Page 103 of Hunted to Be Mine

Use me as bait. Draw him in. Hope it leads to her.

“He’s right. Without more intel, it’s the only play.”

Lightning flashed outside, a stutter of light across the surfaces.

“I can get you a flight to Geneva, Lennox. After that, you’re on your own.”

Insane. Walk into their house with no backup, no exit plan, no guarantee it would lead to Selina.

“If I’m going in, I need everything on the building.”

Damon lifted a brow. “You’re actually thinking about this?”

“Not thinking about it. Doing it.”

“It’s one-way.”

“If that’s what it takes.”

He studied me. Something shifted in his expression. “You really do care about her.”

“And you wouldn’t do the same for Mattie?”

A muscle ticked in his jaw.

“I’ll upload schematics and security protocols. We don’t have much, but it’s something.”

My attention slid to the tactical map, then to Selina’s photo on a monitor. Her gaze held steady in the image. Like a dare.

The mission comes first. That’s what Oblivion carved into me. Specter believed it. But sometimes the mission changes. Sometimes the mission is a person.

I straightened. “I’ll be on the plane in an hour.”

Chapter 24

Selina

I stared at the stack of redacted dossiers on the lab table and turned each page slowly enough to test anyone’s patience. Nearly a week. I’d been Dresner’s “guest” that long, and I’d learned to stretch an hour into an afternoon.

“Operative displaying signs of memory intrusion during sleep cycle.” I pitched it like dictation. The pen never touched paper. I set it down again, one more petty refusal.

Blackout held the doorway, statue-still, green eyes fixed on me. He hadn’t spoken ten words today, but forgetting he existed was impossible.

I slid the next folder open. “Subject experienced visual hallucinations of pre-conditioning identity following extended field deployment.” Clinical delivery didn’t hide what the pages showed: men and women splitting at the seams, the person underneath clawing for daylight. Like Specter.

Specter. The name knotted my chest. Zagreb flashed—his memories flooding back, warmth gone to ice in a breath.

Was he trying to find me all this time? The question gnawed through every hour.

I shut the folder. The wall across from me was white and blank like everything here. Money everywhere: humming machines, surgical lights, glass. All immaculate. Nothing human.

“Have you reviewed the file?” Blackout’s voice cut through the quiet. He rarely started conversations.

“I’m being thorough.”

He crossed the room, steps soft on polished concrete. “The Director expects your analysis by this afternoon.”

“The Director can wait.” I turned another page, slow on purpose. “Good analysis takes time.”