Page 69 of Broken Forced Mate
“That’s not enough.”
“It’s all anyone can promise in wartime.”
The truth of that statement doesn’t make it easier to accept. War means accepting that people you care about might not survive, no matter how capable or careful they are. My brain knows that, even if my heart won’t hear it.
“I know you’re scared,” Raegan begins. “I’m scared, too. But fear can’t be our primary decision-making factor.”
“What if it is for me? What if I’m too scared to think rationally about this?”
“Then trust me to think rationally for both of us. Partnerships require both people to have equal voice in decisions.”
She’s right, and I hate it. A real partnership means accepting her choice even when every instinct screams against it.
But knowing what I should do and being able to do it are different things.
“What about using your abilities from a distance?” I suggest. “Set up observation points outside their perimeter.”
“Psychic abilities don’t work that way. I need proximity to read emotional states accurately. At a distance, I might miss crucial deceptions or misinterpret intentions.”
It goes on like that for another ten minutes. Every alternative I propose, she has a logical counterargument. The mission makes tactical sense. That’s the most frustrating part.
“I need to know you understand the stakes,” I tell her. “If they capture you, it’s not just about losing intelligence. They will use you to break us.”
“I understand the stakes perfectly. Do you understand that without this intelligence, we’re fighting blind?”
“I’d rather fight blind than lose you.”
“And I’d rather take calculated risks than watch everyone I care about die because we were too afraid to gather critical intelligence.”
She moves to the table and starts gathering documents. “The briefing is starting. I’m joining it.”
“Raegan, please.”
“I’ve made my decision, Wyn.”
“What if I forbid it? What if I use my authority as your husband and your superior to override this?”
She turns to face me, and the look in her eyes makes my blood run cold. “Then you’ll discover that I don’t recognize that authority. And you’ll lose any chance of us having a real marriage when this war is over.”
The ultimatum knocks the breath from my lungs. Choose between keeping her safe now and having a future with her later.
What the hell kind of choice is that?
“Easy to say when you’re not the one watching someone you care about volunteer for a suicide mission.”
“You think I don’t understand that fear? You think I don’t worry every time you go out on patrol or meet with border units? Every time you leave this compound, there’s a chance you won’t come back.”
I hadn’t considered her perspective. The idea that she might feel the same protective terror about my safety.
“That’s different,” I argue.
“No, it’s not. It’s exactly the same. The only difference is that I don’t try to forbid you from doing your job.”
The comparison forces me to confront an uncomfortable truth. She’s right that I wouldn’t accept restrictions on my duties, even if they came from genuine concern.
But acknowledging her point doesn’t make the fear more manageable.
“I won’t walk into anything,” she assures me. “I’ll go in prepared, with backup plans and extraction safeties in place.”
