Slade didn’t believe in timing.

There was no perfect moment in the field—only windows you either took or lost. That applied to missions. And apparently, to marriage.

The mission had gone sideways. A double-cross, a blown extraction point, and a whole nation’s worth of mercenaries between them and escape. But Slade had one knee in the mud, a ring pulled from a pouch sewn behind his holster, and blood drying on his knuckles.

“I’m not asking twice,” he said, voice low, steady.

The sound of gunfire echoed in the distance. She blinked at him like he’d lost his mind. Maybe he had.

But war had a funny way of stripping things down to what mattered.