Raine stirred beside me, shifting closer, instinctively finding my arm even in sleep. I tightened my grip around her waist, grounding myself in the warmth, the reality of her breath.
“Did Sentinel mark the site?” I asked.
“Yes.”
That settled it.
“Then this was never about the convoy,” I said. “It was about us.”
“About you,” Logan corrected. “And her.”
I glanced down at my wife. At the faint scar near her collarbone. At the woman who’d survived hell and come back sharper for it.
“They took the wrong person,” Logan continued. “Or the right one—for whatever he’s planning next.”
“Send me everything,” I said. “Footage. Route data. Who cleared the transport.”
“I already did.”
Of course he had.
“And Adam,” Logan added, voice dropping. “He sent me a message.”
My jaw locked. “What did it say?”
“She’s not who you think she is.”
I exhaled slowly.
“That’s Sentinel,” I said. “He wants doubt. He wants hesitation.”
“But?” Logan pressed.
“But he also wants me angry.”
Raine shifted again, eyes fluttering open. She took one look at my face and went still.
“Adam?” she murmured. “What’s wrong?”
I didn’t answer her yet.
“Logan,” I said quietly. “He didn’t take Raine because he knows I’d burn the world down to get her back.”
“So what did he do?”
“He showed us he could,” I said. “And next time, he won’t miss.”
The line went quiet.
“I’m rerouting,” I continued. “Get Boone. Get Russ. Lock down every known Sentinel echo. And Logan—”
“Yes.”
“You stay alive. He’s hunting you now.”
“I’ve always been on his list.”
“Then move like it,” I said.
