Chapter 32

4 p.m.

It happens so fast, so suddenly, that Quinn doesn't even know what's happening when he's swept into a security briefing room. One second, Quinn is deep in conversation with Ari and Preston on the mechanics of targeting a senior Iranian official at the funeral of another recently eliminated Hezbollah leader. The next, he's inside a locked-down room, flanked by Saul and Dar, with a handful of Mossad agents he doesn't even recognize. Their eyes are all fixed on him.

There's no time for explanations. The air is thick, charged with urgency. He can hear the murmurs of a dozen voices talking to him, but none of it makes sense.

"Lily's gone," Saul says, his voice measured but hard, a stone sinking in Quinn's gut.

What?

It's almost like his brain refuses to process the words. He knows what Saul said, but it doesn't click. Lily's gone?

His pulse roars in his ears as the room starts to close in around him. There's a mix of disbelief and denial twisting his stomach. His thoughts shudder. This isn't happening. This isn't happening.

He tries to focus on the details. Saul's still talking, but his words are jumbled, broken up by the static of his racing mind.

"—slipped out of the hotel without clearance. The agent who went with her came back without the wine. There was apparently a mix-up at the market, something about the bottle being left behind. She must've gone to get it herself."

Quinn's heart hammers in his chest. She went out alone? He thought he had control over this. He'd told her not to leave the hotel. God, what have I done? He runs his hand through his hair, the muscles in his jaw tightening until it feels like they might snap.

He hears a blur of voices—Dar's gravelly, controlled tone, Saul's sharp words—but none of it matters. He doesn't care about the details. He doesn't care about anything except the fact that Lily, the woman he loves, is now gone.

His mind stumbles to a halt. She's gone?

"I'm going," Quinn says hoarsely. He doesn't even know what he means—just that he has to move, has to do something.

Saul's eyes flicker, his brow creased. "We're on it, Peter. We have every camera in the area, every car, every person. We'll find her."

Quinn doesn't hear him. His brain is fuzzy with rage and fear, his thoughts broken, as if his world is slowly dissolving into static. The thought of Lily, lost, all alone, or worse—he can't think of the worst… how did this happen?

He barely registers Dar speaking, his voice low but firm, cutting through the fog. "Peter."

Dar steps in front of him, blocking his path as Quinn moves toward the door. His hand is already on his gun, his fingers tightening around the handle of the holstered weapon like it's the only thing that makes sense.

"I'm going," Quinn repeats. It's a low, dangerous growl.

Dar's expression hardens, his eyes narrowing, voice almost too soft, like he's trying to talk a man off the ledge. "No. You're not." He moves in closer, but Quinn can't focus on him. He can't focus on anything but the fact that she's gone.

"Peter," Dar's voice is clipped now, sharp. "You can't run this. You're too emotionally involved. You need to let me handle this."

For a split second, Quinn is aware of how absurd that sounds. Of course, Dar will find her. Of course, he'll pull all the strings the CIA has to bring her back. But inside, something's breaking, unraveling at the edges. He feels like he's losing control, like he's losing her.

"Fuck you, Dar," Quinn spits.

Saul steps between them, a quiet gesture that seems to calm the storm—at least momentarily. "Peter," Saul says, keeping his voice steady. "We are going to find her. But you can't think clearly right now. You need to stay here, let us do our job." His hand rests gently on Quinn's shoulder, not firm, but steady. "We'll bring her back."

Quinn grits his teeth, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on him. He knows they're right. Dar's right. He can't focus on the investigation like this. But the thought of Lily, alone, out there, gone… it makes him feel like he might break.

Saul catches his gaze, and there's something in his eyes—something that speaks to Quinn on a deeper level. We will find her. But for Quinn, the next few hours will feel like an eternity.

Quinn's throat tightens. For a moment, he wants to fight it, to scream, but it's no use. He can't think straight. His mind is stuck on Lily. He'll never forgive himself for not keeping her safer. For not keeping her from this.

"Alright," Quinn says, the words feeling like lead in his mouth. He stares at the floor, not wanting to meet anyone's eyes. "I'll stay. Just… just find her." His voice is barely a whisper.

Saul doesn't move. He just nods once, firmly. "We'll find her. We will."

9 p.m.

