Scorched Earth

Jax watched her walk.

He had seen Lena walk away from exploding buildings. He had seen her walk away from crash sites. But this was the first time he realized that if she walked out that door, she wasn't coming back for extraction.

The adrenaline that usually fueled him turned into cold dread.

"Lena, stop!"

She didn't stop. Her hand hit the doorknob.

Jax did the only thing he could think of. The only thing that couldn't be misinterpreted.

He reached up and ripped the earpiece out of his ear. He threw it on the floor and stomped on it. *Crunch.*

Then he grabbed the radio clipped to his shoulder. He keyed the mic, broadcasting on the open encrypted channel used by every mercenary handler in Europe.

"This is Ghost-One," Jax shouted into the radio. "To Control. To Viper. To anyone listening."

Lena paused. She didn't turn around, but her hand froze on the knob.

"I am burning the bridge," Jax declared, his voice echoing in the small kitchen. "My current location is Sector 4, Berlin. The bakery on Kleist Street. I am formally resigning. Effective immediately."

Static crackled from the radio. A furious voice shouted back. *"Ghost? What are you doing? You have an active contract! If you abandon the post, we will mark you as AWOL. We will send a clean-up crew."*

"Send them," Jax said, his eyes fixed on Lena’s back. "Send everyone. I’m not moving."

He unclipped the radio and threw it into the industrial sink. It clattered against the metal, drowned out by the hiss of the tap.

Lena turned around slowly. Her eyes were wide.

"You idiot," she whispered. "You just doxxed us. To Viper."

"I know," Jax said. He was breathing hard, stripped of his safety net. "Now I can't leave. Even if I wanted to. Which I don't."

He started unclipping his gear.

The tactical vest hit the floor with a heavy thud. The belt followed. The thigh holster.

Finally, he pulled out his sidearm. A custom Sig Sauer. His baby. The gun he slept with.

He ejected the magazine. He racked the slide to clear the chamber. The bullet pinged onto the tile floor.

He walked over to Lena, holding the gun by the barrel, handle out. The universal sign of surrender.

"I forgot the date," Jax said, his voice raw. "I am a moron. I am an adrenaline junkie who got distracted by shiny objects. But I didn't forget the pact."

He pushed the gun toward her.

"I don't want the diamonds, Lena. I don't want the missions. I want the bagels. And I want the sniper who throws them at me."

Lena looked at the gun. Then she looked at his face. The charm was gone. The arrogance was gone. He looked terrified. He looked like a man who had just jumped out of a plane without a chute, hoping she would catch him.

"Viper is going to be really mad," Lena said softly.

"Let them come," Jax shrugged. "We have the high ground. And we have stale bread."

A small, reluctant smile tugged at the corner of Lena’s mouth.

"You compromised our position for a grand gesture?"

"Did it work?" Jax asked, holding his breath.

Lena sighed. She dropped the duffel bag.

She reached out and took the gun from his hand. She walked over to the flour bin and buried it deep inside, hiding it next to the sugar.

"You're on probation," she said.

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