Page 24 of The Breaking Point

“He said he would. I texted him the info. Now we wait.”

She smiles, small and warm. “You’re doing good, Kate. Even if it doesn’t feel like it.”

I feel the sting of tears behind my eyes but blink them back. “Thanks,” I whisper. “I really needed that.”

She turns back to the stove. “Well, sit down. I made too much pasta anyway. And you look like you need some carbs.”

I laugh softly and help her bring the plates over to the sofa. She’s already queued something up, and I don’t even need to ask what it is. Modern Family, my comfort show, the one I go to when my brain needs to stop spinning. I sink into the couch and tuckone leg under me, plate balanced on my lap, the steam from the pasta curling up into my face.

“I figured we could use something light,” Quinn says, remote in hand.

“Perfect,” I murmur. “I’ve had enough revelations for one day. My emotional tank is tapped.”

Quinn navigates to the earlier seasons, “You know,” I say, twirling some pasta on my fork, “I think Phil Dunphy might be my actual spirit animal.”

Quinn laughs. “That tracks. You always go for the lovable goof.”

“He’s not just a goof. He’s… relentlessly hopeful. And weird. But in this beautiful, loyal way. He would never screw a stripper on his bachelor party.”

Quinn snorts, nearly choking on her food. “Jesus, Kate.”

I give a tired smile, but before she can pick up the remote and hit play on the next episode, I speak.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

She freezes mid-reach. “What?”

“You’ve been... extra cheery tonight.” I keep my voice low. “You only do that when you’re worried.”

She exhales through her nose and sets the remote down slowly. Her expression tightens, like she hates that I can still read her that well.

Finally, she says, “I haven’t heard from Markus in a week.”

I tilt my head slightly. “But... that’s normal, right?”

“It is,” she admits, eyes flicking to the floor. “They revoke phone privileges all the time. Miss a curfew or mouth off to the wrong officer, suddenly you’re back in the damn 1800s. No calls, no messages, nothing.”

I nod, remembering how she explained all that before.

“But,” she continues, “the woman I called for the ride?”

I nod again. “Yeah, I had your car.”

“She’s… Her husband’s part of Markus’ squad. His name is Charlie. Anyway... she said she hasn’t heard from him either. Not for a week.”

My stomach drops.

“And I figured maybe it’s just the two of them. Maybe some training punishment or blackout or whatever. But I couldn’t shake it, so I called the captain’s wife.” Her eyes meet mine, wide and unblinking now. “She hasn’t heard from her husband either.”

“Oh no,” I whisper, instinctively turning toward her.

Quinn’s face is pale now, like the light’s been drained out of her. “I know it’s the army. I know they can’t just call and chat. I signed up for this. I’ve lived this. But they always tell us if there’s going to be radio silence. Always. A day, maybe two. Never longer than that without warning.”

Her eyes are glassy. She blinks fast.

“But this time he didn’t. He just… went dark.”

She stares straight ahead like she’s seeing something I can’t.

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