Page 71 of Dagger

Tex gave the call. “Convoy’s delayed thirty minutes. Get jocked up anyway. We’re pulling out soon.”

Dagger lingered behind, murmuring something low to Emma before turning back to Quinn.

“We’ve got time,” he said, voice softer now. “Let’s call the boys.”

Brawler wasn’t the only one who froze mid-movement. Shark’s head lifted, Easy and Flash traded grins. Even Tex’s shoulders eased by a hair.

Quinn’s breath hitched. Her eyes widened, lips parting like she wasn’t sure she heard right.

“Really?”

Dagger nodded toward the screen. “Big screen’s open.”

Flash didn’t wait, already at the controls, fingers flying with easy confidence.

A beat later, two bright, messy-haired faces filled the screen, voices overlapping like windchimes in a storm.

“Mom!”

“Uncle Kade!”

“We miss you!” Ezra cried, waving wildly. “When are you coming home?”

“In a bit, buddy,” Dagger said, smiling. “We’ve got more?—”

“—Saving the world stuff to do?” Elijah tried to deadpan, but a smirk sneaked in.

Dagger chuckled. “Yeah. But the wait will be worth it, right?”

“Right! You’re bringing me dinosaurs! Yay. Patience is a virtue, Grandma says.”

Brawler gave a grunt of amusement. “You can’t eat dinosaurs, Ez.”

Ezra lit up. “Uncle Chris makes dinosaur pancakes! He made a T-Rex last time. With syrup claws!”

That warmth punched harder than Brawler expected. He didn’t usually let emotion sneak in during mission time, but Ezra’s joy cracked something loose.

Brawler’s mouth tugged into a rare grin. Damn, those kids had a way of lighting up a room, even a war room. Ezra and Elijah were all sunshine and fire, sparks in human form.

His brother Tobias Beckett had been born with savant syndrome, an extraordinary brain wired for patterns and probabilities. But Toby was more than the diagnosis. He saw the world like a math problem wrapped in a sunrise, sharp and beautiful all at once. He’d calculate crash survival odds ortell you what number pattern your name made, then hug you like you were the greatest thing to ever exist. He couldn’t fake anything. What he felt, he felt big. Especially love. It was all in or nothing.

God, Brawler wished the world had more of him.

There weren’t many things that made his fists curl on instinct, butUncle Raycould. Raymond Beckett, slick, manipulative, the kind of parasite who circled after their parents’ deaths, looking to exploit Toby’s genius for gambling payoffs. Took him to races. Poker rooms. Treated him like a golden goose.

Brawler had nearly killed the bastard by dragging him out of a backroom once, after Ray pocketed a stack of winnings Toby didn’t even realize he’d earned. If Brawler hadn’t stepped in, Toby would’ve ended up as some casino sideshow in Vegas, his brilliance chipped away for beer money.

After their parents died, it had been just them, no net, no lifeline. Just blood and grit. Joining the Teams nearly tore him in half, but Toby…Toby understood. He’d looked Brawler in the eye and said,“You could save the world, Chris. But if you’ve got seven guys with you? Wow. The odds are astronomical.”

Kid always knew how to gut him.

He found someone to watch over Toby, a former Marine named Hank Lawson. Brick wall of a man. Chess lover. Kind soul. Brawler never worried with Hank around.

But part of him still carried the weight, always would.

Toby had loved pancakes too.

He used to ask for numbers instead of dinosaurs. Brawler would shape sevens or perfect threes in the batter, just to see that sweet, proud smile.“Make it prime numbers this time, Chris,”he’d say. A little ritual between brothers.

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