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Walker paused in the wings, letting memories of both high school drama club and her college performances wash over her for just a moment. The smell of freshly painted sets, mingled with the hint of cheap perfume, pulled her back to those younger days when acting had come so easily. It still did. That was half the reason the CIA had seen fit to recruit her. She’d always been able to slip into any role with little more than a tilt of her chin and a spark in her eyes. Playing Titania’s part tonight in this elegant old theater? Piece of cake.

A Midsummer Night’s Dream was a comedy set in and near Athens where residents of Athens mixed with fairies from the local forest, with comic results, namely four young Athenians in a romantic tangle. Titania didn’t come into the action until Act II, Scene 1. She and Strekoza, as part of Queen Titania’s attendants, would be wending their way through the forest.

She let out a steadying breath and slid into the dressing room, flicking on a single bulb that buzzed dully overhead. The backstage hum was pleasantly familiar with whispers from actors in the corridors, a muffled rustling of props. She glanced around for her costume, but found only a couple of leaves, a pair of ribbons, and that was it. Shock flared through her, followed immediately by a wry laugh as she snatched up the handbill.

They were doing the show nude. Of course they were.

She could already hear Boomer’s unbridled amusement. And Skull? He’d already seen everything she had, but she wasn’t sure how he was going to react to her being on display not only for his teammate, but Diego’s lecherous eyes. Then again, if they’d wanted modesty, they’d have picked a different operative. Sighing, she held up her “costume.” One leaf short, by the looks of it.

It wasn’t lost on her that this particular play was about love, illusion, and transformation. Shakespeare showed love as a powerful, if sometimes whimsical force. In her experience with Skull, there was no doubt about the power that gripped them, and if love wasn’t whimsical, it just wasn’t love. It was also about Illusion versus Reality, raising the question of how real experiences and emotions were when shaped by perception. Her perception was that there were many, many complications in their path, and she wasn’t exactly sure how that was all going to pan out. The last theme that really struck her in her bid for Skull’s affections included confusion and comedic chaos, the play ending in harmony, suggesting that even when love’s path was wildly unpredictable, it could still bring people together. She didn’t want to think too hard about that or what would happen when this mission was over. She so didn’t want to break his heart, or her own for that matter.

Her earpiece crackled to life, scattering her thoughts. “What the actual fuck?” Strekoza’s voice sounded as dry as toast. Walker suppressed a snicker.

“How many leaves did you get?” she teased back.

“Less than you, apparently,” came the wry retort.

Before she could say more, a sharp knock rattled the dressing-room door. A stagehand stuck his head in, face half-lost in the dim light. “Five minutes, Ms. Perez,” he announced, disappearing before she could ask any questions.

“Well,” she muttered to the empty room, “the show must go on.” She shrugged off her robe, folding it over the chair. Cool air against her skin made her shiver. Working quickly, she arranged the meager pieces as best she could, leaves and ribbons crossing over her body with the barest coverage. Her backside was pretty much on full display. It was a good thing she never skipped leg day.

She gave herself a final once-over in the dressing-table mirror, forcing her mind to refocus on the reason she was here in the first place, Diego. The next step of her mission. There was no telling if he’d cooperate, but she had some things up her sleeves—a bribe, maybe a sharp knife at the right time. But first she had to pull off the most convincing show of her life while bagging herself a lovesick killer before the final curtain.

Gathering her composure, she let the excitement of performing fill her, the rush of adrenaline that always hit right before stepping onstage. Nudity aside, this was just another role. Another chance to do what she did best, bring a mission to a successful conclusion. Hell, she didn’t even have to kill anyone. She pushed open the door and strode backstage, every inch the haughty fairy queen. The others wouldn’t suspect a thing. After all, she’d been trained for moments like this.

No turning back now. Sheer joy enveloped her, and in her flimsy leaf “costume,” she headed for her grand entrance, lifted her head, and stepped toward the lights.

Skull sat in the velvet-cushioned seat, hands resting lightly on the carved wooden armrests next to his teammate. Boomer shifted slightly, leaning in. “Blade better have had his facts right,” he murmured. Skull gave a curt nod, not taking his gaze off the stage.

He kept his body still, hands resting on his knees, though inside his nerves were wound as tight as steel wire. Their target, Diego Canto, sat a few rows ahead. Skull could see Diego’s silhouette, sharply outlined under the stage lights, and noticed the way the man kept scanning the crowd, his attention wandering until the moment the curtain closed and then began to rise for the second act.

