Back to the Blast That Took Them Both

"You're to cease your actions right now, Hope Linwood!" Callum Johnson, my husband, yelled.

I then heard the deputy commander's bark through the comms. "You're the only shot we have since the bomb disposal robot was hit by heavy interference. The assault team can't find a sniper position!"

I raised my gaze and looked coldly through the blast-proof mask at Callum. He was holding my wrist in a death grip. I could see that his eyes were brimming with unmistakable disgust as he said, "I told you to wait for Shirley, the primary figure of this operation."

It was happening all over again—just like in my past life.

I looked at the red digits on the bomb's timer—09:43—and turned my gaze toward the silver-haired academician bound to the chair with a gag in his mouth, shaking with terror.

I then looked at Callum before I pried his grip from my wrist, finger by finger. I said calmly as I stepped back, "I'll wait for her, then."

Callum was visibly taken aback. He must have assumed I would fight him on this, driven by the hostage's safety and my duty as a police officer. He had his rebuttals ready, prepared to call me "selfish" and "jealous of Shirley's expertise".

He looked on in surprise as I simply moved to the corner, standing there like a spectator. He only looked surprised for a split second before his expression turned into one full of disdain. "You've at least come to your senses, I guess."

In that instant, over the comms, the deputy commander yelled, "Have you lost your mind, Callum? How could you use this situation to let your lover show off when lives are at risk?"

Callum directly disconnected the deputy commander's comms and let out a cold huff. "What a nuisance!"

It wasn't long before a woman in a high-end custom suit and three-inch high heels arrived with an entourage. It was none other than Shirley Gibson, Callum's sweetheart and a theoretical prodigy fresh from abroad.

She didn't even bother wearing any protective gear, carrying her dainty toolbox gracefully as if heading to a high-society dinner.

"Is this it? It's much simpler than I expected," Shirley said as she glanced around the chaotic scene before looking at me in the corner provocatively.

"It's been a while, Ms. Linwood. I heard you're still on the front line. It must be quite taxing—unlike me. After winning a few awards and publishing a few papers abroad, I was specially recruited back."

She walked up to the bomb, putting on a professional front as she studied it. "It's an old-school setup—a standard pressure plate and dual timer trigger. I've handled hundreds of these on the simulator."

Shirley's voice, transmitted through the small microphone, was clearly heard by everyone in the command center.

A few of the younger team members whispered to one another, "Shirley makes it sound so effortless. Is she for real?"

I crossed my arms and watched in silence. I knew that the fuse was a complex, multi-layered trap, which I'd never encountered before, though Shirley just called it old-school. I was also aware that one wrong move would trip the secondary power and detonate it instantly.

In my past life, I was in this very spot, watching Shirley cut the most deadly red wire.