Page 19 of Rogue Hope (Hope Landing: New Recruits #4)

“Home sweet home,” Griff announced from the co-pilot’s seat, already running through the shutdown sequence.

In the cabin behind them, Finn felt the tension in his shoulders ease fractionally as the wheels settled into their final position.

Beside him, Zara sat straight-backed and silent, the classified file clutched protectively in her lap.

They hadn’t spoken more than operational necessities since her command to forget her lupus revelation.

“Life is rough,” Finn murmured, gesturing toward the multi-million-dollar aircraft as Ronan killed the engines. “Private jets, state-of-the-art equipment. Knight Tactical spares no expense.”

“We invest in the tools that keep us alive,” Zara replied coolly, unbuckling her harness. “Sentiment doesn’t.”

Through the cabin windows, several figures emerged from the main building, moving purposefully toward the aircraft. Even from a distance, Finn recognized the distinctive silhouettes of the rest of Zara’s team, approaching with unmistakable eagerness.

“Welcoming committee,” he observed as Griff lowered the passenger stairs.

Zara nodded once, her expression softening almost imperceptibly. “They worry.”

As they prepared to disembark, Ronan paused momentarily, hand resting on the bulkhead. “The Lord is my rock, my fortress and my deliverer,” he said quietly, a private ritual that caught Finn’s attention.

“Psalm 18:2,” Finn supplied automatically. “My God is my rock, in whom I take refuge, my shield and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold.”

Zara’s head snapped toward him, surprise evident in her expression before she quickly masked it.

“Didn’t figure you for a Bible scholar, Novak,” Ronan remarked, one eyebrow raised.

Finn shrugged, uncomfortable with the attention. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” he added, meeting Zara’s gaze directly.

“And even more reasons not to care,” she retorted sharply, brushing past him toward the exit.

The sting of her words lingered as he followed her down the aircraft steps. Ronan cast him a sympathetic glance but remained silent.

“Package secured?” Axel asked immediately.

Zara patted the case. “No complications.”

“No complications, she says,” Axel grinned, clapping her gently on the shoulder. “Just casually infiltrating one of the most secure facilities in the country before breakfast.”

“Speaking of food,” Kenji interjected, studying Zara with a medically trained eye that Finn now recognized was assessing more than just general fatigue, “I’ve got protein shakes and those disgustingly healthy energy bars you pretend to enjoy waiting in the lab.”

The easy banter continued as they moved inside, Finn trailing slightly behind.

He observed the subtle ways they oriented around Zara—protective without being obvious, supportive without hovering.

They knew nothing of her condition, yet instinctively accommodated her needs.

The realization sparked an unexpected pang of longing in his chest.

“Novak.”

Finn turned to find Griffin regarding him with measured assessment.

“Your intel on the security reset was accurate. Clean extraction. Good work.”

“Just doing my job.”

Griffin’s mouth quirked slightly. “Funny thing about jobs—most people don’t risk federal prison breaking into classified archives.”

“Most folks have more sense,” he responded dryly.

A ghost of a smile crossed the man’s face before he moved ahead, leaving Finn with the distinct impression he’d passed some unspoken test.

They gathered in the tech lab, the secured file now positioned centrally on the workstation. Deke had already prepared specialized equipment for analyzing the contents without compromising their integrity.

“First we need to create a perfect digital copy,” Zara explained, her voice slipping into the confident tone of a team leader. “Then we clean the data. No way we’re giving Cipher any real intel. After that, we embed the traceable markers before transmitting to Cipher. Maybe it’ll work this time.”

“Multiple marker types,” Finn added, stepping closer to the workstation. “Physical tracers in the paper and ink for the original document, digital watermarks for the electronic copy.”

Ronan nodded approvingly. “If Cipher accesses either version, we’ll know.”

The team dispersed to their respective tasks.

Finn found himself working alongside Zara at the primary scanning station, their movements carefully choreographed to avoid accidental contact.

She appeared physically stronger after what he suspected had been medications administered by Kenji, but emotionally she remained distant, wrapped in cool professionalism.

While she calibrated the high-resolution scanner, he took advantage of a secondary terminal, fingers moving swiftly over the keyboard. He kept his searches discreet, eyes frequently checking to ensure his privacy: “lupus symptoms,” “lupus treatments,” “chronic autoimmune disease management.”

The details matched his observations—systemic inflammation, joint pain, fatigue, potential organ involvement, flares triggered by stress or overexertion.

“Ready for the first scan,” Zara announced.

He closed the browser windows, refocusing on the classified document positioned beneath the scanner’s optics. “Initiating capture sequence.”

As the digital copy formed on the main screen, Finn studied the contents with growing interest.

“This is more significant than I expected,” he murmured, analyzing the detailed schematics displayed. “Quantum encryption for the next-generation of Sentinel. This would give Cipher access to every level of the network.”

Zara nodded grimly.

