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Cyclone

I hit the gravel drive doing forty.

The second I saw Jude standing at the edge of the trees, barefoot in the wet grass, with River hovering behind her like a damn shadow—I slammed the truck into park and was out before the engine stopped rattling.

“Jude.”

She turned slowly.

Her eyes met mine—and they were calm.

Not empty.

Not panicked.

Focused.

That scared me more than anything.

I jogged to her, my boots kicking up wet sand, and stopped just short of pulling her straight into my arms.

But I didn’t.

Not yet.

Because her hand was clenched at her side, tight around something I couldn’t see.

And her voice was steady when she said, “He left a message.”

My stomach dropped.

River handed me a glove. “Didn’t touch it. She found it under that rock.”

I crouched and lifted the paper carefully.

Three words.

You remember me.

My jaw locked.

I read it again. And again. Just to make sure I wasn’t missing something.

“Does it mean anything to you?” River asked.

“Not yet,” I said. Then I looked at her. “But it means something to you .”

Jude’s lips parted, then closed again. Her throat worked as she swallowed hard.

And then she nodded.

“I think… I think he was at the site. The black site in Syria. I don’t remember his name—he never gave one. But there was a man. Someone who wasn’t supposed to be there. Someone who—”

She trailed off, eyes flicking toward the trees like the memory lived out there.

“He watched,” she whispered. “He didn’t interrogate. Didn’t speak. Just watched. Every day.”

Her voice cracked.

“And when it was over… when we exfiltrated… someone gave the kill order. But it never went through.”

I stood slowly. “He was meant to be silenced.”

She nodded.

“But he wasn’t.”

River blew out a breath. “Which means this isn’t just about old ghosts. This is a man who survived being erased.”

And now he was writing himself back into Jude’s life—letter by letter, step by step.

“This ends now,” I said.

I turned to Jude, gently gripping her shoulders.

“You’re not leaving this house without me. Not until we find him. Not until I end this.”

She didn’t argue.

Didn’t fight me.

She just leaned into me, her forehead pressing into my chest, and whispered, “Okay.”

But I felt the tremor in her bones.

And I knew—

This man hadn’t just come back to haunt her.

He’d come to finish what someone else started.

Not if I had anything to say about it.