Page 3

Cyclone

I t started with a stumble.

One minute, Sister Jude was ahead of me, clearing a path with that stubborn, fearless energy of hers. The next, she tripped and caught herself on a mossy tree trunk, swatting at her arm.

“Ow,” she muttered, shaking her sleeve. “Damn twig just bit me.”

“You alright?” I asked, stepping closer.

“Yeah, just—” She paused, frowning. “Huh. That’s weird.”

She rolled up her sleeve.

Two puncture marks. Swollen. Already red.

“Sister Jude…” I grabbed her wrist, gently but firmly. “That’s not a twig.”

Her eyes met mine, and I saw the flicker of fear she tried to hide. “Spider?”

“Venomous,” I said grimly. “And we’re still two hours from the pick-up spot.”

“I’m fine,” she said, brushing me off. “Just a little sting—”

And then her knees buckled.

I caught her before she hit the ground.

“ Nope. Not doing this today,” I growled. “You are not dying on me in the middle of the damn jungle.”

She blinked up at me, dazed. “Aw. That almost sounded sweet.”

“Shut up,” I said, heart pounding as I checked her pulse. “Faron! We need to move. Now.”

He didn’t ask questions—just jumped into action. He’d seen enough to know. We were in trouble.

I hoisted her onto my back. She didn’t even fight me this time. That alone told me how bad it was.

As we ran, her voice was low in my ear.

“Don’t let them see. The others. Don’t let them worry.”

“You really think I care about what they see right now?”

“I think…” she trailed off. “You’re kinda bossy when you panic.”

“I’m not panicking.”

“You’re definitely panicking.”

I tightened my grip. “You’re going to be fine.”

She sighed, resting her cheek against my shoulder. “You always this charming when you’re scared?”

I didn’t answer.

Because yeah—I was scared.

And I hadn’t been scared like this since my last deployment, when I thought we lost Faron in a cave-in and I couldn’t breathe until I saw him alive.

That’s what this felt like.

Like I couldn’t breathe unless the nun was okay.

An Hour Later

Her breathing slowed. I had to throw her over my shoulder because she could no longer hold her arms around my neck.

She was sweating. Delirious. Slurring her words.

Faron was ahead, hacking through vines like a man possessed. The other nuns said nothing except to mumble a prayer for Sister Jude.

“Where’s the damn team?” I muttered into my radio. “We need the med team now. ”

“We’re ten clicks out,” came the reply.

Not fast enough.

I dropped to my knees, laying her down gently. “Hey,” I whispered, tapping her cheek. “Stay with me. Come on, smart mouth. Say something annoying.”

She blinked up at me, unfocused. “You… have really weird eyebrows.”

I let out a rough laugh, blinking fast. “There she is.”

Then her eyes rolled back.

“ Jude. ”

No response.

I looked at Faron. “We can’t wait. We move now.”

“I’ll carry her,” he said.

“No,” I growled. “ I’ve got her. ”

And I did.

Because somehow, between the teasing, the jungle, and the almost kiss, she’d become something more, maybe a friend, I didn’t want to lose.

Someone I wasn’t ready to lose. Even if she was a nun, I couldn’t help how I felt.

Not now.

Not ever.

Cyclone

I’d carried a hundred wounded men out of combat zones. Some had made it. Some hadn’t.

But this?

This felt personal. I picked her up and let her body relax against mine as I carried her through the stinking jungle.

Jude’s skin was clammy. Her breath ghosted my neck in uneven bursts. Every few minutes she stirred—sometimes mumbling, sometimes squeezing her hand around my shoulder strap like she was trying to ground herself.

“Almost there,” I whispered. “You just hang on, alright?”

She didn’t answer.

Until—

“I lied,” she murmured.

I slowed. “What?”

She shifted against me, barely conscious. “I lied. I’m not a nun.”

My boots stopped cold in the mud.

“What did you say?” I asked, but her head had already lolled to the side, out cold again.

I glanced at Faron, who raised his eyebrows. “Well. That explains the mouth,” He said.

We kept moving. But I couldn’t stop hearing her voice.

I’m not a nun.

Of course, she wasn’t.

She moved too well. Thought too fast. Reacted like someone trained—not sheltered in a convent. But still… hearing her say it, even in a haze of venom and fever, sent a jolt straight to my chest.

Why the hell had she lied?

Why had she been with the other nuns in the first place?

And why did it bother me so damn much?

The chopper came in hot— blades slicing the air like salvation.

Medics jumped out before the skids touched ground. I held Jude tightly as I rushed toward them, yelling above the roar.

“Spider bite. She's fading fast. No antivenom. She’s dehydrated, fevered, but strong.”

They took her from my arms, already hooking her up to fluids. I watched, frozen, as they worked over her. Oxygen. IVs. Cooling compresses. Voices barked orders I could barely hear.

Then—her hand reached blindly.

“Cyclone,” she rasped.

I was at her side in a heartbeat.

“I’m here.”

She turned her head slowly, eyes barely open. “Don’t let them take me back. Please.”

“Take you where?”

Her fingers gripped mine. “Not… back to them.”

My gut twisted. “Who’s ‘them,’ Sister Jude?” I knew she wasn’t a nun, but I didn’t think she wanted anyone else to know.

But she was already gone again—eyes closed, breathing shallow, hand slipping from mine.

The medic touched my shoulder. “She’ll live. She’s lucky you got her here in time.”

Lucky.

Damn right she was lucky. If it had been her and the nuns, she would have died.

I felt like I’d just opened a door to something bigger than either of us. I glanced at Faron. We won’t say anything about her not being a nun, I think this is a hell of a lot bigger than we even know.”

“I agree,” Faron said.

And I had no idea what the hell I’d just stepped into.

I should’ve been resting.

Instead, I was pacing the floor of a dimly lit safe house, arms crossed, brain on fire. Faron had already crashed on a cot in the corner, snoring like a lumberjack.

But me?

I couldn’t stop replaying her voice in my head.

Don’t let them take me back.

I’m not a nun.

What the hell was Jude mixed up in?

I looked at the medic’s tablet they’d left behind. Her vitals were stabilizing. The antivenom had worked. She’d pulled through.

But her file? Practically blank.

No ID. No medical history. Nothing but the name Sister Jude Avery —which I was now 99.9% sure was as fake as Faron’s “I don’t snore” claim.

I tapped into the radio and connected with base ops.

“Cyclone. Clearance level eight. I need a background check.”

“Name?”

“Jude Avery. Possibly fake. Claimed to be with a traveling mission group out of Johannesburg.”

A pause. Then, “Stand by.”

Two minutes later: “You’re right. No Sister Jude Avery with that mission team. But… there is a Jude Avery. CIA asset. Last flagged location: northern Mozambique. Then she disappeared.”

My stomach dropped.

“Disappeared?”

“Presumed compromised. But not confirmed dead. Last ping was eighteen months ago.”

I leaned back, dragging a hand through my hair.

A CIA asset.

Undercover. Missing. Embedded in a nunnery.

Of course, she wasn’t a nun. I already knew that.

But that also meant—whoever she was running from wasn’t just a jungle militia or some crooked traffickers.

This was bigger.

Which meant she’d lied to protect herself. Maybe even lied to stay alive.

And I’d fallen for her anyway. What am I saying? I didn’t fall for her. She has a smart ass mouth, and she was rude, most of the time.

I didn’t know what pissed me off more—the fact that she’d lied…

Or the fact that now I wanted to protect her even more.

‘