Page 5

For a heartbeat before the bag seals, I swear the stone pulses with a light synchronized to the throbbing patterns on my arm.

The whispers thankfully fall silent.

As the team leads Litvak away, he calls back one final time. “Ask him what happened to you! Ask him why they hid you!”

His eyes bore into mine with a certainty that makes my knees weak. “Ask him about the Four Treasures!”

Four Treasures.The words hit me like a physical blow, stealing breath from my lungs. Something buried deep within me recognizes the term—not from training or briefings but from somewhere else. Somewhere older.

Davis frowns, glancing between Litvak and me. Suspicion draws his brows together. “What’s he talking about?”

“Raving,” I stammer. The word breaks apart even as I force it out. Sounding false even to my own ears. The half-truth burns like battery acid in my throat. “Let’s wrap this up.”

As we emerge from the tree line, I feel the weight of Graves’s upcoming interrogation pressing down on me. Twenty-five years of subtle tests. Of being his special project. Of feeling his eyes on me during training exercises. That slight smile when I did things that should have been impossible for someone my age and size.

He used to call me his ghost girl like it was a pet name. Back when I thought that meant protected. Not owned.

Davis falls into step beside me. Too close. His hand clamps on my shoulder, thumb pressing my pulse point. When I step away, his fingers dig deeper.

“Good work tonight, Ash,” he says, and there’s something in his tone—pride mixed with ownership—that makes me want to shower. “Though I noticed some interesting... reactions out there.”

“Mission accomplished. Target secured. Package retrieved.” I recite the facts like a mantra. “Standard parameters met.”

“Standard.” His thumb traces across my collarbone before I finally step away. “Yet your heart rate tells a different story. Elevated during the interrogation. Spiked when he spoke in that... interesting language.”

“Adrenaline.” True. My heart was racing. “Happens in tactical situations.”

“Does it?” He tilts his head, studying me like I’m a puzzle he’s solving. “Because you’ve been in thousands of tactical situations, and I’ve never seen you react quite like... that.”

“Like what?” I keep walking, forcing him to either follow or fall behind.

“Like you were coming home.”

The words hit like a physical blow. I stop walking, turn to face him fully. “Explain that.”

“The way you moved through those trees. The way the shadows seemed to... welcome you.” His eyes are sharp, assessing. “I’ve known you for years, Ash. You’ve always been exceptional. But tonight? Tonight you were something else entirely.”

“I was doing my job.” Each word is carefully measured.

“Were you?” He steps closer, voice dropping to silk over steel. “Or were you finally doing what you were born for?”

The question hangs between us like a blade. I study his face—the slight smile, the knowing look in his eyes. How long has he been watching?

“Careful, Davis.” My voice goes deadly quiet. “You’re starting to sound like you have theories.”

“Oh, I have more than theories.” His smile widens. “I have plans.”

The emphasis onplansfeels less like a promise and more like a threat.

“You up for that drink tonight?” he asks. His smile doesn’t reach his eyes, which remain sharp and assessing. “Team’s heading to O’Malley’s to celebrate another successful extraction.”

“I have other priorities tonight.” I step back until his hand drops, muscle memory making the movement look casual. “Sleep being one of them.”

“That’s the third time you’ve had ‘other priorities’ this month, Ghost.” His smile sharpens, predatory. “One might begin to think you’re avoiding something... or someone.”

“I’m a woman of many priorities.” I return his smile with one that doesn’t reach my eyes. “Time management is everything.”

“Indeed it is.” He steps closer again, and I notice how he moves—calculated, like he’s herding me. “Though I notice your time management has become remarkably... selective lately.”