As the house lights dimmed, and a hush swept over the theater, anticipation was thick in the air. The ornate proscenium arch glimmered under the faint glow of footlights, and there was a soft, expectant rustle as the massive scarlet curtain rose on the second act of the play. This would be Walker’s first scene.

The stage was dressed to resemble a moonlit glade deep in a fantastical forest. Tall, sweeping trees were painted in shimmering blues and greens, trailing vines lit with pinpoints of light like drifting fireflies.

Walker and Strekoza stood at center stage, both portraying Titania’s fairy train in this adaptation of Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream . They were nearly aglow themselves, as if spotlights had captured every delicate contour of their bodies. Each wore only two diaphanous ribbons winding around their torsos, and a pair of artfully placed leaves, leaving most of their forms exposed. Skull couldn’t help but lift an eyebrow. Walker’s presence alone often commanded attention, but now her confidence and poise were outright breathtaking. Strekoza, with her own fierce grace, mirrored the effect, both women like living embodiments of forest spirits.

The audience leaned in, captivated. She moved as if lit from within. No, Skull corrected himself, she was lit from within, from her talent, from her spirit, from the very essence that had stolen his heart. The same heart that clenched now as he saw Diego eye her with undisguised, predatory interest.

Boomer, ever the joker, whispered, “She’s gonna give him a coronary before we can get any intel out of him.” But Skull didn’t laugh. His jaw clenched. A possessive flare sparked in his chest. He and Walker had shared something fierce and intimate hours ago and seeing her practically naked in front of that leering bastard felt like swallowing ground glass.

Behind them, a soft chorus of flutes and strings set the atmosphere, Walker already delivering her lines, in the role of Titania, in clear, ringing tones. It was Shakespeare’s text, resounding like a gentle lullaby through the silence:

“Come, now a roundel and a fairy song;

Then, for the third part of a minute, hence;

Some to kill cankers in the musk-rose buds,

Some war with rere-mice for their leathern wings,

To make my small elves coats, and some keep back

The clamorous owl that nightly hoots and wonders

At our quaint spirits. Sing me now asleep;

Then to your offices and let me rest.”

The theater seemed to hold its breath as Walker glided across the stage, ribbons floating behind her, hair gleaming, her voice perfectly pitched with regal authority. Her eyes sparkled as she delivered each line, suffusing Titania’s words with warmth. Strekoza circled gracefully, echoing the same ethereal movements, the two women weaving a mesmerizing dance through the painted forest backdrop. The audience was spellbound, and applause hovered on the verge of release.

From his vantage point, Skull shifted, caught between admiration for their artistry and an undercurrent of amusement at the situation. His gaze drifted briefly to the row just ahead, where Diego Canto sat with his two bodyguards.

But his dark thoughts were overshadowed by the sheer magic unfolding on stage. Walker commanded the scene with absolute precision. Her voice soared, her expressions were seamless, every gesture fluid. Strekoza’s presence heightened the effect, a mirrored reflection of fairy-like allure. Together, their performances turned the stage into a living forest glade, alive with moonlight and a gently pulsing magic.

Diego, meanwhile, leaned closer, ogling her in a way that made Skull’s fists tighten. Boomer shot him a warning glance. Control yourself. Their mission depended on stealth and timing, not raw emotion. Still, Skull couldn’t stop a low growl from forming at the back of his throat.

Yet even with adrenaline coursing through his veins, Skull found himself awed by Walker’s poise. Each moment she spoke the bard’s words, she made them her own. She was invincible under those lights, a vision too bright to tarnish.

Skull exhaled, feeling pride and a small pang of protective concern. Walker was baring more than just skin, she was exposing herself to every eye in the theater, including Diego’s. But she owned the spotlight with flawless grace. And though he was hardly sentimental, Skull couldn’t help thinking how far each of them had come, through the labyrinth of missions and close calls, to end up here, in a sudden hush of wings and wonder, performing Shakespeare under shimmering lights.

He settled back, prepared to watch every moment. If nothing else, it was a performance that no one in the audience, least of all Diego, would soon forget.

Skull steadied himself. The performance was only the second act in a far larger play. Soon enough, the lights would go down, and in the ensuing darkness, he and Boomer would make their move on Diego. For now, he let Walker’s radiant performance keep him focused. Even if fury crept in at the sight of Diego’s hungry gaze, Skull knew that this, her powerful grace in front of a mesmerized theater was part of what he was fighting for.

And when the final applause died away and Titania vanished behind the falling curtain, Skull allowed himself one fleeting thought. Diego Canto can look all he wants. But tonight, he’s ours.

