Page 189 of Damián

“Anything else we need to know?” Logan asks while passing everyone their comms, and—is that a revolver that shoots grenades and a machete holstered on his back?

Where the hell do they find these things?

“Yes. The perimeter has a layered thermal matrix,” I explain, staring in shock at the insane types of weapons these men have access to. “If the feed isn’t looped at exactly twenty-second intervals, the auxiliary sensors will trip. Rafael changed the master codes six hours ago, but since he is an idiot, he left the backup routing nodes untouched.”

“Got it,” Alexios responds, his eyes darting between three different monitors. “I’m bypassing the main gate and injecting a diagnostic worm into their local grid. It will blind their security cameras for exactly eleven minutes when we get there.”

Knox walks in carrying a box of ammunition and drops it onto one of the empty tables. “That’s more than enough time to cause some serious damage.”

“I still think you should wait for the cops, or SWAT, or whoever else can join,” I tell Damián, hoping he can’t see how badly my hands are shaking.

“We can’t wait, Ollie,” Leif says, adjusting the straps on his Kevlar vest. “We’ve already informed as many agencies as we could, but unfortunately, they’re tied up in too much bureaucracy.”

“So they won’t go after someone as dangerous as Rafael until some higher-up gives them the green light?” I ask.

They all nod in unison.

“That’s so freaking stupid.”

“Why do you think we have so much work, mini boss?” Björn slams a fully loaded magazine into his rifle with a grin.

“Because you don’t need a green light?” I guess.

“Yes! Because we are so fucking awesome, we don’t need a green light.”

“We work under assignments,” Law corrects Björn, while adjusting the optics on his sniper rifle. “How we achieve them, where and when, that’s entirely within our judgment.”

Nice, that’s a cool way to work.

But if I am being truthful with myself, I’m still not okay with them going without any backup. Yeah, they are incredible, but they are also only eight.

Even if they have bazookas and a grenade revolver-thingy, they are still eight against dozens.

Damián slides his rifle onto its sling, stands behind my chair, and leans in close. He places a hand on the desk, crowding into my space.

“Ollie,” Damián whispers, kissing my shoulder. “How are you doing with Elijah’s death?”

And it’s not like I want to be petty, but I refuse to look at him.

I can’t.

Instead, I keep my eyes glued to the security blueprint on the screen and shrug. “I’m fine, Damián. We need to focus on this layout.”

“Ollie,” he repeats, firmer this time. His hand moves to grip my chin, forcing me to look up. “Look at me, mi cielo… It is okay if you feel bad. It’s okay to grieve.”

“He was a monster.”

“Yeah, he was a monster.” His thumb brushes gently against my jawline. “But he was also your father.”

The truth of it stings way harder than I ever thought it would. But I don’t have time to process it right now.

“Thanks for checking on me,” I say, pulling away from his touch as I stand up. I walk toward the weapons bag behind us and grab a 9mm pistol. “And I promise I’ll psychoanalyze my feelings once Rafael is locked up, but for now, I just need to focus.”

“No. Put it back,” Damián says.

I pause, my fingers tightening around the grip. “What? Why?”

“You’re not coming.”