A son erased from paper.
God help them all.
New York hit him like a wall—glass, steel, noise layered over more noise. Cabs blared. Sirens wailed in the distance. The winter wind knifed down the avenue, cutting through his jacket, carrying the sour tang of exhaust and the heat of too many damn people in one place.
Viper hated cities.
Too many blind corners.
Too many people who didn’t look up.
Too much chaos you couldn’t shoot your way out of.
He stepped off the curb outside the arrivals terminal, boots splashing through a shallow puddle. He hadn’t bothered changing—same matte-black jacket, boots still marked with desert grit, duffel slung over his shoulder. He didn’t give a damn that he looked like he’d walked straight off the ranch and into Manhattan.
He had one objective.
Find Titus.
Just over a week—nothing but the fuck off, then silence clawing at him.
Eleven days since the desert. Long enough to make any man restless.
No messages. No calls. No trace.
Just a cold absence where Titus should’ve been.
It had taken too many days to arrange for time off—he’d had to go through a few channels, but in the end, Will had made the executive decision.
The phone call from William Caldwell hadn’t been pleasant. He was still feeling the aftereffects of that.
“Losing a man in the goddamned desert?” Will had raged.
Viper had taken it in silence. What could he have said? He deserved no less and took everything the SecDef threw at him.
“Your only saving grace is that you were knocked out and not flying that chopper,” Will growled.
“I’m sorry, Sir,” he said for the third time.
Will sighed. “Your vacation request is approved. Take the next two weeks off—and that’s an order.”
He’d grinned then. An hour later, he was on a plane.
A horn blared behind him, snapping the memory clean in half.
He shoved into a waiting ride-share like it offended him, muttered the address to the driver, and stared out the window as New York blurred past.
Oversized billboards flashed in neon color. People surged across crosswalks like tides breaking. The city skyline towered above him, lights against the dark sky—a glittering fortress he had no intention of bowing to.
He checked the time.
Almost midnight.
Titus would be awake.
Titus was always awake.
The car turned down a narrow street lit in gold. Valets moved like shadows between black SUVs. A velvet rope ran along the entrance of a towering glass building—sleek, modern, expensive in the way that made his jaw tighten.
