I raise the canister again. “Get out!”
He shakes his head, blinking rapidly. His eyes are streaming, red-rimmed and furious, but fixed on me.
“Cassandra Brennan.” His voice is gravel and smoke. Strained, but terrifyingly calm for a man who just took a face full of capsaicin. “Put the can down.”
“Get out.”
“I’m not here to hurt you.”
“I said get out.” The words scrape past my teeth.
“I’m not here to hurt you.” He wipes his face with a sleeve, barely flinching. “I’m here to extract you. Phoenix is coming. We have three minutes.”
Phoenix.
The name lands like a physical blow. The air leaves my lungs.
“I don’t … How do you?—”
“Your lawsuit.” He straightens despite the pepper spray streaming down his face. “Vanguard Defense. Project Sentinel. You got flagged as a Level 5 threat. They’re already outside.”
The room tilts. My stomach drops.
This is insane. This man broke into my home. He’s filling the hallway, smelling of chemical burn and violence, talking about classified files I’ve barely touched. My classified case—like he has clearance. Like he knows things he shouldn’t know.
“I’m calling the police.”
“They can’t help you.” He moves toward me.
“Stay back.” I hold the spray steady, though my hand trembles. “Where is your backup? Police don’t come alone.”
“I’m not police. I’m Cerberus.”
“Private security? Who sent you?”
“Your friend at Justice. Emily Rodriguez.”
Emily. The DOJ attorney who referred the Vanguard case to me. Who warned me I was stepping into something bigger than corporate fraud. Who hasn’t answered a text in three days.
“If you’re extraction, where is your team?” I demand. “Why just you?”
He moves closer, eyes red and streaming, but his gaze is absolute iron.
“My team just fought a war in Chicago,” he says, the words rough with gravel. “They’re scattered and bleeding. I’m the only one standing between you and a kill squad.”
My hand shakes. “Prove it.”
“No time.” He wipes his eyes with his sleeve. But he doesn’t flinch. “Phoenix uses a kill protocol. You filed your complaint forty-eight hours ago. They’ve had time to pattern your life, identify your vulnerabilities, and deploy a contract team.”
He steps closer. The scent hits me now—beneath the pepper spray. Ozone. Gun oil. Rain. The scent of a storm about to break.
“They’re outside right now,” he says. “I counted three vehicles. Thermal signatures confirm twelve hostiles. They breach in ninety seconds.”
“You’re lying.”
“Check your window.”
I don’t move.
