Page 17 of Protect Thy Enemy

An image I can’t seem to face.

Today, that image is leading her first full simulation. Harris’s golden recruit. Leo’s daughter. The rookie who everyone seems to think is going to rewrite the playbook.

My focus should be on her performance, her skills, her instincts, but instead, it’s on her. The way her movements, while brisk, carry an undercurrent of hesitance she probably doesn’t even realize.

She doesn’t just move through the simulation. She owns it, yet something is raw underneath it all.

“Agent Grant.” Her voice cuts through the haze in my head—steady, calm, and entirely too confident for my taste. “Movement ahead.”

I glance where she’s looking. A flicker of shadow beyond the simulated window. She’s right.

“So what’s the plan, Williams?” My tone is deliberately clipped. I’m testing her. Pushing her. “Do you even have one?”

She turns her head just enough to meet my eyes, and I see that fire simmering just below the surface. It's enigmatic but alluring. You can't help but be captured by the way her mind works. “Secure the room. Neutralize the threat. Clear the area before extraction.”

“And if you’re wrong?” I push harder, watching for any crack in her resolve. If she wants to make it, she needs to trust herself.

Her jaw tightens, but her eyes stay locked on mine. “Then I deal with the consequences. But I’m not wrong.”

There it is again. That cockiness. That recklessness.

Leo’s voice echoes in my head, unbidden. “I have this.”

I force the memory back, my expression hardening. “Fine,” I say flatly. “Show me, Rookie.”

She moves meticulously, disarming a hidden tripwire before I even have time to point it out. Every maneuver is precise and deliberate, but there’s still that nagging feeling she’s holding back.

Harris might think she’s some kind of prodigy, but I see the cracks.

She's decent, but she’s trying too hard. Her movements don’t just say she has something to prove—they demand you watch her do it. I can’t decide if her father’s fire will carry her or trap her in an arena of smoke.

Watching her reminds me of him in other ways that unsettle me, but it also takes me further back to yet another ghost I don’t like to name.

My father, Col. Douglas Grant, was a living legend. A man who taught me that excellence came at a price. “Don’t chase medals, Holden,”he’d say, the gravel in his voice worn from years of shouting orders.“Chase the mission. Medals weigh you down. The mission keeps you alive.”

But the mission didn’t keep him alive. He died for the job, on the job, just like Leo. And maybe that’s what terrifies me most, seeing that same spark in her. The one that promises brilliance at the cost of everything else.

By the time we reach the end of the simulation, she’s cleared it in record time. She spins to face me, her chest rising and falling with controlled breaths.

“Not bad,” I say, my tone intentionally dismissive. “But you’re still too slow.”

Her lips tighten into a thin line like she doesn't agree with my assessment, but doesn’t bite back. “Understood.”

We exit the simulation room together, and Harris’s voice crackles over the comms as he begins the debrief. I’m not listening. My focus is on her, the way she squares her shoulders and flexes her hands at her sides.

She’s good. But it’s not confidence that drives her. It’s armor.

“Rookie,” I call out, my voice sharper than I mean it to be. She stops, her head tilting slightly as she waits.

“Good luck tomorrow,” I say, the words clipped. “You’ll need it.”

Tomorrow is her first team evaluation with Park, and it’ll take a lot more than what she did today to get through it.

She doesn’t respond the way I expect. No smart remark, no defiance. Just the faintest frown of her lips, almost like a worry.Interesting.

“I always do,” she says softly before walking away.

Her footsteps echo down the hall, her words leaving me with a weird feeling in my chest.

---