Page 185 of The ARC Unit: Breach

The cream Paris invitation was still lying beside Raven’s keyboard, absurdly clean against the rest of the evidence. Keller had been dead for only a few hours. My hair still smelled faintly of warehouse dust and helicopter fuel, and the black cargo pants I had worn into Offenburg were streaked at one knee where I had gone down beside him on the concrete. My field jacket had been dumped over the back of a chair. Under it, I still wore the fitted charcoal long sleeve shirt I had put on that morning, damp between my shoulder blades from the hours in gear, with black combat boots that suddenly felt twice as heavy as they had on the drive home.

I looked toward the stairs and followed.

The office door was open when I reached it, and for the first time, I got a proper look inside. The room was compact, with a heavy desk facing the narrow window, one large chair behind it, a cabinet against the wall, and neatly stacked files taking up most of the remaining surface space. Nothing about it looked decorative or comfortable.

It looked exactly like Wolf.

He stood behind the desk with his back to me, stripping the remaining gear from his plate carrier before hanging it over the chair.

He still wore the long-sleeve black field shirt beneath it, black cargo pants, boots and the belt that had stayed on him since before we entered Offenburg. His tactical mask covered his entire head except for the narrow opening around his eyes.

Nothing human enough showed to soften what was waiting in his stare when he finally turned.

“Close the door.”

I did.

“Lock it.”

My hand stayed on the knob for a second.

“Why?”

“Because I said so.”

There was no room in his voice for the version of me that usually turned his instructions into debates. I twisted the lock and heard the latch settle.

“Come here.”

I crossed part of the room and stopped a few feet from the desk. His eyes dropped to the floor between us, then returned to mine.

“Did I tell you to stop there?”

I frowned, genuinely confused.

“I am here.”

“No. You’re standing where you decided was close enough because apparently you still haven’t learned the difference between an order and a fucking suggestion. Come here.”

The last two words were louder than the rest. I walked the remaining distance.

He did not move out of my way. By the time I stopped, there was barely enough space between us for me to fold my arms, which I did do, mostly because I knew he would hate it.

His eyes went straight to them.

“Uncross your arms.”

“Seriously?”

“Do I look like I’m fucking joking?”

I held the position another second out of spite.

Wolf leaned forward.

“Uncross them,” he repeated slowly.

I let my arms fall and the obedience annoyed me immediately. It also sent a sharp, unwelcome awareness through the center of my body that had nothing to do with the argument I had been preparing all the way upstairs.