Briefing
The mission came down through Diane Beckman with the faintest edge of amusement in her voice.
"Bartowski, you'll be embedded with the C.A.T. Squad on this operation."
I nearly choked on my coffee.
"The… what squad?"
Beside her, John Casey didn't even look up.
"Clandestine Assault Tactics," he said. "All-female unit. Highly effective."
A beat.
"Highly opinionated."
I muttered under my breath, "Sounds like a cheerleading squad with guns."
Casey's mouth twitched.
"You'll find out."
Paris — Two Nights Later
The safehouse door opened—
and the room shifted.
The C.A.T. Squad didn't enter quietly.
They arrived.
Sarah Walker first.
Calm.
Measured.
Every movement precise.
Her eyes landed on me—
and stayed there a second longer than necessary.
Not surprised.
Not impressed.
Evaluating.
Still deciding what I was now.
Behind her—
Carina Miller.
Confidence dialed all the way up.
Red hair, sharper smile.
Danger wrapped in charm.
"Well, well," she said, circling just slightly. "If it isn't the man who thinks he's smarter than me."
I held her gaze.
Didn't blink.
"Good to see you too, Carina."
Her smirk widened.
"This time," she said softly, "you're not slipping away so easily."
Zondra Rizzo didn't bother with charm.
One look.
Assessment complete.
Verdict pending.
Amy gave a quick smile—
but her eyes?
Same as the rest.
Sharp.
Lethal.
Together—
they weren't a team.
They were a system.
Mission
Sarah stepped forward, cutting through everything.
"Arms dealer. 8th arrondissement. Private auction."
Clean.
Direct.
"Stolen NATO tech. We intercept, secure intel, shut it down."
Casey grunted from the wall.
"Try not to get him killed."
I adjusted my cuff slightly.
"I'll manage."
Carina's laugh was low.
"Oh, I remember you managing."
The Mansion
Gold.
Glass.
Money.
Everything about the place screamed untouchable.
Guests drifted through like they owned the world.
Security made sure they didn't forget they didn't.
The Squad split instantly.
No hesitation.
No discussion.
Sarah—perimeter.
Zondra—entry points.
Amy—systems.
Carina—
center stage.
She didn't blend.
She redirected attention.
And when she passed me—
close—
too close—
her voice brushed my ear.
"Keep up, Carmichael."
Intersect
Flash.
The building unfolded in my head.
Blueprints.
Guard rotations.
Blind spots.
Weapons storage.
East wing.
Two levels down.
Auction floor.
Already solved.
Movement
"East wing basement," I said quietly. "Heavy security, but there's a path."
A beat.
Sarah's voice came back.
"Lead."
Not trust.
Not yet.
But not doubt either.
We moved.
Together.
Not following—
flowing.
Carina pulled attention.
Zondra cleared access.
Amy erased us from cameras.
Sarah covered angles before they existed.
And me?
I connected it all.
Auction Floor
Weapons under glass.
Clean.
Organized.
Deadly.
The dealer raised his glass.
"Ladies and gentlemen—"
"Cut the lights," I said.
Execution
Darkness.
One second.
Two.
Lights snapped back—
and it was over.
Zondra—two guards down.
Sarah—weapon drawn, dealer controlled.
Amy—data drive secured.
Carina—
leaning casually against a weapons case like she'd been there all night.
After
She looked at me.
Smirk sharp.
"Well," she said, "our little nerd-turned-spy isn't useless after all."
I adjusted my cuffs.
Calm.
"Careful. You're starting to sound impressed."
Zondra shot me a look.
Sarah didn't—
but I caught it.
That almost-smile she didn't let happen.
Carina?
Didn't hide hers.
Exit
We were gone before the sirens fully hit.
Clean.
Efficient.
Invisible.
The dealer?
Already flagged.
Interpol would handle the rest.
Safehouse
Debrief was quick.
Professional.
Minimal words.
Maximum results.
The Squad didn't celebrate.
They reset.
Sarah
She stayed a second longer.
Watching me.
Quiet.
"You're different," she said finally.
Not a question.
I met her gaze.
"People change."
A beat.
Her eyes narrowed slightly.
"Not like this."
She turned before I could answer.
But the thought stayed there.
Unfinished.
Carina
She lingered last.
Of course she did.
No performance now.
No audience.
Just—
her.
"You're dangerous now," she said quietly.
Not teasing.
Not entirely.
I didn't deny it.
She stepped closer.
Just enough.
"I like that," she added.
Then—
gone.
Final Thought
The room emptied.
Silence settled.
And I stood there—
in the middle of it.
Different teams.
Different styles.
Same result.
But this time—
it wasn't just about the mission.
It was about what they saw.
And what they didn't.
Because for the first time—
they weren't looking at Chuck Bartowski.
They were looking at something else.
And they didn't know yet—
whether that was a good thing.