"Stick around and I might tell you."
I nearly choked. "Jesus."
"Welcome to The Sanctuary," Micah said, settling into the chair across from me.
I sat back down, the weight of the moment pressing in. "The front door," I said. "It's armored."
Micah grinned. "Can stop anything up to a tank round. For a time."
"And the rest of the place?"
"Similar." He gestured around the room. "Your room is just down the hall. Private. Secure. The butler—his name's Ellsworth, former SAS—will handle everything you need."
"Everything?" I asked, thinking this sounded like something out of a James Bond movie.
"Weapons. Comms gear. Transportation. Access." Micah's gaze didn't waver. "Everything."
I set my glass down on the side table, letting the statement settle. Then I leaned forward, elbows on my knees.
"Why are you really doing this?" I asked. "What the hell is going on?"
Micah sipped his drink, staring at the fireplace for a long moment. The flames cast shadows across his face, deepening the lines around his eyes.
Finally, he spoke.
"I've recently been through something that has me rethinking what's possible in the world." His voice was low, measured. "We go into the military thinking we can change things. Kill every bad guy on the planet. Make it safer. But when it comes down to it, some whisper from a spook or a new law from a politician fucks everything up."
He paused, turning the glass in his hand.
"What if there's another way?"
I frowned. "What way?"
"Money and power."
The words landed heavy.
"Think about it," Micah continued. "What if we'd had money and power on our side in Helsinki? Sri Lanka? Budapest? Prague?"
Those were all places we'd worked together. Every single op had gone to shit. And yet, somehow, we'd salvaged the mission. Barely.
I exhaled slowly. "If we'd had unlimited resources? There's a lot I'd have done differently."
Micah's gaze sharpened. "Like save your friends?"
The question cut straight to my core.
My friends. My brothers. Scattered around the world, running from the same past I was.
"What do you know about them?" I asked, voice tight.
"They're being found," Micah said. "Hopefully, before your other old friends find them."
The message. The warning. The nine of us, on the run, our pasts coming to drag us back.
"What's your plan?" I asked.
Micah leaned back, swirling his drink. "You're the guinea pig."
