erns these assignments, described him as a 'high-value target with self-destructive tendencies.'

s, I thought I

aotic mess of bad deals, family trauma, and a looming addiction. I was the steady hand on h

flames. My arm was broken, but he was safe. That night, clinging to me in the sterile hospita

ces, his social life, his fragile emotional state. I built a fortres

vy of our friends. The troubled man was gone, replaced by a con

hnson never truly wanted to master. The sta

her began to feel heavy, filled

of our silent dinners

tle too quiet now

commenting on the weather. But his eyes held a flicker of someth

d covering mine. "I don't mean that

deep, aching sourness spread through my chest, a feeling I

ly. "I'm a little tired. I

ther word, leaving him sitting in the perfectly

overing the single, silent tear that escaped and traced a path down m