The library itself looked more chaotic than usual tonight. Weapons cases lined the floor beside stacks of files and half-empty coffee cups.
Saint stood at the touchscreen in the center of the clawfoot table, muttering to himself about entry points, while Thierry checked comm rigs in the corner. Boone lounged in an armchair across from Kennedy, his pampered Yorkie asleep in her bed at his feet.
And Dominic stood at the center of it all.
Calm. Focused. Dangerous.
Sammy still felt a little thrill sweep through him every time that gaze landed on him and softened.
“We confirmed movement at the property an hour ago,” Saint said. “Two guards outside. At least four occupants inside the house itself.”
“Basement?” Dominic asked.
Saint dipped his head. “Blueprints show a concealed basement level. Same kind of hidden access we found at the Birmingham house.”
Silence settled heavily across the room.
Nobody acknowledged the implication directly.
They didn’t need to.
Sammy’s gaze drifted briefly toward the sprawling mess of strings covering the far wall before forcing his focus back to Saint.
Safe house. Courier routes. Holding facilities.
Six months later, and the threads still hadn’t stopped spreading.
“We go in fast,” Dominic said. “Secure the upper floor first, then sweep below ground.”
“And if they run?” Kennedy asked around a mouthful of chips.
Dominic’s expression remained perfectly flat. “We don’t give them the chance.”
Sammy suppressed a sigh and shifted his attention to the duffel bag sitting beside his chair instead. Inside were enough electrolyte drinks, painkillers, protein bars, and grounding supplies to recover from several hours of forcibly sharing headspace with a pack of homicidal idiots.
Maintaining the magical threads during missions left him exhausted on a good day. On bad ones, he ended up with migraines, sensory overload, and emotional bleed-through that didn’t fully fade for hours afterward.
Unfortunately, the rest of the pack hated the side effects almost as much as he did. So when he reached to unzip the bag, conversation died, and everyone tensed.
“We’re doing the tether thing again?” Boone asked, his tone gruff.
“That’s generally how missions work now,” Chapel said, but she sounded like she’d rather chew glass.
Thierry looked deeply offended. “I hate the tether thing.”
“You hate that everyone knows you have feelings,” Kennedy countered.
“I hate having feelings with other people.”
Saint lifted his head from the screen, his eyebrows drawn together. “Who else are you supposed to have them with?”
Thierry flipped him off. “It’s invasive.”
Kennedy sat up straighter and shook her head. “No, invasive was when Boone accidentally pushed his meltdown about that dachshund video through the link.”
Boone grimaced. “I said I was sorry.”
“You cried.”