Page 55 of Over the Edge

“Well, yeah.” Nolan grinned unapologetically. “That is literally my job description. Fly things. Blow things up. Look good doing it.”

“That ego of yours is so big, I’m surprised your Irish ass ever get airborne,” Alistair muttered, but there was a hint of fondness in his exasperation.

“Have you been admiring my Irish ass, Preacher?”

“Every time I have to stitch it back together, I wonder what poor life choices brought me here.”

The banter rolled on. It was like hearing a language I almost understood—Nolan’s swagger, Alistair’s dry comebacks, Ozzy’s irritated grunts as a few jabs were aimed in his direction, the half-smiles that flickered across Trent’s usually stoic face. A language built over years of missions, shared trauma, and inside jokes. And I wasn’t fluent yet. Maybe never would be.

“Children,” Ethan snapped, his already thin patience clearly fraying. “Focus.”

As the jokes subsided, he spread his hands flat on the table, leaning in. “The window just narrowed significantly. We have less than twenty-four hours to locate the auction site and prepare infiltration. Lyric’s cover is our only available access point, so we’re going to assume for now it’s still intact. Flynn will stay as her security. Oz—” He looked over at the tech guy. “Get me into Moreau’s systems. I want to know every-fucking-thing he does from here on out.”

“That kind of hacking takes time,” Ozzy said, never taking his eyes off his screen.

“You have twenty-four hours.”

“Jesus fucking Christ. I’m a hacker, not a magician.”

“Just get it done.” Ethan turned to his second-in-command. “Trent, let’s see if we can get Decker here before the auction. We’re going to need his expertise on this.”

“Wouldn’t be surprised if the shady bastard already had an invitation to the auction,” Nolan muttered.

“Yes, Maverick, we all know your feelings about him,” Trent replied dryly, already pulling out his phone.

I hadn’t met anyone on the team named Decker yet, and I resisted the urge to ask who he was. Not knowing was just another reminder that I was the outsider here, the replacement part slotted into a machine that had been running smoothly before I arrived.

Ethan continued, “Nolan?—”

“Aye. Air support. I know the drill.”

“Air support withdiscretion.” Ethan’s emphasis on the last word wasn’t subtle. “No ‘fireworks’ unless I specifically authorize it.”

Nolan looked wounded. “You take all the craic out of flying, boss.”

“I’m not here for your entertainment,” Ethan said, then finally turned to Alistair. “I want every medical contingency covered. Have trauma gear ready for exfil. We don’t know what we’re walking into.”

Alistair nodded. “We’re not losing anyone on this mission.”

Unlike their last mission.

Although he didn’t say it out loud, Maya’s ghost still lingered in the room. Would she always be here?

Ethan nodded once, something painful passing across his features before his professional mask slipped back into place. “Kate?”

“Here,” Kate piped up from the speakers of Ozzy’s computer, and I realized with a jolt she’d been listening in this whole time.

“Comb through Moreau’s communications. I want surveillance on every dock, every helipad, every private airfield within fifty miles. I want to know where this fucking auction is happening before we send people into a potential trap.”

“Already on it,” Kate said. “I’m cross-referencing with satellite imagery of unusual activity patterns in the area.”

“Alright.” Ethan straightened, his gaze sweeping over each of us. “Let’s get to work.”

But as everyone else rose to leave, he caught my eye.

“A word?” he said, nodding toward the balcony.

I followed him outside, where the morning air carried the scent of salt and distant smoke—remnants of our handiwork.

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