Page 97 of Over the Edge

I instinctively rolled the joint, feeling only the slightest twinge where a chunk of Sentinel’s debris had sliced me open. “Good as new, Doc. Your handiwork holds up.”

“Oh, that reminds me,” Nolan said suddenly and reached into a drawer of his desk. He pulled out a fluffy porcupine toy and tossed it to Alistair.

Alistair caught the stuffed animal with a frown. “What on earth is this?”

“You said you’d rather spoon a rabid porcupine than me, so… there you go, mate. She’s not rabid, but she’s something soft to hold at night. Christ knows you need the practice. You might as well be a cleric with how often you get laid.”

I choked on a laugh.

Alistair didn’t even blink. “Just because I don’t fuck everything with a pulse like you, Mav, doesn’t mean I’m celibate.”

I shook my head, half in disbelief. Two weeks ago, I’d been fighting to prove I belonged here. Now I was watching a trauma surgeon bicker with an Irish pilot over a stuffed animal. And somehow, it was starting to feel right. Maybe… even like I belonged.

“I’m going to set it on fire,” Alistair said flatly, holding the toy between his fingers.

“Oh, you wouldn’t!” I said. “She’s adorable. Besides, how can you say no to that face?” I motioned to Nolan, who gave his best puppy eyes and pouty lips. And the man had really nice lips.

Alistair’s gray eyes turned to me with a mock glare, but I saw the crinkles of amusement at their corners. “That’s manipulative, Siren.”

“No,” Nolan said cheerfully. “That’s teamwork.” He slung an arm around Alistair’s shoulders and grabbed the porcupine, holding it up. “Come on, mate. You know you love her. Her name is Prickles.”

“Of course it is.”

I laughed, genuinely laughed, as Alistair’s expression shifted from long-suffering to reluctant amusement. It was these moments—the easy camaraderie, the teasing banter—that made me realize just how much had changed since I’d first walked through these doors.

“Some of us have actual work to do rather than tormenting colleagues.” Alistair ducked out of Nolan’s grasp but snatched the porcupine back and tucked it protectively under his arm rather than abandoning it.

“Aye, that’s the spirit!” Nolan called as he retreated to the medical wing. He turned back to me with a wink. “Ten says he names it something poncy in Latin by the end of the week.”

“No, twenty that he’ll keep calling it Prickles,” Leo called from across the room.

“I’ll take that action,” I said, smiling despite myself. “Fifty bucks says he’ll name it after Nolan out of spite.”

“Nah, I’m out. I’d never win that bet. Of course he’ll name it after me. I’m magnificent.” Nolan’s grin was infectious, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners. “Speaking of bets, the pool on when Shepherd returns is still open if you’re interested.”

My smile faltered. “You’re running a betting pool on Flynn?”

“Course we are. We’re degenerates with too much downtime between missions.” He shrugged unapologetically. “Current favorite is three more days. Trent’s got money on tomorrow. Ethan refuses to participate but secretly told Kate to put fifty on ‘already back and watching us.’”

I tried to keep my expression neutral, but something must have shown on my face because Nolan’s teasing smile softened.

“He’ll be back,” Nolan said, his voice dropping to a rare moment of sincerity. “Always is. Just has his own timeline.”

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. The idea that Flynn might be somewhere nearby, watching, sent a shiver of awareness along my spine.

“Lyric.” Kate’s voice cut through my thoughts as she approached from the direction of the communications hub, tablet in hand. Her dark hair was pulled back in its usual practical ponytail, her expression warm as she reached me. “Good to see you.”

“You too,” I replied, genuinely meaning it. In the short time we’d worked together, Kate had become something close to a friend—the first I’d allowed myself in years.

She jerked her thumb toward Ethan’s office. “Boss wants to see you. Debrief and paperwork.”

“Right. Thanks.” I squared my shoulders and moved toward Ethan’s office, bracing myself for whatever came next. The familiar weight of uncertainty settled between my shoulder blades as I approached the frosted glass door with “E. Voss” etched in simple block letters.

I knocked once, heard a muffled “Come in,” and pushed the door open.

My heart stopped. Then started again with a painful lurch.

Flynn Shepherd sat perched on the edge of Ethan’s desk, one leg swinging casually, his amber eyes locking onto mine the moment I appeared in the doorway. He wore dark jeans and a simple gray henley that clung to his shoulders in a way that made my mouth go dry. A fresh scar bisected his left eyebrow, and he looked thinner than before, but otherwise whole. Alive.

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