19 - Talia Drake

19 - Talia Drake

Thompson wasn’t sure what he was expecting when he stepped into the office, but it wasn’t this.

The name Talia Drake was stamped across the framed degrees, the plaques, the neat arrangement of bookshelves. It was everywhere, confirming what he already knew. Yet it still didn’t seem real.

His fingers curled into a fist against his knee as he sat in the chair, unmoving. He should’ve walked out the second he saw that name. Maybe he still should.

Instead, he pulled out his phone. His thumb hovered over Jerome’s contact.

Maybe he could still cancel. Maybe—

The door swung open.

“I could’ve sworn I had it here,” she murmured, stepping in.

She was rifling through her bag, eyes down, brow furrowed in concentration.

Thompson went rigid.

Her hair was different—tied back in a neat bun instead of the loose waves he was used to seeing at Grounded. Her outfit was professional, sharp, not the comfortable sweaters and jeans she usually wore. The aura around her felt more put-together, more… distant.

Yet it was still her.

Lena.

Or—Talia.

His chest felt too tight. He could only sit there, frozen, waiting.

She still hadn’t looked up. She pulled out her wallet, flipped through it, shook her head. “I must’ve left it in the car,” she mumbled, still distracted.

Then, finally, she glanced up.

Their eyes met.

She stopped breathing.

And so did he.

For a long, thick second, neither of them moved.

Then she whispered, “You’re my four o’clock?”

Thompson’s jaw tensed. He forced himself to breathe. “You’re Talia Drake?”

The air in the room shifted.

Her lips parted slightly, but no words came out at first. Then she exhaled, setting her bag down.

“Thompson, I—”

“How long?” His voice was flat, controlled, but there was something sharp underneath.

"Tom—"

“All those times at Grounded. Every conversation we had. Were you lying?”

"Tom!"

Thompson finally looked straight at her, his voice low and pristine. "Well, were you?"

Her face tightened, but she didn’t look away. “No.”

He let that sit for a second.

“Then what was it?”

She pressed her lips together, thinking. “I just… I wasn’t sure if I wanted to tell you my name right away.”

His fingers flexed against his knee. That was it?

“You could’ve just told me,” he said, voice quieter now.

“I know.”

The weight in her voice made it clear she meant it.

Silence stretched between them, heavy and charged.

Then, finally, she inhaled deeply, pushing some of her hair back.

She gestured to the chair across from her desk. “Sit.”

He hesitated before lowering himself into it, still watching her.

She sat across from him, the distance between them feeling strangely vast.

Her eyes flickered over his face, assessing.

Then she leaned forward slightly, folding her hands together. “Remember when I said you had a lot on your shoulders?”

Thompson didn’t answer, but something in his jaw shifted.

She met his gaze steadily. “So… what’s on your mind, General Holbrook?"



The bitter cold struck them the second they stepped out of the airport. Aaron pulled his coat tighter around himself, muttering something under his breath about hating winter. Shane, on the other hand, just took a deep breath, as if relishing the freezing air.

The drive to the motel was quiet, the road stretching endlessly beneath the cover of snow. By the time they arrived, night had settled in, the parking lot nearly empty aside from a few scattered cars dusted in frost.

Inside, the motel lobby was warm but had a distinct worn-down feel. The faint scent of old coffee lingered in the air, mixing with the warmth of the heater that struggled against the bitter cold outside.

Thompson stepped forward, shrugging off the frost clinging to his jacket as he placed his gloved hands on the desk. The receptionist, a tired-looking woman in her fifties, peered up at him over the rim of her glasses.

“Reservation for Holbrook,” he said.

She typed into the computer, the old keyboard clacking loudly in the silence. After a moment, she nodded and reached for a small stack of keycards, sliding them across the counter.

“Three rooms, all set,” she said.

For a second, no one reacted.

Then Hera blinked. “Three?”

Thompson frowned and picked up the keycards, flipping through them like they’d magically multiply. They didn’t. There were only three.

Aaron, who had been rubbing his hands together for warmth, stopped mid-motion. “Wait, that’s—” He did a quick count in his head before finishing, “—one short.”

Shane snatched one of the keycards, inspecting it like that would somehow solve the issue. “Jacob booked four.”

The receptionist just stared at them, unimpressed. “Reservation says three.”

Hera exhaled, rubbing her temple. “You have got to be kidding me.”

Thompson was already pulling out his phone, scrolling through his contacts before hitting Jacob’s number. The line rang twice before their contact picked up.

“You land okay?” Jacob’s voice came through the speaker, slightly distorted.

“We landed fine,” Thompson said, “but there’s a problem with the rooms. We were supposed to have four. They only have three reserved for us.”

A pause. Then a muttered curse.

“That idiot—I swear, I’m firing him first thing tomorrow.”

“Your assistant?”

“Yeah. He must’ve made a mistake with the booking.”

Hera turned back to the receptionist. “Can we just get another room?”

The woman barely glanced up from her screen. “No can do. We’re at full capacity for the night.”

Thompson’s jaw tightened. “And the nearest place?”

She blew out a breath, clearly not eager to deal with them. “An hour’s drive. Probably also full, considering the season.”

Jacob sighed through the phone. “Look, it’s just one night. You guys can figure something out, and I’ll make sure it’s fixed by morning.”

Thompson rubbed a hand down his face as the call ended.

Aaron was the first to break the silence. He folded his arms and looked between them. “So… who’s bunking together?”

Hera, already shivering, tucked her hands deeper into her coat. “I’m not sharing with any of you.”

Thompson tossed her a dry look. “Not an option.”

“Well, neither is me dealing with any of you snoring,” she shot back, heading toward her assigned room with zero interest in arguing.

Aaron frowned as he examined the remaining keycards. “So that leaves…”

Shane, without hesitation, snatched one from his grip. “Looks like we’re stuck together, buddy.”

Aaron groaned. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

Thompson didn’t wait to hear more of their bickering. He headed toward his own room, already reaching for his keycard. “Figure it out.”

Aaron gave Shane a long look, considering his options. It was either this or arguing with the front desk again—neither of which sounded appealing.

“Fine,” he muttered, trudging after Shane toward their room.