Unknown Man

H e sat in the back of a nondescript rental sedan, engine off, parked beneath a canopy of trees three miles out from town.

The woods around him were still, damp with morning rain, mist curling through the underbrush like ghosts too stubborn to leave.

Fitting.

He rolled the message slip between his fingers—another one already printed and waiting in the passenger seat.

Not a threat.

A reminder.

She needed to remember.

Because he hadn’t forgotten.

Not the bunker.

Not her.

The girl with sharp eyes and a sharper mind.

Too clever. Too dangerous. Too important to let disappear like the other CIA members that made it through the testing.

He’d watched her in silence back then. Just like he’d been ordered to. They didn’t realize what they had signed up for. He had his orders. He would do what he was supposed to do except with her.

And when the kill order came down, he followed protocol—at first.

Until he realized what she’d done.

She’d taken something.

Not just the files or the codes.

Something deeper.

Something that belonged to him .

And now?

He wanted it back.

Not the information. Not the asset.

Her.

The version of her that had burned the world down to escape.

He leaned forward, plucked the second note off the seat.

Four words, typed in block letters:

You were mine first.

He slid it into a fresh envelope and tucked it into his jacket pocket.

A delivery for tomorrow.

Patience was the key.

She was starting to crack—he’d seen it in her face.

And soon, when the time was right, he’d finish what was never allowed to begin.

This time?

There would be no exfiltrating.

No team.

No Cyclone.

Just him.

And her.

Exactly how it was always supposed to be.