A reactivated ghost of our past.
And a new war opening up right beneath our feet.
“I’m on my way,” I said. “Let’s bring Russ and Boone in on this.”
The line clicked dead.
I sank onto the edge of the bed, boots still in my hand.
For years I thought the worst part of my job was the blood. The bodies. The missions that didn’t leave survivors.
I was wrong.
The worst part was the moment before the mission — the silent truth that whispered what I’d never said out loud:
You might not bring her home this time.
Not Raine.
Not the one person I’d die a thousand times for.
I shoved my boots on, grabbed my bag, and headed for the door.
Outside, the night was dark and sharp, the kind of cold that smelled like something coming.
My phone buzzed once more.
A text.
Unknown number.
She’s not who you think she is.
And you’re already too late.
Does that mean it’s not Raine? Then who could it be if not her?
My chest went still. No! My heart shouted.
Because only one person could’ve sent that.
Only one person knew the code.
Only one person knew exactly how to carve fear into my bones.
Sentinel.
Back from the dead.
And he had my sister.
My hand tightened around the phone as I headed toward the waiting SUV.
“Hold on, Raine, or whoever it might be,” I murmured into the darkness.
“I’m coming for you.”
One way or another.