Walker stood in the cramped dressing room, feigning a grand, sweeping gesture in front of the makeup mirror as if she were the most famous actress in the city. From the lacquered vanity, she could just catch sight of her own smirk, and it was hard not to grin at the absurdity. Underneath the plush, embroidered robe, she wore a tactical black catsuit that allowed her to move like a panther in the dark. She was supposed to be the theater’s starlet tonight, but the real actress was currently detained, courtesy of Walker and her people. Diego Canto was Pincho’s second-in-command, and rumor had it he possessed the key intel that could lead her to Hazard and Leigh. She needed him cornered. And her little theatrical diversion was poised to deliver.

“Here.” She thrust several folded slips of paper at the stage manager, a lanky, perpetually exasperated man who looked like he’d misplaced his patience a decade ago. “Three notes for three very important admirers in the audience.”

The stage manager took them, scanning her face suspiciously. “I suppose these are for the men you singled out earlier?” He sighed and rolled his eyes. “You actors and your demands.” But he trudged off, shaking his head as he went. Walker watched him disappear with a victorious grin tugging at her lips.

“Hey, you ready, Koz?” she asked over her shoulder.

Her partner stifled a groan. She was stuck wearing the leaves-and-ribbons costume since she was the cheesecake to entice the guards. With the wide, fluttery pieces of fabric and the comically placed leaves, Eva looked like she’d just stepped out of a moonlit fairy wood. “This is humiliating,” Eva complained. She poked at one of the ribbons. “I can’t believe these are my ‘womanly wiles.’ At least I get to keep my blackjack hidden under this ridiculous greenery.”

Walker bit back a laugh. “You’ll do great. You look…uh…the part.”

Before Eva could retort, there was a sharp knock on the door. Walker opened it to reveal Diego, sporting a confident smile that faltered the moment he noticed not just one but two other men crowding him from behind. Skull and Boomer. The two of them may have been disguised as theatergoers, but there was nothing, not even the elegant clothes they wore that could hide their lethal quality.

Walker noted the subtle tension in Skull’s stance even as he stood impeccably dressed in a tailored tuxedo. To anyone else, he might have looked like the perfect gentleman, polished, poised, each line of the suit fitting his frame as though it had been built around him. But through Walker’s eyes, there was no mistaking the current of raw power coiling beneath the sleek fabric. The broad set of Skull’s shoulders, the surety in his posture were all small giveaways of someone accustomed to combat. The tux, with all its sexy elegance, could do little to soften the edge of a man who wore his warrior’s spirit like a second skin. Walker thought he looked unbreakable, carved from stone and given life, ready to dominate the battlefield, even if that battlefield happened to be a backstage dressing room.

Diego glowered, clearly not thrilled about the competition. “I was told you wished to see me,” he announced, all too pleased to fill the room with his own importance. His guards pressed in, but Strekoza jumped up and floated to them with a smile. “Hmm, such big muscles,” she said, her voice breathless. He looked at his boss who waved his hand at them.

“Wait outside.” Skull crossed his arms over his broad chest, wearing an expression that suggested he’d rather be anywhere else. Boomer, on the other hand, sidled in with a barely contained chuckle. He gave Eva a quick up-and-down glance, eyebrows shooting up at her costume—ribbons and leaves fluttering as she shifted her weight. He coughed, covering a grin.

Strekoza giggled and slipped her hand to one of Diego’s bodyguard’s biceps. “So, handsome, what did you think of my performance?” she asked as the door closed.

Diego stepped forward, entirely focused on Walker. “Perhaps, after the curtain falls, we might spend a night on the town together? Wine, dancing…anything your heart desires.” He leaned in, trying to take her hand.

Skull made a low sound in his throat. “I think she’s got other obligations,” he muttered. His eyes flicked to Walker with a blend of annoyance and something else that made her heart flutter.

Boomer just winked at Walker, clearly delighted by the tension. He looked like he’d brought popcorn to a well-anticipated showdown.

Walker locked her gaze on Diego. “Oh, I’m sure we can arrange a…private conversation.” She batted her eyelashes in a performance worthy of any stage. “In fact,” she purred, “why don’t we step out for some fresh air?” She opened the door, Strekoza still charming the guards as Diego nodded, all too eager.

He didn’t notice the slight tilt of Walker’s head signaling Strekoza. Within seconds, Strekoza and Walker had maneuvered Diego and his cartel guards toward a back corridor, far from the bustle of the intermission crowd. Skull and Boomer followed, close at hand.

