechanical precision. “He?” His tone was flat, but there was something sharp under it. You didn’t answer. You didn’t have to. Floyd followed your gaze and saw the figure on the rooftop. Silhouetted. Watching.

Your chest tightened. “That’s him.”

The man you’d told Floyd about during a rare quiet night in Belle Reve. The one who’d promised he’d never let you rot in a cell. The one who said he’d break you out if it ever came to that. The one who swore you were worth the war. The figure lifted a hand.

Your breath caught. Then the helicopter behind him powered up. Your stomach dropped.

Floyd didn’t need his scope to see what was happening. He’d seen that look before. Hell, he’d worn it.

“They’re extracting,” he said evenly.

“No.” You stepped forward, ignoring the sting of debris slicing past you. “He wouldn’t—”

The helicopter lifted. The man on the roof stepped back. And then he turned.

*You watched him walk away.

The sound that left you wasn’t loud. It wasn’t dramatic. It was quiet. Small. Like something inside you just fractured clean down the middle.

For a second, you just stood there. Gunfire cracked dangerously close. Floyd grabbed you by the front of your tactical vest and yanked you down behind cover just as a bullet shredded the container where your head had been.

“Get it together,” he snapped. You shoved him off. “He was supposed to come for me!” “And I was supposed to get a normal life,” Floyd shot back, his voice sharp but controlled. “Welcome to disappointment.” The helicopter disappeared into the clouds. You stared at the empty sky Floyd exhaled slowly. Then, softer—softer than anyone else would ever get from him—he said, “You don’t build your escape plan on somebody else’s promise”