"We split into two teams!"
Quinton issued the tactical order coldly, his sole objective being the extraction of Claire.
There was already a helicopter idling on the helipad. To draw the SSD's fire, someone had to board that chopper and lead them away.
Meanwhile, the remaining operatives would force a breach through the blockade, escorting the asset out through a secondary route!
"We need someone to act as a primary decoy. Ideally, someone whose face was compromised at the university."
Tycho and Felicity were the only logical choices.
Quinton's face was entirely clean, so he intended to personally escort Claire out through the shadows.
"Send Tycho. He's a better fighter than me."
Felicity spoke up immediately.
She had absolutely no intention of volunteering. Decoys meant to draw this level of heat usually ended up as red mist.
Felicity was impulsive, but she didn't want to die.
Tycho glared at her. "No one is more suited for this than you. You're the one who caused this catastrophic mess to begin with!"
If they had a solid chance of survival, Tycho wouldn't have bothered arguing with her.
But he refused to die today.
If he died, his sister died!
Quinton could clearly see that neither of them wanted the job.
But they no longer had a choice!
"Both of you. Felicity, you will disguise yourself as the target. Tycho, you will escort her and draw their fire."
The order felt like a death sentence to both of them.
But in the Syndicate, orders were absolute.
Tycho's expression turned grim. "If I don't make it back from this..."
Quinton's eyes flashed. "The Syndicate will ensure your sister is taken care of."
Quinton knew Tycho's absolute obedience stemmed entirely from his sister's condition.
He offered the guarantee to stop Tycho from hesitating.
Tycho, however, didn't trust the Syndicate for a second.
The idea that the Syndicate would actually pay for his sister's care out of the goodness of their hearts was laughable.
The most likely scenario was that the moment he died, his sister would be quietly liquidated.
Why would the Syndicate spend millions keeping a useless asset alive?
"I don't trust the Syndicate, but I trust you."
"If I die, whatever money I have left goes to my sister. Make sure she gets it, and make sure her treatments don't stop."
Quinton genuinely wanted to ask: *Are you sure your sister would even want to live if she's left completely alone in the world?*
Right on cue, Tycho continued, "If
she chooses not to go on, that's fine too. But I need you to do me one last favor If that happens, whatever money is left is yours
Quinton glanced at him. "You don't exactly have a fortune saved up, do you?"
Tycho choked on his words. It was true; his bank accounts were nearly empty.
His sister's medication was astronomically expensive.
Even with Tycho taking high-risk contracts back-to-back, he was barely breaking
even.
"I'm sorry, I..." Tycho realized he had absolutely no leverage to force Quinton to agree to this.
"But if it's your dying wish, I'll do it."
"I want you to bring my sister's ashes back to Solenia to be buried," Tycho rushed to
finish, terrified Quinton would change his mind.
Quinton hadn't expected that
specific request. But thinking it over,
it made sense. Tycho was born in Solenta, wanting his sister to rest in their homeland rather than rotting in a foreign country was a deeply ingrained cultural instinct.
The Solenian desire to return to one's roots in death was absolute.
Even though Tycho had been raised as a weapon in Sundara, his soul still belonged to Solenia.
Quinton himself was half-Solenian, though he remained entirely indifferent to his heritage.
He didn't hate Solenia, necessarily. He just did whatever the mission dictated.
The mission commanded his actions, regardless of borders.
"I promise," Quinton agreed effortlessly.
Standing nearby, trapped into a suicide mission, Felicity scoffed bitterly "You agreed awfully fast. making out of this alive?"
Who says any of us are net