The surveillance feed streams live across the conference room's wall, flickering in the dim light. Quinn paces in front of it, a cage with no exit, a lion circling its walls. His eyes dart from one camera feed to another—downtown Tel Aviv, the outskirts, the streets where Lily might be. Every so often, his gaze shifts back to the silent, empty space of the room, but it always returns to the screen, searching, searching.

His hands are shaking, the adrenaline still coursing through him, but there's something more. His body feels like a shell, and every moment stretches out like eternity.

He hasn't been able to stop moving since the news came in. The minutes, the hours—they blur together. He keeps running the same thoughts through his mind, trying to fill the silence with something—anything—but all he hears is the pulse of his own heart, pounding in his chest.

The door clicks open behind him, and a soft voice cuts through his isolation.

"Quinn."

Carrie's standing in the doorway, framed by the hallway light. Her eyes flick over him—his tense body, the flicker of pain that's unmistakable even from a distance. She steps inside slowly, as if afraid he might shatter if she moves too quickly.

He doesn't acknowledge her. Doesn't say anything.

Carrie steps closer. She's seen Quinn under pressure before, but never like this. Never like this.

The anger that once burned so brightly in him has faded, leaving a hollow exhaustion in its place. His eyes are red, his face drawn, like someone who hasn't slept in days. It's not just fatigue—Carrie knows him well enough by now to see the deeper weariness, the kind that comes from the kind of fear he's too proud to admit.

She remembers, years ago, when she was in a psych ward under court mandate, when Saul had left her there to languish after the Langley bombing—as part of a play for a senior Iranian intelligence officer. Quinn was the one who stood by her—made sure she wasn't alone, even when it looked like everyone else turned their backs. He never once wavered, even when she knew, deep down, that she didn't deserve him.

Carrie never expected him to show up for her. She didn't expect anyone to.

But he did. And now—now, she's here. For him.

She's not sure how to break the silence. She hesitates.

"Dar's on top of it. So is Ari. Saul's in the field, Max is working tech. Everyone, Quinn. And I'm here too," she says quietly, trying to sound steady, even though her own heart is beating just as fast as his. "We're not going to let anything happen to her."

Quinn doesn't look at her. His hands, rough and tired, run over his face, but the tears are there, just under the surface. He's trying to keep it together, trying to hold onto something—but he can't.

His elbows rest on the table, his forehead dropping to his hands. His breath comes in short bursts. The weight of it all is too much to bear. She doesn't press him to talk, doesn't try to fill the room with platitudes or assurances. She knows better than that. She knows he won't hear it if she tries to force the words.

So she just sits. She sits quietly beside him. And for once, she doesn't focus on the mission. Just him.

They sit like that for a long time. Time bends and warps—an hour, maybe two—but Quinn can't feel it. His mind is far away, and every muscle in his body feels like it's been pulled taut, waiting for something that might never come.

Carrie watches him. She remembers the times when they were in the thick of things, back in the days when she and Quinn were partners against the world. When she was the one walking the fine line between sanity and madness, and he was the one who always had her back. She'd never imagined him like this—not like this.

She wants to be strong for him, the way he'd been for her—but she knows now that this isn't something that can be fixed. Not in an hour. Not in a day. And especially not tonight.

After what feels like an eternity, Quinn finally shifts. He turns his head slowly, meeting her gaze.

"Are they going to find her?" he asks, voice rough, barely above a whisper.

"Yes," she says softly. She knows better than anyone that the only thing worse than the fear he's feeling right now is the idea of being left powerless to do anything about it. She doesn't have the words to fix this—no one does—but she stays. She's here.

"I'm not leaving," she says softly.

His eyes search hers. For a brief second, there's something fragile in him, something raw and unspoken.

Finally, he exhales slowly. "I know."

And with that, they sit together, in the quiet that somehow feels heavier than the chaos outside. Neither of them speaks again, but the unspoken promise is enough.

They'll wait. Together.

1 a.m.

The faint hum of the fluorescent lights overhead fills the silence, a constant reminder of how long the night has dragged on. Quinn sits slumped at the conference table, his eyes glazed from exhaustion and worry. His fingers trace the edge of the table in slow, deliberate motions, as if the action might ground him in the reality of what's happening. But nothing feels real anymore.

