Harbinger managed to crack a smile. The silver-haired father of two boys, Henry and Miles, had more on his mind. He was the only one of us with children—the only one of us who wanted that burden. We saw what Harbinger went through to be there for his sons, both to keep in contact with home, and to survive the night in the perilous situations we were sent into so he didn’t scar them for life.

“John Harbinger,” Bianca said, handing him the tan package. “Welcome to the Cheyenne Mountain Complex.

“What’s this?” he asked. He peeked inside, and I smiled. Harbinger wasn’t the kind to dump his things on the table. That was why he was Trex’s second in command.

“Some necessary items. I’ll explain when Kitsch arrives. I trust you’re settling in? The kids are attending school today?” Bianca asked.

Harbinger nodded. “It’s a good school. Their first day was yesterday. They both brought home a friend and played the Xbox until dinnertime. It’s … it’s really good actually, thank you.” The crooked expression on Harbinger’s face was meant to be a smile, but he spent his energy to be normal for his family. He’d seen too much to interact with others as if he hadn’t danced with the Devil to get out of Hell. I shook his hand, knowing even a half-hug could ruin the rest of his day.

“Trex said Caroline has been so happy,” I said.

“She has. We’ve been dreaming about an opportunity like this for a while.”

“By opportunity you mean walking halls for a living?” Bianca asked.

Sloan held his gun to his chest. “As long as we get to hold one of these and be home by dinner, I’d say that’s a pretty good gig.”

Bianca offered a soft smile. “I know the general will be extremely pleased to hear it.”

The door slowly opened, and for the first time Bianca shifted, seeming uncomfortable. Kitsch closed the door behind him, taking off his hat.

“Kitsch,” I said, walking over to him. “So good to see you.” I wrapped my arms around his neck and gave him a full squeeze, and he returned the gesture, then we quickly resumed a professional stance.

Bianca touched her ear then handed Kitsch his envelope. “Good morning. Welcome to the Complex. If you’ll excuse me, I’m expected at the gate.”

“Where’s Trex?” Kitsch asked. He was the stoutest and the shortest of us. Trex’s bulldog in the group, Kitsch barked orders and made sure we stayed in line.

I shrugged. “He’s either late or they asked him to report later than us.”

“The latter,” Harbinger and Kitsch said in unison.

“You were here first?” Kitsch asked, his eyes meeting mine. They were still the same, the kind but tired eyes of the friend I remembered. It was strange to think he was so lost.