Page 57 of Jewel of the Assassin

“Mercs,” I murmur.

“That’s my read.”

Fuck. I drag a hand through my hair, pulse spiking. This hasAntonwritten all over it—and our father. My jaw clenches as a wave of guilt burns through me. I should’ve taken her somewhere remote. A secluded tropical island. A private bungalow. Anywhere but here.

But this ishome. My sanctuary. The only place that’s ever truly been mine. I’ve poured years—and millions—into carving this slice of Alaskan wilderness into something untraceable. Untouchable.

Hiding in plain sight, so close to the mainland and the family estate, had always felt like a masterstroke. Now? It just feels reckless.

I exhale through my nose. “They’re not making landfall in that storm.”

“No,” Yuri agrees. “Winds are climbing to sixty knots by midnight. If they don’t pull out, the sea will eat them.”

“Let it.”

Yuri nods. “That’s not all.”

Of course it’s not.

He brings up another screen. “We caught a puddle jumper circling the outer zone just before the weather shifted. Three loops. No descent. No distress signal.”

I stiffen. “No one’s supposed to be in our airspace.”

“I know. We’ve kept it clean for years. Your bribes still hold with aviation, but someone either didn’t get the memo or decided they didn’t care.”

I glance at the storm map—lightning, wind, a cell of violent weather dragging across the sea like claws. Good. “Did they crash?”

“We didn’t have to wait that long.” Yuri punches a few morecommands. “Falcon Drone 7 was patrolling the northwest quadrant. We flagged the jumper as a threat. The drone fired a strike round before they could enter the radius.”

A pause.

“No survivors, Roman.”

I don’t blink.

“Clean it up,” I say.

Yuri nods. “Already dispatched recovery to sweep once the weather clears. No transponder debris. Everything burns in salt and fire. Anyone on the other end would suspect it was the storm.”

Good. I stare at the live feed. Wind howls past the manor, trees bending like they’re begging. Let the sea drag their secrets under. But if they come again—if anyone gets closer?—

They won’t need a storm to die.

Zina is waitingfor me in the hall.

Shalun, shifts restlessly on her shoulder, feathers slightly puffed from the pressure drop. He feels the storm in his bones.

“Report,” I say, already on edge.

Hands behind her back, Zina gives a small nod. “Supply drop’s done. Pilot touched down just before the winds started kicking. I told him to stay until it clears. He’s got his usual quarters ready.”

“Good. I don’t want him flying out in this.”

“I know,” she says, then holds out a slim, matte-black parcel. No markings. No name. Just the kind of thing that reeks ofintention.

My brow lifts. “What’s this?”

“It came with the last supply drop. I assume from one of your dead drops. Already scanned—no incendiaries, no drugs,” she adds quickly, reading my mind. “Clear.”