“This retaliation gives him something to chase,” I continue. “Something he believes he caused.”
A pause.
“Meanwhile,” I add quietly, “I take away his certainty.”
The analyst hesitates. “And Lena Hart?”
I smile then—slow, cold.
“She will see through the noise,” I say. “She always does.”
I turn back toward the console.
“That is why the real move is not against her body,” I continue. “It is against herbeliefthat she can stay ahead.”
The false retaliation continues to unfold—fires burning, assets collapsing, headlines screaming escalation.
Pierce will surge forward.
Delta Five will redeploy.
They will believe they are forcing my hand.
I clasp my hands behind my back, satisfied.
Because when men believe they’ve cornered you…
They stop watching their flanks.
And when Ronan Pierce realizes this was never retaliation at all—
It will already be too late.
48
Ronan
Location: Eastern Europe — Forward Operations Vehicle
Time: 0817 Hours
The feeds light up fast.
Too fast.
Warehouse fire. Convoy ambush. Two dead drop sites burned within thirty minutes of each other.
Aaron leans forward from the passenger seat, eyes hard. “He’s lashing out.”
That’s what it looks like.
That’s what Malenkovwantsit to look like.
I stare at the satellite imagery, jaw tight, something cold sliding down my spine.
“No,” I say slowly. “He’s performing.”
Miles glances up from the tablet. “You think it’s theater?”