Just as the guards started to question why they were being herded, Strekoza sprang into action. In a flurry of leaves and ribbons, she slipped behind one guard and delivered a swift blow with her hidden blackjack. He crumpled before he even realized what had hit him. Another guard lunged for her, but she ducked, spinning low, while Boomer hammered the man’s midsection with a quick, efficient punch. The guard toppled like a stage prop.

Walker seized Diego’s arm with a vice-like grip, pressing a small stiletto blade under his chin. His eyes widened. “What—what is this?” he sputtered.

She turned her head slightly, hearing Strekoza chime in via their earpiece, “All clear out here.” Moments later, they hustled Diego out a side entrance into a narrow alley, where the hush of night greeted them. A black van idled, motor running. The group piled in swiftly, carting a furious Diego with them. She could imagine the guards reporting to Pincho about Diego. We were ambushed by some…ah…fairies. If the situation wasn’t so dire, she would have laughed.

Inside, everyone took a collective breath. Strekoza tried to smooth the leaves of her costume but only succeeded in making the crumpled ribbons sprout in more bizarre angles. Boomer glanced at her, sympathy in his eyes. Without a word, he shrugged off his jacket and handed it over. “You might want this.”

“Thanks,” Strekoza muttered, cheeks flushing at the unexpected kindness. She pulled the jacket around herself, relieved.

Walker studied her partner, her friend whose admiring gaze often went to Boomer. She had to wonder if she was falling under the man’s rough-and-tumble spell. He was endearing, self-deprecating, but when he was geared up and on a mission, he turned into a steely-eyed wolf. Walker sensed there was pain in his past that had to do with a woman—possibly a divorce? It was in his stance when he’d flirted with that German detective, Taylor Hoffman. But Eva was an enigma, wily and secretive. They knew barely anything about each other by design. Shadowguard were ghosts, insubstantial, ethereal, and invisible. Suddenly Walker wondered if she wanted to live her life like that…permanently.

In the corner, Walker exchanged a look with Skull. She glimpsed the way his shoulders relaxed now that Diego was cuffed and secure. There was a softness in his gaze that contrasted with the lethal readiness of his stance. Something about that combination, the scowl and the protectiveness, tugged at her.

She settled back into her seat, heart still thudding from the whirlwind. There was satisfaction in a job well done, but a nagging warmth in her chest, too, whenever she met Skull’s eyes. She’d known him for a while now, enough to learn his habits and see past his gruff exterior. As the van rumbled away from the theater, she couldn’t shake a single question from her mind.

Was she, Walker, mistress of disguise and champion of locked hearts, in love with the SEAL who always had her back? And if it was love— dammit all to hell , it felt like love —what the hell was she going to do about it?

The interrogation chamber in the compound was a study in shadows and harsh fluorescent glare. Cracks snaked through the concrete walls, and the single overhead bulb buzzed like a dying insect trapped in a jar. A faint odor of sweat and burnt coffee clung to the stale air, making it hard to breathe. A Marine guard stood by the door, arms rigid at his sides, face stoic despite the tension thickening the room.

Skull lurked off to one side, keeping his distance from the scene playing out in front of him. His posture was taut, arms crossed, eyes heavy with concern. He kept glancing at the dried blood on the floor and the battered steel chair where Diego Canto now sat. The cut above Diego’s eyebrow oozed a thin line of crimson, and each ragged breath rattled like it might be his last.

Across from Skull, Walker locked eyes with the sullen prisoner. Her voice was calm, carefully modulated, but deadly serious. Strekoza hovered by her side, tapping her blackjack against her palm, a metronome of intimidation. Every smack of leather on flesh threatened to fill the silence at any second.

“Diego,” Walker began, her tone deceptively level, “we’re giving you one last chance. Immunity. Enough money for a life of luxury—anywhere you want. A fresh start for you and your family. All of it.” A single lamp spilled its light over disheveled files and photos on the small table before them. “But we need you to tell us where Hazard and Leigh are.”

Diego’s eyes flickered with something that might have been desperation. But his jaw set in defiance. “You think I believe that?” He spat, wiping a bit of blood from his mouth, his cuffs rattling. “You’ll kill me as soon as I talk. Same as Pincho would.”

Walker’s glance darted back at Skull, gauging his reaction. Skull said nothing, but his eyes spoke volumes. Hazard and Leigh’s lives hung in the balance. Walker turned away from him, her patience thinning. She signaled Strekoza with a sharp nod. The blackjack landed against Diego’s ribcage with a vicious thud that seemed to echo against the concrete walls. Diego jerked, coughing, bright spots of blood staining his tattered shirt.

“That’s enough,” Skull said quietly, though he didn’t step forward. Conflict flickered across his face. “Don’t kill him. We still need him talking.”

