The sharp staccato of Patrick’s footfalls grated on Adam’s nerves as they walked toward the infirmary. “Mr. Alexander is here.”

“Good. Any injuries?”

“Minor.”

Even better, Adam thought, and instead of listening to the litany of Zach’s ailments, Adam studied Rachel in his arms. Her breathing seemed steady and she was making soft whimpering noises as the sedative wore off.

Adam’s focus snapped to Patrick when the man darted ahead of him and opened the infirmary door. Adam nodded his thanks as he passed, earning himself a small differential bow from the home office associate. Adam tried not to roll his eyes. He did his work like all the rest of the Order’s employees and he didn’t think he deserved preferential treatment.

“If you need anything else, sir, let me know.”

“Thank you, Patrick. That will be all.”

Focusing on the medical room, Adam spied an empty cot and strode toward it, nodding to Zach and then the doctor as he passed them. After settling Rachel on its surface, he waved the doctor over. As she approached, he stared at her while trying to recall her name.

Ah, yes. He remembered her, now. Dr. Renee Wilson. She had a peripheral involvement in his rehabilitation after his shoot-out in London. “Doctor,” he greeted before leaving her with Rachel and joining Zach at his examination table. As he drew near, he noted the scratches, the blood on Zach’s clothes which couldn’t have come from his own wounds, and the visible swelling already threatened to shut his right eye. In a few hours, Zach would have an impressive shiner. All of it was indicative of a serious fight.

“Is she... is she hurt?”

Adam shook his head. “Sedated.”

“Her vitals are stable,” Dr. Wilson said, interrupting them before Adam could inquire about Zach’s health. “You have been using the usual?”

“Yes. Order-issued.”

“Good. She should wake up soon.” The doctor lifted her gaze to his. Standing, she came over and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t go anywhere. I’ll need to clean that,” she added, pointing to the blood stain on his sweatshirt from where the bullet had grazed his side.

Adam brushed her off with an “I’m fine.” He could clean his own wound later. Hell, it was barely a scratch; didn’t even hurt anymore.

While the doctor worked on Zach, Adam tried to gauge his trainee’s mental state. Zach stared back at him, his eyes haunted. Adam recognized that look; he’d seen it often enough on others. He didn’t think he had ever sported it himself, though. Even as a teenager, he couldn’t remember ever being fazed by the death of an enemy. At least, not the way most people seemed to be affected.

As a Hashashin, trained since childhood, he had quickly learned that hesitation—no matter the source—could mean death, especially while on assignment. The constant drills and training had removed almost all emotion at the idea of ending an enemy’s life. The Order stressed that “everyone’s life was precious” but some had to die for the greater good and he lived by that philosophy.

“You did well,” Adam stated baldly. “You walked away while your enemy did not.”

After a long silence, Zach finally whispered, “I didn’t intend to kill him. I aimed for his leg, but he moved at the last moment and—”

Adam interrupted Zach before he could continue. “What have I told you? Disabling your enemy isn’t enough. They will show you no mercy, and hesitation will get you killed.” Zach looked away, and Adam sighed.

He should probably be finding something a bit more comforting to say right about now, but it wouldn’t help Zach get over his ordeal. Thankfully, he’d been brought on because of his skill at assimilating new languages and memorizing history. It was a skill the Order didn’t see often, and it meant the Order was willing to invest considerable manpower to keep the asset healthy and out of harm’s way. It was one of the reasons why he was in St. Louis with Zach, after all, and not in Istanbul with any other recuperating Hashashin.

“Why did you bring her here?” Zach inquired. “She’s a civilian. She shouldn’t be here.”

Adam sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “She was with me in the studio when the Org’s men attacked. She saw... everything.” Zach’s eyes grew huge and Adam shrugged. They both knew the rules.

“What will happen to her?”

“I don’t know,” Adam replied unhappily. “Darius will be the one to decide.” He didn’t think Rachel would like her choices. Once again, he berated himself about not leaving her alone. If he had, she’d be safe and not about to become enmeshed in his world. Zach nodded once, but thankfully, kept his mouth shut and didn’t offer any snide comments about Adam’s latest mistake.

Dr. Wilson finished her medical ministrations to Zach and turned her focus to Adam. “Your turn now, Mr. Black. Hop on the examination table and let me look at your side. You can continue your discussion while I’m working.”

