In three hours, we leave this concrete box and take the fight to Phoenix. But right now, resting while Eliza works, processing her admission that she cares about me, I realize the stakes have changed.
This isn’t about stopping Phoenix anymore. It’s about surviving long enough to find out what it means that she cares about me.
And whether I’m capable of caring back.
EIGHTEEN
Eliza
NIGHT MOVE
Midnight turnsthe maintenance shed into a coffin of shadows. The single bulb flickered out an hour ago, leaving only the blue glow of my laptop screen illuminating Cooper’s face as he checks his weapon. His jaw clenches with each movement, though he tries to hide the pain.
“Ready?” His voice comes rough and low.
The gun feels wrong in my hands—cold metal against sweaty palms. I grip it like some talisman against the darkness while Cooper drifted in and out of consciousness. Now it’s time to move.
“As I’ll ever be.”
Cooper shoulders the tactical bag with his good arm. Blood has soaked through the bandage again—a dark stain spreading across clean white gauze. The antibiotics from the first aid kit might be keeping infection at bay, but they’re doing nothing for the blood loss.
“Stay close,” he says, moving to the door. “Voice discipline. Hand signals only unless absolutely necessary.”
That’s his way of telling me to keep my mouth shut.
My academic brain files away the instructions while my body vibrates with adrenaline. Three hours of decoded Phoenix communications flash behind my eyelids every time I blink—corporate shell companies, financial transfers, systematic infiltration into legitimate businesses. The knowledge weighs heavier than the gun.
Cooper cracks the door open, scanning the darkness beyond. The night air rushes in—cool against my skin, carrying the scent of damp concrete and distant garbage. When he signals all-clear, my feet move automatically.
The alley stretches ahead like a throat, narrowing toward distant streetlights. Cooper moves with measured steps—slower than before, favoring his wounded side. Pride keeps his spine straight, but each footfall betrays the effort it costs him.
“Left at the corner,” he whispers. “Stay in the shadows.”
I press close to the brick wall, following his lead as we navigate the urban maze. Cooper’s tactical training maps our route through blind spots where security cameras can’t reach—service corridors, maintenance alleyways, and the forgotten spaces between buildings, where homeless people build cardboard shelters.
The distance to Union Station stretches three miles across a city that never truly sleeps. Every passing car makes my heart stutter. Every distant siren sends ice through my veins. Cooper reads my fear without looking, his hand finding mine in the darkness, squeezing once.
Reassurance without words.
The streets become progressively busier as we approach the edge of the business district. Late-night workers, club-goers, and the occasional group of tourists mix on sidewalks—normal urban nightlife that should provide perfectcover.
Cooper suddenly stiffens beside me, his pace slowing to an almost casual stroll. His hand finds mine, fingers interlacing as he pulls me closer to his side.
“Couple at the bus stop,” he murmurs against my hair, lips barely moving. “Man reading newspaper, woman checking phone.”
My gaze drifts toward them—nothing remarkable, just two people waiting for public transportation. The man’s suit appears slightly rumpled after a long day, while the woman’s sensible heels suggest office work.
“What about them?” I whisper back.
“Three things. Positioning gives sight lines in both directions. The newspaper’s yesterday’s edition. And no bus runs this route after eleven.”
The tactical assessment hits like a revelation. What looked like ordinary citizens transforms before my eyes—their casual stance now reads as alertness, their unremarkable appearance as deliberate camouflage.
“Phoenix?”
Cooper’s slight nod sends ice through my veins. His grip tightens as he guides me across the street, using a group of laughing twenty-somethings as visual cover.
“More at the corner,” he says, eyes scanning the intersection ahead. “Man with coffee cup hasn’t taken a sip in three minutes. The woman with the dog is walking too slowly, and there is no plastic bag for waste.”