Carrie is still beside him, holding a cup of coffee that went cold an hour ago. He hasn't touched his. Nor the stale donuts she managed to snag from the kitchenette or the pretzels from the vending machine. He knows she's doing everything she can to keep him anchored, but right now, he doesn't feel anything but a raw ache that has nothing to do with logic or reason.

The door to the conference room opens with a soft creak, and Saul steps inside, his face drawn but with a hint of something like urgency. He glances at Carrie first, then looks at Quinn.

Quinn doesn't even look up at first. He just keeps running his fingers over the table, his knuckles white with tension. Then Saul speaks.

"We've got a lead," he says, his voice low and measured. "Mossad's surrounding a building. They think they've got her."

Quinn's head snaps up at the words, his heart leaping into his throat. For a moment, his mind races—he wants to grab his gear, run, be there on the ground—but then the inevitable question comes tumbling out of his mouth before he can stop it.

"Who's running the op?"

"Ari," Saul replies softly. "He insisted."

Quinn feels something like relief in his chest. Ari is relentless, pragmatic, and exacting. He doesn't care about the risks or the odds, just the objective. He's a force of nature. He will do whatever it takes to get her out of there unharmed. But still, this is Lily. And Quinn knows well enough how quickly things can go wrong.

Quinn wipes his face with the back of his hand, his mind clouded with the brutal edge of doubt. He swallows, his throat dry, and his voice is barely audible when he speaks.

"Can I watch?"

The question hangs in the air like a fragile thread.

Saul exhales through his nose. "I don't think that's a good idea, Quinn."

Quinn knows exactly why. If something goes wrong…. He'd have made the same fucking call. He clenches his jaw and looks away, feeling the sting of helplessness cut deeper. He doesn't argue. He can't. But that doesn't make it easier.

He mutters to no one in particular, his voice thick with frustration and self-loathing. "I'm totally fucking useless."

Saul's gaze lingers on him for a second longer than necessary. There's a look in his eyes—one that says more than words ever could. It's the kind of look that only someone who's been through everything with you can give, a silent acknowledgment that they understand the depth of what you're feeling, but they're not going to say it.

Saul doesn't say anything more. He turns to leave, but stops just before the door. He looks at Carrie, who meets his eyes with the same quiet understanding.

She knows this moment isn't just about Quinn's pain—it's about the risk that all of them are carrying with them, the weight of knowing that they can't always save the people they love. And right now, Quinn's love is a liability.

She waits until Saul steps out of the room, then turns to Quinn. Her voice is steady, but there's something in her eyes—a softness that wasn't there before.

"You're the best agent I've ever worked with," she says quietly. "And you're smart enough to know that your emotions right now can only make things worse … for Lily."

Quinn doesn't respond. He can't.

Carrie leans back in her chair, folding her arms across her chest as she watches him, her gaze unwavering.

"So let's sit tight a little while longer," she says. "Ari won't let you down. He'll get her back."

Quinn doesn't answer, but his shoulders seem to drop slightly, as if the smallest burden had been lifted. He nods once, not out of agreement, but because he can't deny the truth of her words.

And for a few minutes—maybe the first time in hours—he lets himself believe it. He lets himself breathe.

2:15 a.m.

The door to the conference room creaks open, and Quinn's head snaps up. The crackle of voices and static on Saul's phone cuts through the silence like a blade. His eyes flicker to Carrie, who's already standing, her posture tense, alert. They exchange a glance, both instinctively bracing themselves.

A voice pierces through, muffled but unmistakable—"Target secured. Target secured."

The words hang in the air for a heartbeat before Quinn can process them. He feels something inside him shift—a long, tight coil of tension unwinding with a snap. For a moment, it feels like he might break in half with the sudden rush of relief. Carrie's hands are at her sides, her lips pressing together, waiting for confirmation.

And then Dar steps into the room, his face still hardened by the stress of the last few hours, but his eyes are finally clear. A flicker of something like hope passes between him and Quinn, and it hits Quinn like a shot of adrenaline.

"She's safe," Dar says, his voice unexpectedly gentle. "She's okay. Ari's team got her out clean. We have her kidnappers in custody. They're with our Mossad friends. I'm sure they'll get a lovely reception."

Quinn's blood runs cold. What he wouldn't do for five minutes alone in that room. But he can't think about that now. Only Lily.

