Cosmos looked up at her, the weight in his eyes making her mouth snap shut.
“The Founders,” he said, his voice low and tight, “are a thousand times worse than discovering a gateway to another world. Because they didn’tfindpower, Avery… theymadeit. And not responsibly. Not with boundaries. They took men and women and genetically engineered children. They picked people no one would miss—and turned their kids into weapons.”
Avery paled. “And you were?—”
“The scientist whoalmostgot involved,” he cut in, his voice sharp. “I turned them down. I did everything I could to shut down the project. But someone—I’m guessing the government—buried it.”
He looked up at RITA. “Contact Nikos Aeto. Let him know I’m coming andnotto shoot my ass when I show up out of thin air.”
“Done,” RITA replied smoothly. “What about Harlem?”
Cosmos exhaled slowly, a chill dancing down his spine. “Aw, hell. This is getting more complicated by the second. Harlem…” He paused, then grimaced. “… would be a good asset to have on this mission. Ask him if he would consider helping us. We may need hisuniqueability.”
“What ability does this Harlem have that I don’t?” Avery asked cautiously.
Cosmos downed the rest of his coffee, then met her gaze.
“The ability to not fucking stay dead.”
Avery’s jaw dropped slightly. “What—is he immortal?”
“That pretty much sums it up,” he muttered.
Avery’s eyes widened with disbelief. “You’re not joking… are you?”
He stood, setting the mug down with a loud clink. “Prep a cleanup crew, Avery. I have a feeling we are goingto need it.”
She followed his movements with a worried expression. “For what?”
His eyes met hers. Cold. Certain. “Because if KSS is digging, and the Founders find what they want… we’re going to need it.”
Eighteen
Founder’s Tower, NYC
Late morning sunlight filtered through the wall of glass behind Benoit Jeffries, spilling across the pale stone floor of his Manhattan office like liquid gold. Beyond the gleaming expanse, Central Park unfolded in a patchwork of crimson and gold, its trees turning with the season. The beauty of it—clean, organized, contained—was a satisfying contrast to the chaos he felt closing in.
He stood with his back to the room, his hands clasped behind him, perfectly still in a Brioni steel-gray suit tailored to precision. The silence was sharp—deliberate. He needed quiet to focus on his target. It was one of his vulnerabilities.
His phone vibrated once in his pocket, breaking his concentration. With a sigh, he reached for his phone. He didn’t need to check who it was. He already knew.
Benoit exhaled slowly, pulled out the device, and pressed it to his ear. “Report.”
Lyle’s voice crackled through the line, low and tight. “Eric has gone off-grid. He slipped out last night.”
Benoit’s gaze didn’t move from the view. “And?”
“I’m pretty sure I know where he’s headed,” Lyle continued quickly, like a man trying to dodge a bullet he saw coming. “He’s going north. Toward a cabin in upstate New York. Belongs to one of Aeto’s old teammates.”
Benoit’s eyes narrowed.
“Do not engage,” he instructed. “Do notspeakto Eric. Observation only. I’m sending coordinates. I’ll meet you there in two hours.”
There was a pause on the line. Then: “You’re coming? Yourself?”
Lyle’s voice betrayed more than surprise. It held fear. It should.
“Eric said?—”
