At that name, Dave’s grip tightens.
His voice stays controlled. “That’s the problem.”
I stare at him.
“What are you talking about?”
“Sierra,” he says, and suddenly he sounds like the man who used to read me my mother’s letters when I couldn’t. “Listen to me. Your father wasn’t killed in a war.”
My stomach drops so fast it feels like falling.
“He…” My voice cracks. “He died on deployment.”
Dave’s jaw clenches.
“No,” he says. “He was murdered.”
My mind refuses it. Refuses the shape of that word. Refuses the way it makes the world tilt.
“Murdered,” I repeat, like I’m tasting poison.
Dave nods once, grim.
“He found something he wasn’t supposed to find,” he continues. “A list. Names. An operation that’s been running under everyone’s nose for years.”
My body goes numb.
“Dave,” I whisper. “What…”
“There’s a group,” he says, voice dropping lower. “People inside the system. Military. Intelligence. Men with clearances and medals and perfect-looking careers. They call themselves the Red Cobras.”
The name is ridiculous. Comic-book ridiculous.
Except Dave looks like he hasn’t laughed in years.
“They sell secrets,” he says. “To the highest bidder. To enemies. To anyone who wants to pay.”
I shake my head, because my body needs to do something besides shatter.
“That’s… that’s insane,” I whisper.
He leans closer.
“And your father found a folder with their names.”
My throat tightens until swallowing is pain.
The flash drive.
The hidden compartment.
The break-in.
“Did you find a flash drive in his belongings?”
“Yes,” I breathe.
Dave’s expression sharpens. “We need to leave. Fast. We’re in danger.”
