Kandahar, Afghanistan August 2021

I shifted in my sleep, rolling to my back. The pillow beneath my head was warm, but the fabric of the pillowcase abraded the base of my neck. But the scent—metal and spearmint mixed with something warmer—made me sigh with recognition.

My mind acknowledged the dream—it always did—but I clung to it, willing myself to fall more deeply asleep so I wouldn’t lose it.

Fingers gently stroked down my cheek, and I leaned into the caress.

“Wake up, Isabeau.” His voice wrapped around me like velvet, just like it did every morning in Fiji when he’d woken me with his hands and mouth, rousing my body to a fever pitch before sliding into me and bringing us both home.

“I don’t want to,” I mumbled. Waking would mean he’d be gone, that I’d have to face another day of wondering where he was.

“You have to,” he said softly. “It’s almost time to go.”

“You’re always going.” I angled my head more comfortably and let my breathing deepen again, slipping back into sleep. “Ever considered staying?”

“Too many times to count.” Fingers brushed through my hair. “But we can’t stay here. We have to go.”

This wasn’t what I wanted to dream. I wanted to go back to my apartment in New York. Wanted to open the door and find him standing there. Wanted to take back everything I’d said and do it all differently.

“Izzy.” His voice was still soft, but more insistent.

I forced my eyes open and was rewarded by the sight of him looking down at me. God, there was nothing better than waking up to those eyes, that mouth, even if it was set in a firm line. “Not all of us prefer the sunrise, Nathaniel.”

A corner of his mouth lifted into a smirk, and my pulse jumped, bringing me fully awake. I wanted to kiss that mouth, to lose myself in him, to feel that sweet oblivion that only Nate brought me. “You might not like the sunrise, but I doubt you want to spend another night on the airport floor if we miss our extraction.”

I blinked, and it all came rushing back.

We were in Kandahar, and that scratchy fabric was the material of Nate’s camouflage pants. Either I’d fallen asleep with my head in his lap, or he’d moved me here, where he’d sat back against the wall. Every beat of my heart begged me to stay put, to soak in every moment that he looked at me without the cool aloof apathy he’d dished out for the last week. Without the armor of my own anger, I couldn’t blame him for keeping me at a distance. It wasn’t in Nate’s nature to let anyone in, and when push came to shove, I’d let him down when he’d needed me most. We both bore our share of the responsibility for what happened in New York. “Do you know that this is the longest amount of time we’ve spent together?”

His brow knit. “Almost. Fiji was nine days with the flights. We’re only on day eight.”

“I liked Fiji better. No one was shooting at us.”

“That’s what happens when you haul yourself into a war zone, Iz. People shoot at you.” He held out his hand, and I took it, sitting up against the protests of my sore muscles.

“Did you get any sleep?” I asked, rubbing the back of my neck and rolling my shoulders.

“Enough.” He stood, stretching his arms, making the sleeve of his tattoo ripple. “The birds are in the air. We’ve got about forty-five minutes before they arrive. Let’s get you out of here.”

He waived the twelve-inch rule while we both used the bathroom, and then kept me close as I checked in with the chess team and their parents, who’d already been briefed on our departure.

Hopefully it would go more smoothly than our arrival yesterday.

The air thickened with anxiety with each passing second, and fear trickled down my spine, but I forced a smile for the girls. The six of them

were just as I remembered from our short Skype sessions, inquisitive and funny. They also spoke immaculate English, which made me wish I’d chosen something other than French in high school so I could have reciprocated in kind.

“All the visas are in this envelope,” I told Coach Niaz, handing her the large sealed manila folder as everyone gathered their things. “I didn’t want to chance losing them.”

“Thank you. I’ll hand them out to the families just in case we get separated,” she said, the shorter woman adjusting her bag over her shoulder and smiling at me with watery brown eyes that crinkled at their corners. “I’ll never be able to thank you enough. I’m sorry you had to come all this way, but—”

“You don’t have to explain.” My throat threatened to close as emotion rose, swift and overwhelming. I’d never been a part of something as important as this, never done anything in my twenty-eight years that qualified as . . . meaningful. “I’m just grateful to be in a position to help,” I managed to say, squeezing her hands.

Gray approached and leaned in at Nate’s shoulder. “They’re five minutes out.”

Nate glanced my way, and I nodded.

“It’s time,” Nate said, his voice filling the waiting area. “Twelve inches,” he reminded me as the other operators took charge of the family units they’d been assigned, leaving one outside watching the door.

He handed me the Kevlar helmet, and I put it on over the sleep- mussed strands of my bun, then did the same with the tactical vest. At least he’d let me sleep without it.

We passed a pile of MREs on our way out of the room, heading into the hallway and down the stairs. “Did you mean to leave those there?”

He nodded, his expression more than alert as he surveyed the area around us. “They don’t have enough food here. They’re basically cut off.”

“And we’re just going to leave them?” I glanced up at him, but he was in work mode. There were no cheek-grazing touches or smiles. This was the version of Nate I didn’t see stateside.

“Not everyone wants to be saved, Izzy.” He gripped his rifle as we started down the length of the terminal.

“This is our home,” the Afghan soldier on my right said. “We’ll defend it to the death.”

