Page 13 of Secret Hope (Hope Landing: New Recruits #5)

Morning sunlight streamed through the casino’s floor-to-ceiling windows, painting everything in deceptively cheerful golden hues.

The brightness mocked Kenji's internal darkness as he positioned himself near the back of the bustling space, watching tournament officials and media personnel prepare for the day's events.

The main tournament would begin in four and a half hours, but the day was scheduled to start early, with interviews and press conferences for the players.

He'd managed three hours of restless sleep after his beachside surveillance, dreams haunted by amber eyes and trembling hands. Now, coffee burned acidic in his empty stomach as he watched the tournament machinery spin up.

Time to set his own deception in motion.

His carefully rehearsed explanation played on repeat in his mind: Mission surveillance required tournament entry. Lost the buy-in maintaining cover. Need immediate reimbursement to complete the operation.

Half-truths wrapped in operational necessity—the kind of story that would satisfy Ronan's questions without revealing the addiction that was slowly consuming him from the inside.

Not technically lying, he told himself, ignoring the guilt that flared hot in his chest. He had lost the money. And he was surveilling Vega. The details didn’t matter, right?

The rationalization rang hollow, but it was all he had left. One text to Ronan, one wire transfer, one payment to Vince, and the nightmare ended.

He'd never place another bet. Never experience the electric rush of cards sliding across felt. Never again sit at a table calculating odds while his life collapsed around him.

Never again.

His fingers hovered over the phone. The lie formed itself so easily, each word a small betrayal:

Situation update. Had to enter tournament to maintain surveillance on Vega. Lost buy-in of $25K when cover required strategic exit. Need operational funds wired ASAP to maintain position and continue mission.

He stared at the message, his thumb frozen over the send button. Every word was technically true—he had entered the tournament, he was watching Vega, he had lost the money. But the implication, the careful arrangement of facts to hide his addiction...

He hit send before he could change his mind.

The response came within minutes:

Ronan: That's a big hit. You solid otherwise?

Affirmative. Vega's operation is extensive. Multiple targets identified. Will need extended surveillance.

Ronan: Roger. I'll push your fund request straight to the Admiral. Keep your head on a swivel. Sending full brief on Vega shortly.

Appreciated. Will maintain cover and await further intel.

Ronan: Copy that. Wait. Zara says watch the weather. Tropical storm headed your way. Too early to say how hard it’ll hit you, but stuff gets nasty in the Pacific real fast. Stay on top of it.

Will do.

He signed off. The weight of his lies pressed against his chest, forcing his head down. Shame burned through him as he murmured a quiet, desperate prayer.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, the words carried away by the ocean breeze. "I know I've said this before. I know I've broken my promises. But I mean it this time. Help me make it right. Please."

A familiar voice shattered his concentration.

"K-MAN. There's my favorite SEAL." Spence bounded up like an overgrown golden retriever, designer polo shirt already wrinkled despite the early hour. His enthusiasm radiated outward, drawing annoyed glances from nearby media personnel trying to conduct interviews.

"Morning, Spence." Kenji forced a smile, pocketing his phone.

"Dude, this place is insane. Did you hear about the side action? Some oil exec from Dubai dropped two million on blackjack last night. Two million. " His expression shifted. 'Hey, is Reynolds okay? She looks rough.'"

Despite himself, Kenji's attention shifted to where Spence pointed.

Cassidy sat at a media table near the front, her usually impeccable appearance showing cracks.

Dark circles shadowed her eyes, and her normally perfect posture had wilted.

Beside her, Sophia looked equally haggard, tablet clutched in white-knuckled hands as she fielded questions from reporters.

The pang of sympathy that hit him was unwelcome. Whatever business Cassidy had with Vega, whatever moral compromises she'd made, seeing her distress still affected him more than it should. The memory of her terror on the beach last night gnawed at him.

"Probably tournament nerves," Kenji muttered, though he knew better.

That wasn't pre-game jitters. It was fear.

"Maybe, but—" Spence's commentary was cut short as Cassidy's phone buzzed on the table. Even from their distance, Kenji could see her screen light up with a message.

Cassidy glanced down. And blanched.

She shot to her feet so abruptly that her chair scraped against the floor, the harsh sound cutting through the room's ambient chatter. Without a word to her assistant or the reporters, she strode toward the exit, her movements sharp with barely contained panic.

Every instinct Kenji possessed screamed danger.

"I'll catch up with you later," he told Spence, already moving.

"Wait, where are you?—"

But Kenji was gone. He reached the hallway as Cassidy disappeared around a corner, her heels clicking rapidly against marble floors.

He followed at a distance, his body automatically shifting into surveillance mode.

Cassidy moved with purpose now, no longer the composed professional but someone driven by urgency and dread.

Her phone remained clutched in her trembling hand, the device that had delivered whatever message had transformed her from merely worried to terrified.

The resort's hallways branched like arteries, and Cassidy took a path toward the guest rooms. Kenji maintained his distance, using his peripheral vision to track her while appearing to study architectural details—a skill honed through years of covert operations.

She stopped outside a door on the third floor—room 347—her hand raised to knock. For a moment she hesitated, and even from fifteen feet away, Kenji could see her shoulders trembling. Whatever waited behind that door, she didn't want to face it.

The door swung open before her knuckles could connect with the wood, moving slowly inward as if pushed by an invisible hand. Not locked. Not even properly closed.

Cassidy stepped closer, peering into the darkened room.

She recoiled with a muffled scream, stumbling backwards.

Kenji broke into a run.