Reluctantly, Walker held Strekoza back from delivering another blow. She drew a slim blade from her belt and pressed it flat against Diego’s cheek, letting him feel the cool steel. “You’re running out of time, Diego.”

And so were Hazard and Leigh.

Diego stared at Skull, searching for mercy. But Skull’s expression remained grim, unreadable.

“Where are they?” Walker repeated. The knife pressed just under Diego’s collarbone, drawing a hiss of pain. His lips stayed shut. Finally, Walker swore under her breath and stepped away, disgusted. She slammed the door behind her, leaving Diego gasping in the stale air.

Skull slipped out right after her, tension rippling off him. In the corridor, fluorescent lights revealed the cramped, low-slung ceilings of the compound. A musty scent of old paperwork and damp stone permeated every corner. Neither Skull nor Walker spoke. The clack of their boots rang ominously as they approached the next door.

Inside, Blade was waiting, a jumpy, wiry man whose expression turned fearful the moment he saw Walker’s fury.

“You promised me and my family—” he started, but Walker cut him off with a snarl.

“Your deal is off,” she snapped. “You swore Diego would crack under pressure. He hasn’t said a word. We’ve got nothing new. Pincho might already have killed Hazard and Leigh, and it’s on you for bad intel.”

Blade’s voice trembled as he raised his hands, desperation etched into every line of his face. “Wait. I’m trying to keep my family alive.”

Walker’s knuckles whitened as she folded her arms, battling the urge to lash out again. Skull stood behind her, arms locked over his chest, every muscle tensing. “This better be good,” Skull muttered.

Blade swallowed, eyes darting from Walker to Skull. “Pincho has a place in the Darién Gap. A fortress that is way off any map. If she went anywhere, that’s where she’d take them. It’s got everything to shield and protect her prisoners, armed guards, watchtowers, private landing strip. She’s all about comfort…and no one else would risk going there.”

Skull felt his stomach drop. The Darién Gap. He remembered the thick jungles, the labyrinth of narco trails, the rumor of guerrilla outposts tucked between swamps and sheer cliffs. He raked a hand over his face. “That place is practically a warzone,” he muttered. “If Hazard and Leigh are there, we’ll be heading into hell.”

Walker, no less grim, said, “And if it’s not the gap?”

Blade’s expression tightened, as though the very words tasted like poison on his tongue. “Venezuela. Pincho’s got a black site there, but this fortress is a fortress in a fortress. No one can break in or out. If she’s gone to ground, that’s a possibility.”

A muscle twitched in Walker’s jaw. She slammed her fist on the table so hard Blade flinched. “Don’t test me,” she growled. Blade tried to press himself further into the wall, caught between desperation and terror.

Skull’s voice scraped through the tense silence. “The gap is our best lead, though. Pincho knows no one wants to step foot in that jungle. We’ll have no support, no backup, no ISR, and spotty comms, but only so much time.” He paused, thinking of Hazard and Leigh, who might already be suffering a fate worse than death. “We do it ourselves, or we don’t do it at all.”

Minutes later, they regrouped with Anna and Iceman in the mission planning room, a cramped space lined with monitors and pinned-up satellite images. Anna hung up from a brief call to the CIA, rubbing her temples in frustration. “They’ve got nothing else. We’re out of options.”

Iceman was flipping through a file, the phone still in his hand. “We have approval to go, but it’ll be a skeleton operation. If Pincho’s not in the gap, we might lose any chance of finding Hazard and Leigh in time.”

Walker closed her eyes for a moment, drawing in a steadying breath. “We have to go in. Now. This is all we have, and even Blade’s best guess is better than nothing.”

Skull surveyed the grainy aerial photos, the dense green mosaic of the Darién Gap glaring back at him. A thousand bad memories clawed at his mind. “If we’re wrong, that’s it,” he said, his voice low. “If we’re right, we might be going in blind anyway.”

No one contradicted him. They all felt the same chill of dread. Outside, the whine of a helicopter’s rotors cut through the night, and somewhere distant in the city, a dog barked. Time was their enemy, ticking away while Hazard and Leigh’s fate hung in the balance.

“This is our last shot,” Skull said. “We strike hard and fast. Minimum team. Zero backup.”

His gaze swept the tense faces around him. The plan was borderline suicidal. But if they wanted Hazard and Leigh alive, they’d have to gamble everything. One by one, they nodded, the unspoken weight of the mission pressing down on them like the humid Colombian air. They had no choice but to prepare, and to pray they weren’t already too late.