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River’s mouth flattened. “We found another sighting. A different camera feed. Not from the pier. From last week.”

Behind me, I heard Jude’s footsteps approach. She stood beside me in my shirt, eyes sharp despite the haze of sleep.

“Where?” she asked.

River met her gaze. “At a gas station off Highway 74. A car matching the description of one tied to your old ghost site pulled in. Same guy behind the wheel. He didn’t go inside. Just sat. Waited. Watching the pumps. Like he was expecting someone.”

Jude’s expression darkened. “That’s how they operated. Intercepts. Extraction points.”

I stepped in. “So what—you think he was herebeforeshe saw him?”

River nodded once. “And it gets better. Oliver ran the plates. They’re fake—but the shell company the car was rented under? It links back to one of the CIA’s oldest cover firms. One they shut down three years ago.”

I felt Jude’s breath hitch beside me.

River hesitated. “You were never just collateral damage, were you?”

She didn’t answer right away.

Then, quietly: “No. I was the mission.”

The silence after that was thick.

I reached for her hand, grounding her. “What’s our next move?”

River looked between us, jaw clenched. “We find out what he wants. And we get to him before he gets toher.”

Jude’s grip on my hand tightened.

And just like that, the quiet was over.

38

Cyclone

Ibarely remembered closing the front door.

One second River was gone, the next I was pacing the living room like a caged animal, my mind running hotter than it had in years.

A ghost op.

Targeting Jude.

Sitting out there in a car, waiting like it was nothing.

No plan yet. No demand.

Just watching.

Hunting.

She stood near the fireplace, silent, arms crossed, wrapped in my shirt. But her jaw was locked, her shoulders tight. She was thinking, calculating. Already halfway back in the field.

I didn’t want her there.

Not anymore.

I stopped in front of her and cupped her cheek. “You’re staying here. With River or someone I trust.”