"Where is she?"

"They're taking her to the hospital now for a check-up. She'll be all right."

Quinn exhales, a sound of disbelief mixed with a quiet, shattered relief. His body suddenly feels too heavy, like the weight of the last few hours is catching up with him all at once.

Dar's words are still sinking in when Saul cuts in, his eyes sharp. "There's a car waiting to take you there, Quinn."

Before Saul even finishes speaking, Quinn is already moving—his feet pounding the floor in a rush, his mind on one thing and one thing only.

"Wait, I'm coming with you," Dar says, putting a hand on Quinn's shoulder.

Quinn doesn't even have the energy to argue. He barely looks at Dar as he shakes his head, voice thick, hoarse. "Fine," he mutters. His fingers grip the doorframe, knuckles white. "Let's go."

And then he's moving again—this time, toward Lily. Nothing else matters.

3:30 a.m.

The quiet hum of machines and the soft ticking of a clock in the corner are the only sounds in the sterile hospital room. Quinn's arms are tightly wrapped around Lily, his face pressed against her neck, her hair tangled beneath his cheek. His breath is uneven, shaky, and he's not even sure when the tears started—he just knows he can't stop them now.

Lily, her fingers gently stroking his back, keeps murmuring, "I'm okay, Quinn. I'm okay. I'm so sorry... I didn't mean for any of this to happen."

He pulls back just enough to look at her, his eyes red and swollen. She's shaken, but there's no sign of serious injury. They both know how much worse it could have been. He touches her cheek with trembling fingers, trying to steady himself.

"I just wanted tonight to be perfect," she whispers, voice cracking slightly. "I thought if I could do something normal... something like—" Her words fall away.

Quinn shakes his head, a bitter laugh escaping him. "Perfect? Lily, all I wanted was for you to be alive." He swallows hard, his voice still thick with emotion. "I thought I'd lost you. I was going to ask you to marry me... and then you—" His voice breaks, looking at her with desperate sincerity.

Lily stares at him, her breath catching in her chest. "You were going to ask me to marry you?" she repeats, her eyes wide, as if she can't quite comprehend it.

Quinn wipes his eyes, a shaky laugh bubbling up as he meets her gaze. "Yes," he says, his voice thick with emotion. He lets the word hang between them, the weight of it settling over both of them. He looks down at the floor for a moment, trying to compose himself. "I have the ring. I was going to do it tonight."

Lily's expression softens, but she tries to ease the tension, giving him a half-smile. "So, where is it, then? The ring?"

He wipes his nose, trying to regain some composure, his laugh still nervous. "I'm not going to propose to you in a hospital room, Lily. This... this is not exactly the setting I had in mind."

She raises an eyebrow, teasing. "Why not? Aren't you curious what I'll say?" She shifts slightly, her lips curling into a playful smirk.

Quinn lets out a laugh—part relief, part exhaustion—as he looks at her, trying to steady his breathing. "You're insane."

Lily shrugs, giving him a cheeky grin. "Well, fine. You drive a hard bargain. I'll marry you, even if you refuse to ask me properly."

Quinn blinks at her in stunned silence. And then the absurdity of it hits him. They're sitting in a hospital room, hours after she was kidnapped, after everything that's happened—and she's joking about marriage.

He bursts out laughing, the sound ringing through the quiet room.

"Did we just get engaged... in a shitty hospital room after you were kidnapped by terrorists?" His laughter is pure disbelief, the tension in his chest finally releasing. "This feels very wrong."

Lily smiles softly, her eyes warm, despite the gravity of everything that's just happened. "I don't know… it kind of feels… consistent," she whispers, her voice full of affection and a touch of humor.

Quinn's face softens, his heart swelling with something more intense than relief. "I love you," he says, his voice low and steady now. "More than anything in this world. More than I've ever loved anything."

Lily leans in, brushing her lips against his forehead. "I know," she murmurs softly, as if she's known it all along.

And then, for the first time in what feels like forever, the world outside of this hospital room, outside of the chaos and the fear, fades away. It's just the two of them, tangled up in something simple and pure.

Quinn closes his eyes, letting the warmth of her touch anchor him. The weight of the world falls away for just a moment, and all that's left is her—the only thing that matters.