I didn’t know what to say, so I simply nodded, clutching my messenger bag tighter the closer we got to the exit. We passed the gate we’d taken shelter at yesterday. The windows that had been blown out had already been boarded up.

“Try to breathe,” Nate said as we moved toward the door, which was guarded by Black and two other Afghan soldiers.

“And if they start firing rockets at us again?” I kept my voice down, well aware of the girls behind us, moving in the groups they’d been assigned for their specific helicopters.

“They brought Apaches,” Nate reminded me. “If they start firing rockets, they’ll give away their position, and then they’ll get repaid tenfold.” His jaw flexed as we reached the door and paused.

“Right, because warfare is logical.” Panic stuttered my heartbeat. Fine, I wasn’t cut out for this. I could admit that to myself.

“Just stay with me,” Nate ordered, softly. “I’ll get you on that helicopter.”

I didn’t doubt that. I also knew how lucky we’d been yesterday to have already made it inside before the explosions started.

“If it’s between me or one of the girls—”

Nate pivoted toward me, took my chin between thumb and forefinger, and tilted my face toward his. “I’m not that guy.” He said it so softly that I barely heard him, so I knew the family behind us couldn’t.

“What guy?”

“Thirty seconds,” Gray called out from the end of our group.

“The guy who does the honorable thing,” Nate said, his eyes searching mine. “Not when it comes to you.”

“Yes, you are,” I argued.

He shook his head. “There’s a difference between you and me, Iz. There always has been. If you knew the world had twenty-four hours before some calamity struck, where would you go?”

I blinked. It was the oddest question he’d ever asked me in the name of distraction. “Serena would probably be reporting, and my parents aren’t exactly the comforting type, so I guess I’d go to wherever I could do the most good.”

A wry smile twisted his lips. His gaze dropped to my mouth, and he let go of my chin. “Yeah. That’s the difference between us.”

I didn’t have time to ask what he meant. The sound of rotors filled the air, and I looked through the glass to see four helicopters land on the tarmac, and two more fly by.

“Go!” Nate said over his shoulder, and the doors burst open. We were ushered through by another operator and the Afghan soldiers.

My heart raced as we quickly made our way down the same walkway we’d entered on yesterday. It looked different now. Longer. The arches we walked under were somehow less beautiful and more . . . exposed. Or maybe it was simply the way I looked at them that had changed.

Once we hit the open air of the runway, my heart threatened to jump ship. We passed a crater in the concrete that definitely hadn’t been there yesterday, and my blood rushed, pounding through my ears. Nate led me across the cool tarmac, not yet heated from the sun at this early hour, and to the farthest helicopter.

The door gunner waved us in, and Nate all but lifted me into the Blackhawk, forcing me in first. I didn’t waste time by arguing. I found my usual seat and got myself out of his way.

But he didn’t follow.

My head whipped toward the door. Nate waited on the tarmac, looking back toward the terminal. I held my breath. If the last twenty-four hours had taught me anything, it was that seconds counted.

And my heart noted every single one of them as he stood out there, completely exposed.

Lilac appeared, escorted by a pair of Afghan soldiers, one of whom was carrying Kaameh. He set her down just inside the door and let her go, and then the rest of the family shuffled into the helicopter. They took the seats directly across from me, their chests heaving and their eyes wide. I leaned forward and buckled Kaameh into the seat by the window, where Nate usually sat, as her mother and father juggled her little brother so they could each fasten their own.

Nate and Lilac climbed in, and once Nate’s thigh touched mine, I took a full breath, then another, and another, until they came too fast. He was fine. We were fine.

The helicopter launched, and the ground fell away.

Nate reached onto my lap and took my hand, lacing my fingers with his, holding tight as we flew out of Kandahar. My breathing steadied with

every mile we flew. I knew the moment wouldn’t last, that he wouldn’t keep hold of me forever, and he didn’t.

His hand slid free, and I couldn’t help but mourn the loss immediately. But he didn’t know that my left hand was bare for a reason.

And I had yet to decide if I was going to tell him, yet to figure out if he’d even want to know.

When we landed, the girls hugged me, and then were immediately put into SUVs with their families to head to the airport. It was short. Anticlimactic. Perfect.

“Look at you, making a difference,” Nate said as he led me to our own

SUV.

“Feels good,” I admitted, sliding into the car. “It’s probably the best

thing I’ll ever do.” If that was the culmination of all my time in Washington, it would have been worth it.

Nate closed my door and climbed in front. I smiled the entire way to the embassy.

But I stopped smiling when we walked into the chaotic lobby and I saw through the anxious crowd that the glass-front conference room we’d taken over was empty.

“You need to find Dickface and tell him you’re okay?” Nate asked, his voice trailing off as he followed my line of sight.

His major walked forward, his mouth set in a firm line. “Good job getting the team out.”

“Where’s my team?” I asked, my stomach sinking.

“State Department has ordered a partial evacuation of the embassy.” The major looked at Nate, then me. “Sorry to tell you this, but the others on your team left a few hours ago with the congressional candidate . . . the one who wasn’t scheduled to be here. Covington.”

I wobbled, and Nate steadied me with a hand on my lower back. “What do you mean they left?” he practically growled.

“The senators called off their trip, and they got on the plane,” the major explained, his voice gentling as he studied my face. “You might want to give your boss a call.”

I’d been left behind.