Lucas stops playing as the ball rolls to a stop against the house with a hollow thump. He watches me with the warinessof a kid who's learned adults can bring trouble. His small hands ball into fists, ready to run or fight.
Rachel sets the coffee mug on a small patio table with careful precision. Her hand stays near her pocket. Her wedding ring finger is bare.
"Rachel," I say, stopping at the edge of her property line on the sidewalk.
She doesn't smile or relax. She studies me like I'm a threat she's calculating how to handle. Her jaw works once and then twice.
"Start talking, Colton. Explain why you're standing in my yard." Her voice carries the flat control of someone who's survived worse than an unexpected visitor. "Then I'm calling the police and telling them a stalker showed up at my house."
Behind her, Lucas edges toward the door with his eyes never leaving me. He's ready to run if this goes wrong and ready to call for help if his mom gives the signal.
The afternoon sun beats down on my shoulders while sweat tracks down my spine. The heat radiates off the pavement in shimmering waves. Rachel's eyes never leave my face.
My mouth goes dry, not from the heat but from the way she's looking at me like I'm a stranger, like whatever we had doesn't matter anymore.
"I'm here because your son witnessed something recently," I say, keeping my voice level and factual. "Something that made him a target. You're both in danger, and I'm here to make sure you survive long enough for my team to find a permanent solution."
Her expression doesn't change, but her hand moves closer to her pocket. "What kind of danger?"
"The kind that involves dangerous people with federal resources." I take one careful step forward, close enough now to see the pulse jumping in her throat. I keep my voice low, awareof Lucas listening. "The kind that doesn't want anyone talking about what they saw. They're looking for your son right now."
Rachel's jaw tightens with muscles working beneath the skin. "Who sent you?"
"Someone who doesn't leave people behind, someone who's been fighting the same organization now targeting your son." I take another step, slow and deliberate. "I know you don't have any reason to trust me. I know I walked away when you needed me before. But right now, I'm all that's standing between you and people who won't hesitate to kill a six-year-old witness."
"Get off my property." Her voice stays flat with steel underneath. "Now."
"Rachel—"
"I said get off my property." She pulls out her phone. "Start moving, or I call the police and tell them a man is threatening me and my son."
Lucas has already disappeared inside, probably running to get help.
My hands stay visible with my palms out. "The Committee sent kill teams after a teenage Syrian refugee because he witnessed war crimes. They sent teams after a journalist because she investigated their financial network. They sent teams after Echo Ridge operatives because we exposed their conspiracy to commit mass murder. Your son's life means exactly nothing to them except as a witness they need to eliminate."
She holds up the phone with the screen showing the emergency dial. "I don't know what you're talking about, and I don't care. You walked out of my life eight years ago without explanation. You don't get to come back now and tell me my son's in danger from some shadow organization."
The words hit like gut punches, carefully chosen and designed to cut. She's not wrong.
"You spent over a year in a cartel compound." The words come out harsh and rough. "You know what it looks like when people decide you're disposable. You know what it feels like to be a target. This is the same thing, except these people have federal resources and unlimited funding."
Her thumb hovers over the call button. "How do you know about the cartel?"
"Because the people who sent me have access to classified intelligence. Because we've been tracking Committee operations for months. Because recently, your son was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and now he's on a list of targets that needs elimination before a federal investigation goes public."
"Prove it." She doesn't lower the phone. "Prove you're not some stalker who's been following me. Prove you have any idea what you're talking about."
"Check the news from a few weeks back. Alley behind Martinez Grocery on Sixth Avenue. Body found, ruled gang violence by Tucson PD. Except it wasn't gang violence. It was a Committee cleanup operation, and your son saw the operatives responsible."
Rachel's face goes white. Her hand moves to her mouth. "Martinez Grocery. We were there that day. I was inside and Lucas—" She stops, realizing she's confirmed it.
"Lucas wandered to the back alley while you were shopping," I say quietly. "Saw something no kid should ever see. Came back scared but didn't tell you what happened. Maybe didn't want to get in trouble for wandering off. Maybe didn't know how to explain what he'd witnessed."
"The nightmares," she whispers. "They started a few weeks ago. I thought it was delayed trauma from the compound, but?—"
"It wasn't. It was fresh trauma. And the people who were there know a kid saw them. They've been running facial recognition through security cameras near the grocery store.Checking vehicle registrations. Building a profile. It won't be long before they identify him and decide he's a liability that needs permanent elimination."
"You're insane." But her voice wavers.
