“No, it isn’t,” she said sharply. “Goddamn it, listen to me. Was it Top’s and Bunny’s fault when Kuga took over their minds with the God Machine and made them kill those people that time? Were they monsters?”

“No, but—”

“So, how is this your fault?”

I tried to explain. This was a conversation I’d rehearsed a thousand times in my head. But everything that came out of my mouth was either an apology, an explanation for things she already understood, or lines cribbed from old books and movies. I felt like a bad actor reading scripts written for someone else who actually had talent. It was that level of depression where I felt like I was a minor and rather disappointing supporting character in someone else’s story.

And with all that, Junie was there with me. For me.

In me.

I know that some of my colleagues in covert ops don’t understand the connection I have with Junie. Hell, even Top and Bunny were rooting for me to make it work with Violin because she was a fellow soldier and that was a certain kind of family. Junie was an outsider. She walked a peacefuller path and, in her way with FreeTech and her own ideals, likely did more measurable good than a barbarian like me ever could.

But that’s the nature of love, isn’t it? You don’t have to be cut from the same, or even similar, cloth. You don’t need to compare scars won in combat to share commonality of essential truths.

Junie had her own scars, and yes, some of them had come through violence. Directly or indirectly, some had been cut into her skin and her soul by Nicodemus and Kuga and Rafael Santoro. It’s sometimes too easy for a soldier to forget that civilians are fighting the war in their own way. It’s easy for a trained fighter to perceive and respect the natural courage of those not in uniform.

Top was the first to understand this. Then Bunny. I suspect Church knew all along, and that’s probably why he called her to share the truth. He knew what I doubted—that Junie was stronger than I am in some key ways.

The miles whipped by and the tires hummed on the road, and my woman—my dearest friend—did what I could not do and which none of my armed and battle-hardened soldier brothers could do. She brought me home.

CHAPTER 158

THE PAVILION

BLUE DIAMOND ELITE TRAINING CENTER

STEVENS COUNTY, WASHINGTON

Top tapped his coms unit and spoke to Havoc Team.

“You all heard?”

“Hooah,” they said.

“We can’t let these sons of whores leave,” he said.

“Hooah.” This time, there was a growl in it.

“Then here’s what I want each of you to do.” And he told them.

“Dinosaur balls!” gasped Andrea.

“Yes,” said Belle, her voice low and without a shred of mercy.