Page 69 of Fallen Empire

Ben leaned forward, voice low. “You think he’s working with Costa?”

I didn’t answer.

Because the truth was, I couldn’t be sure he wasn’t.

And that meant I’d eventually have to tell Ben everything. About what I saw. What I did. And what I’d become just to get close to Costa.

Ben knew pieces, but not the whole picture.

Not the part where I’d vanished off-grid for over two years. Not the part where I was handed a mission so buried in red tape that even saying Costa’s name in the wrong room could get you blacklisted—or worse.

We all came from the same machine. Some of us just walked away with more blood on our hands than others.

Ben wasn’t even supposed to know who Costa was.

When we went under together—to track down someone’s missing daughter—I let them believe I was just the tracker. The one running point. The one with sharp instincts and lucky guesses.

Because I’d already tracked him before. For the same government that made us carbon copies of whatever monster they needed most that day.

The same government that turned a blind eye to drugs, extortion, and bodies, so long as they weren’t the ones caught in the blast radius when the truth finally hit daylight.

They’d sent me in first. Because I was the best they’d had. Deep cover. No lifeline.

All because one senator’s grandchild had vanished, despite the thousands more I’d find along the way. Ones theyalready knew about. Buthisbloodline? That was the tipping point.

Because power protected you—until it didn’t.

So, I became what I needed to be.

Either I played the part well enough to earn a seat at Costa’s table, or I came home in pieces.

I’d eaten with him. Slept under his roof. Watched him bury bodies while telling bedtime stories to the next girl on his list.

I’d been a ghost myself standing beside him.

We all came from the same machine—Nic, Ben, Reaper, all of us. Some of us just walked away with more blood on our hands than others.

But I’d lied to them. Then, and now. Because admitting how deep I went meant admitting the parts of me that never really came back.

And now? We were ripping out the roots of something we once called order.

One threat at a time. One ghost at a time. One move too late—and it wouldn’t just be Koslov coming for us. It’d be someone worse.

I just prayed we’d see him coming.

Ben was staring at me as if he could read my thoughts. Like he knew I was hiding something.

Maybe it was just the guilt. But I couldn’t afford to start doubting myself now. I forced my mind to shift. To focus.

The silence stretched between us—heavy, tense—before I leaned forward and set my coffee down with a hollow clink.

“Twenty-seven hours,” I said quietly, locking eyes with Ben. “That’s how long Koslov tortured his brother. His own blood. Just to claw his way into that seat.”

Ben’s expression didn’t move, but I saw it in his eyes. He hadn’t known. Not that part.

“And I just cut his legs out from underneath him.”

Ben’s voice came low, wary. “But he doesn’t know it was you.”