Page 181 of The Devil's Thorn

“I’ve been walking into danger my whole life,” I cut in. “This isn’t new.”

He stopped, jaw ticking, and stared at me like I’d lost my mind. Maybe I had.

“I’m not doing this for Rafael,” I added, voice sharper now. “I need to know how deep this goes. If Damyen is working with someone else—if Viktor has his claws in this—then it all connects.”

Ash leaned forward. “So what’s the plan?”

I met his eyes. “I go. I listen. I see what I can find.”

Kellan let out a bitter laugh. “And if something goes wrong?”

I reached for my phone, unlocked it, and handed it to him. “Track me.”

Kellan stared at it, then up at me. “That’s not a plan, Isabella. That’s a suicide mission.”

I stepped closer, lowering my voice but not my spine. “You want me to stay safe? Then be ready. If I don’t text or call by a certain time, you come.”

“When exactly?” Ash asked, voice low and unreadable.

I gave them the time the men had mentioned—burned into my memory like the sound of gunfire. Then turned back to Kellan. “Can you do that?”

He took the phone, eyes hard. “Of course I can. But I don’t like it.”

“You’re not supposed to,” I murmured. “None of this is supposed to be easy.”

Ash stood, his expression unreadable, arms crossed now as he looked between the two of us.

Kellan shook his head, muttering, “This was never the deal, Isa. You were supposed to get answers, not bury yourself in their war.”

“I’m not buried,” I said. “Not yet.”

He stared at me for a long moment. “You’re getting reckless.”

I smiled, but it didn’t reach my eyes. “No. I’m getting closer.”

Twohours passed,slow and suffocating. I paced the room in silence for most of it, ignoring the way Kellan’s eyes tracked every move I made and how Ash occasionally tapped his foot against the floor like he was chewing on thoughts he didn’t know how to spit out.

Now,in the bathroom, the fluorescent light above me buzzed quietly, but it wasn’t loud enough to drown out the noise in my head.

I pulled the black fabric over my skin, the top fitting like a second layer of muscle and the dark pants cutting right against my waist. I tied my hair back tightly, exposing the sharp lines of my jaw. Nothing loose. Nothing that could catch. I needed to blend into shadows, not steal light.

The woman staring back at me in the mirror wasn’t the same one who arrived in Cartagena wide-eyed and calculating. This one looked like smoke—meant to disappear.

You’re not doing this for him,I reminded myself, pressing my palms against the sink.You’re doing it for them. For the answers you deserve.For the fire that still burned in your blood after all these years.

I stepped out of the bathroom, breath steady, expression blank. Kellan was seated on the couch, two laptops open in front of him. Ash sat beside him, arms crossed, but the second I walked out, they both looked up. Like soldiers waiting for a cue.

Kellan raised an eyebrow. “You’re really going.”

I walked toward them, gaze flicking to the screens—one already flashing a map, my location marked. “Didn’t we already have this conversation?”

“Yeah,” he muttered, standing up. “Still hoping you’d come to your senses.”

He reached behind the couch and pulled out something black, a holster. Quietly, he stepped around me and clipped it around my waist, adjusting the straps until it sat perfectly flat under my jacket. Then he pulled out a gun—small, compact. Clean. “Loaded. Safety on.”

I took it without hesitation and tucked it beneath the hem of my jacket, the cool metal pressing against my back like a whisper.

“You’ve done this before,” he said, not quite a question.