PROLOGUE
15 miles south of Barstow, CA
The iPad screen cast the only light in the abandoned miner’s shack, painting shadows on walls Griff had memorized down to every crack and water stain. Four months in places like this—roach motels, abandoned offices, a shipping container once, becoming what he'd always been best at: a ghost.
The encrypted connection crackled to life, and suddenly the interior of the Hope Landing church filled his screen. His chest constricted.
Home,he thought, then immediately crushed the sentiment. A luxury he couldn't afford. Not with the men who ordered Tank's death still breathing.
"Testing, testing," Kenji's voice came through. "I hope you can see us, big guy."
Griff's fingers hovered over the keyboard. One typed response could reveal his location, his IP address carefully masked but still a breadcrumb. Even this—watching his best friend's wedding through stolen satellite feeds and encrypted connections—was a risk.
"Crystal clear," he finally murmured to the empty room, knowing Kenji couldn't hear him.
The camera panned across the lodge's great room, and Griff catalogued every detail with the obsession of a man studying proof of life. Mason jars filled with wildflowers.
Jade’s touch, probably. White lights strung between beams—definitely the mother of the groom’s insistence on "ambiance." The crackling fires, the laughter already starting to fill the space.
All of it felt like watching through bulletproof glass. Present but untouchable.
You chose this,he reminded himself.Every sleepless night, every cold meal, every time you didn't call. You chose this.
"Incoming chaos at two o'clock," Kenji muttered, and the camera swung toward the entrance.
Silver hair glinting in the light, Admiral Knight strode in with his wife, Minerva. Griff's jaw clenched. The Admiral had sent three encrypted messages in the past months. Three attempts to bring him home. Three messages Griff had deleted unread because reading them would've made him weak, and weak men didn't catch killers.
The original Knight Tactical team filed in behind them. Jack Reese with his kids—when had the twins gotten so big? Time moved differently in the shadows. You missed things. First steps. First words. First everythings.
Austin and Lauren arrived with their toddler, and Griff noticed Austin's slight favoring of his left side. Old injury acting up? New injury he didn't know about? Months of missed intelligence, missed moments, missed chances to have his team’s back.
"DJ! DJ! You're here!"
Little Chantal's voice pierced through his self-recrimination. Seven years old, purple unicorn dress, rainbow combat boots. The pure joy on her face as DJ caught her and spun heraround. When was the last time Griff had felt anything close to that uncomplicated happiness?
The night before Tank died,his memory supplied helpfully.Poker. Tank bluffing with a pair of threes and that stupid grin.
"Will you save me a dance?" Chantal asked DJ, bouncing on her toes. "A real one, not a baby one?"
"You got it. But only if you show me those combat moves your mom's been teaching you."
"Where's the groom?" Christian Murphy's voice cut through, and Griff leaned closer to the screen involuntarily.
Watching Ronan and his half-brother knit together a true relationship had been what brought the two special forces teams together in the end.
The best thing that had ever happened to him.
The irony wasn't lost on him—while he was out here alone, the team was literally becoming family. Marriages, adoptions, bonds he could only observe through stolen pixels.
The camera found Ronan’s mom, Victoria, holding court with old friends. Everyone pairing off, building something, while Griff built nothing but a case file of dead ends and almost-leads.
This is the price,he told himself.The only way to keep his people safe and still bring Tank justice.
But watching Ronan appear in his dress uniform, looking vulnerable in a way Griff had never seen—that nearly broke him. Ronan, who'd taken the fall for all of them, had found his way home. Had found love, family, redemption.
And you? What have you found?
Blood. Bodies. Bank records that led nowhere. A conspiracy that grew tentacles every time he cut one off.