He tapped a finger to his lips. “We’re running out of chances to find this guy. We need the trace to work this time. I don’t think standard watermarking’s going to cut it.”

She sighed tiredly. “I’ve been worrying about that. You’re not wrong.”

He considered the problem, mentally reviewing available technologies before an unorthodox solution formed. “What if we embed the tracers in the encryption algorithm itself?”

Zara looked up sharply. “That would require rewriting ridiculous amounts of code without changing the output values.”

“Difficult but not impossible. The markers become part of the mathematical structure itself—invisible unless you know exactly what pattern to look for.”

She studied him with reluctant respect. “That’s actually brilliant.”

The acknowledgment, however grudging, warmed something in his chest. “I have occasional moments of competence,” he replied lightly.

“More than occasional,” she admitted quietly.

He turned, not wanting to reveal how much her compliment meant. He tapped his temple. “Easy when you’ve got The Vault.”

“How quickly can you implement it?” she asked.

“Two hours, maybe three.”

She nodded once and moved away to brief Ronan, leaving him to it. As he immersed himself in the intricate mathematical structures, he remained peripherally aware of the team’s movements around him—their easy interactions, casual touches, shared jokes.

Across the room, Axel said something that made Zara laugh, a genuine sound quickly stifled but unmistakable. When was the last time he’d heard that sound? When was the last time he’d caused it?

The questions led to uncomfortable introspection.

His life since Paris had been deliberately solitary—temporary partnerships, brief collaborations, but no lasting connections.

He’d told himself it was necessary for operational security, for the single-minded pursuit of Cipher.

But watching Zara with her team, he recognized the self-deception in that reasoning.

His isolation hadn’t been strategic.

It had been penance.

A little under three hours later, the modified algorithm was complete, tracers embedded so subtly that even the most sophisticated analysis would perceive them as natural variations in the code structure.

Finn stretched, easing the tension from his shoulders while Zara ran the final verification program.

“Clean output,” she confirmed, clearly impressed. “Functionally identical to the original but carrying our signature markers. No detectable anomalies.”

“Good work,” Ronan acknowledged before turning to address the team. “We’ll transmit to Cipher at 0800 tomorrow. That gives us twelve hours to prepare for potential countermoves.”

As the team dispersed for a brief meal break, Zara leaned against her workstation, eyes closed momentarily, one hand pressed discreetly against her lower back.

He approached cautiously, voice low. “How are you holding up?”

Her eyes snapped open, wariness immediately replacing fatigue. “Fine.”

“Zara,” he began carefully, “about your illness?—”

“We’re not having this conversation,” she interrupted, voice cold.

“I’m just concerned?—”

“You lost the right to personal concern seven years ago.”

The words hit home, exactly as intended.

He backed away, accepting the rebuke even as it stung. “You’re right. My bad.”

Something flickered in her eyes—surprise at his easy acquiescence, perhaps—before she brushed past him, rejoining her team across the room.

Finn remained where he was, watching as Kenji discreetly handed her what appeared to be medication, which she took without comment.

Seven years ago, he’d made certain Zara trusted him completely.

He remembered vividly the night before everything changed—her unguarded smile as she’d traced patterns on his arm, the way she’d shared her fears about their upcoming mission, her absolute confidence that they would face whatever came together.

And he remembered promising they would. Then, after assuring her they’d take one last tour of the Seine in the morning, he headed for his own room.

And disappeared with her secrets.

The memory still carried physical pain—the disbelief in her eyes when she’d realized his deception, the way her voice had broken on his name in a question he couldn’t answer honestly.

All for the promise of another payday with tainted money.

Zara returned to the lab, carrying two containers of food. She thrust one at him. “Eat this,” she ordered, returning to her own station.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

She nodded once, not looking up from her screen. “The algorithm modifications are impressive. Should be undetectable.”

“That’s the idea.” He opened the container, finding a surprisingly well-prepared meal rather than the basic field rations he’d expected.

They worked in relative silence for the next hour, finalizing preparation for the morning’s transmission. The distance between them remained, but it felt marginally less hostile.

Finally, Zara pushed away from her station, arms raised overhead. “I’m heading to bed.”

She was halfway to the door when the words flew from his mouth. “I never wanted to hurt you.”

She paused, back to him, shoulders visibly tensing. For a moment, he thought she might simply walk away.

But without turning, she replied softly. “And you did anyway.”

The simple statement hung in the air between them, neither accusation nor absolution—merely truth. She continued toward the door, pausing briefly on the threshold.

“Be in that seat at 0700 tomorrow. We’ll need to review the transmission procedures before sending the file.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

After she departed, he remained in the dimly lit lab, surrounded by the sophisticated technology that would hopefully lead them to Cipher.

Yet as he stared at the classified file they’d be handing over, he couldn’t shake the certainty that his target remained several moves ahead.

Whatever came next, one thing had become clear during the Blackridge operation.

Some debts couldn’t be repaid. But they could be honored.

He would protect Zara at any cost.