The first light of dawn was a pale, grey knife cutting through the darkness of the room. It was the soldier's instinct that woke me. It always did.
For a single, disoriented second, the world was just a strange warmth and a soft weight on my chest.
Then I remembered.
Izzy.
I looked down. She was curled against me, sleeping deeply, one hand resting trustingly over my heart. Her dark hair was a wild silk spill across my pillow, her face soft and peaceful in the morning light. In sleep, she looked impossibly young. Innocent.
And a wave of self-loathing so powerful it almost made me sick crashed over me.
The soldier in my head was screaming. Target. Enemy. Moretti.
I had held her in the dark and whispered the word "Mine" like a vow. I had poured all my rage and loneliness into her, and she had taken it. She had taken all of me.
I had betrayed my mission. I had betrayed Marcos. I had betrayed my father's memory.
I looked at her, so peaceful in my arms, and I knew a devastating truth. I wasn't her protector. I was her monster. And she had just spent the night sleeping in the monster's bed.
I needed air. I needed to get away from her before I suffocated on the lie.
Carefully, so I wouldn't wake her, I slid out from under her, gently placing her head on the pillow. I covered her with the sheet, my knuckles brushing against the soft skin of her shoulder. She stirred, murmuring something in her sleep, and my gut clenched.
I pulled on a pair of jeans and a clean t-shirt, my body aching, the bullet wound in my arm a dull, throbbing reminder of another lie I had told her. Then I escaped the room.
In the kitchen, I moved on autopilot. I found the coffee, filled the machine, and turned it on. The simple, domestic act felt alien. Dangerous. For a moment, I let myself imagine this was real. A real morning. A real life.
It was the most beautiful, poisonous thought I'd ever had.
"Good morning."
Her voice was a soft, sleepy whisper from the doorway. My heart stopped. I turned around.
She was standing there, wearing my ripped, button-down shirt from the night before. The black fabric hung off one shoulder, ending high on her thighs, showing off the entire length of her long, perfect legs. Her hair was a mess, her lips were still slightly swollen from my kisses.
She was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. And she was my target.
She gave me a small, shy smile. "Is that coffee?"
I couldn't speak. I just nodded, pouring a black stream of it into a mug and holding it out to her.
She walked towards me, taking the mug. Her fingers brushed against mine. The contact was a jolt of electricity, softer than last night, more familiar. More dangerous.
She was about to say something, the smile still playing on her lips, when a sharp, digital sound cut through the silence.
Beep. Beep.
It wasn't her phone. It was mine. The satellite phone. My leash.
The beautiful lie shattered. The peace evaporated.
I turned and grabbed the phone from the counter. On the screen, a single message from an encrypted number. From Marcos.
"What is it?" Izzy asked. I could hear the sudden concern in her voice.
I didn't answer. The man who had made her coffee was gone. The soldier was back, my body going rigid, my jaw tightening into a familiar knot.
I just stared at her, my eyes cold and distant. I could feel the wall slamming back into place between us, brick by brutal brick.
She saw it too. Her smile faded, her eyes filling with confusion and a flicker of hurt.
She couldn't see the words glowing on the screen in my hand, but I could. They burned into my brain.
"No more excuses. Progress report. NOW."