Adam scowled at her. “I told you it was fine.”

She pointed to a second examination table. “Now, Mr. Black.”

Adam grumbled but complied.

As he sat down, he took off his hoodie and folded it. “Your t-shirt also, Mr. Black. Then, please lie down on your side and lift your arm,” she said, stopping in front of him.

Silently, Adam pulled his shirt off and folded it as well before setting it down beside him on the table. He surveyed the damage. The bullet had barely bitten into the fleshy part of his left side, leaving a graze across the skin. “So, doctor, will I need stitches?” he joked, wagging his eyebrows.

“Lie down,” she repeated. After a cursory glance, she confirmed, “No. It won’t need stitches.” She resumed treating his wound in quick and efficient steps. It was one of the reasons Adam respected her. Her economical approach was refreshing. Not to mention her clear lack of hero worship. “You need to be more careful,” she admonished as she finished placing a bandage over the injury. She pat Adam on the shoulder before walking away with the bloody gauze in her hands.

“Adam?” Zach said after a while. “Does... does it ever get any easier?”

For a moment, Adam thought about lying, but in the end, it was the same as trying to sugarcoat the situation: it wouldn’t help.

“I don’t know, Zach. I never had to think about it before.” He shook his head and tried to soften his voice as he continued, “Life is precious, and the taking of it is a serious matter, but it is also something I have been coached to do for most of my life. Being Hashashin... it’s in my blood. Has been for generations. I simply have never known anything else.” He sighed. “Frankly, I don’t know if it ever gets easier. I don’t remember a time when it has ever been hard. An enemy is an enemy. And enemies are to be removed.”

Zach laughed humorlessly. “When I first met you, I thought it was so cool that you went on all those missions to kill the bad guys and that you were this badass assassin. But now... Now I think I might not be made for this.”

“You were not recruited to follow me. Your job is language and history. Just because you have the courage and strength to defend your own life doesn’t mean you should feel guilty about it. They are the ones who attacked you first; they are not innocent. We’re at war, Zach, a shadow war, but still a war.”

Zach looked down and nodded. Hopefully, what Adam had told him would sink in, but he was no psychologist.

As the conversation lapsed, Adam’s mind switched to processing variables and existing data points. Why hadn’t he been informed of the impending attack? And if the Order hadn’t foreseen it, how did the Org manage to pull something of this magnitude off without the Order learning of it? The Organization’s ridiculous idea of membership recruitment meant civilians of all walks—businessmen, politicians, military personnel, functionaries, or anyone else considered useful—were brought into their fold with barely a question asked. With that many loosely tied people, they always had information leaks. So, why didn’t the Order have advanced warning this time?

The infirmary door slammed open and the Stratigos for the Midwestern United States stalked through. Darius looked pissed. He looked more than pissed; he looked about ready to explode. He stopped and glanced around the room, searching for Adam. It was only by the grace of Adam’s many years in the field, facing enemies both big and small, that kept him from flinching when Darius’s attention locked in on him from across the room.

Dr. Wilson paused in reading the chart she’d been consulting to greet him, “Good evening, Mr. Darius.” After acknowledging his presence, she resumed her work in the ward as if Darius weren’t about to rip Adam a new one.

“Zachary, a room has been prepared for you. You should go rest now,” Darius ordered. “Please see Cynthia for an escort.”

“Y-yes, sir,” Zach squeaked as he stood. “Good luck, man,” he whispered to Adam as he passed, which earned him one of Darius’s deadly glares.

After Zach left, Darius turned that harsh expression to Adam. Adam didn’t need to hear his superior’s verbal storm. He’d already said everything to himself, but he refrained from sharing that tidbit with his mentor. Darius didn’t take smartass retorts well, especially not at a time like this.

“Put your shirt on, Black. Report to my office in two minutes. Do not. Be. Late.” Not waiting for an answer, Darius stalked out.

Adam sighed as he hopped down and walked over to Rachel’s bed. Glancing to make sure Dr. Wilson was on the other side of the room, he crouched and took her hand. “I’m sorry I brought you into this mess,” he whispered before kissing the back of her hand and placing it on her chest. One deep breath later, Adam stood and left the infirmary for Darius’ office.