Marianne studies me for a long beat, not unkindly. “You wouldn’t be going into a warzone. The assignment is in Mogadishu—more peace talks and embassy-secured locations.”
The word peace talks echoes in my head. Mogadishu. A city I’ve only ever known through headlines and footage—dusty streets, armed convoys, history soaked in blood and resilience in equal measure.
Addison steps closer to me, lowering her voice. “Kate, this is huge. You’d be perfect.”
“I don’t want to be perfect. I want to be alive.”
Marianne smiles faintly. “A reasonable desire.”
Addison nudges my arm. “You’ll be with me the whole time. And you won’t even be reporting. Just interpreting.”
I hesitate, my heart beating faster now, something restless stirring beneath the fear. I’ve spent my career observing from the sidelines, writing about other people’s lives while keeping my own carefully contained.
Maybe that’s why the idea terrifies me—and probably why it tempts me too.
Addison turns to me, eyes bright. “Please say yes.”
“I might die,” I remind her.
She grins. “We all might. At least this way you’ll have a story.”
I look down at my desk, at the article half-finished on my screen, at the life I’ve built so carefully, and somewhere in the back of my mind, a silent, dark-eyed man lingers like a ghost I can’t quite shake.
“Fine, but if I die, I’m haunting both of you.”
Addison whoops, throwing her arms around me in a quick hug. “That’s my girl.”
As she pulls back, I realize something with a quiet, startling clarity. What have I just agreed to?!
4
RYDER
The motel room smells like bleach and old cigarettes—the kind of place no one remembers once they’ve checked out. That’s why I chose it. It’s cheap, anonymous, and close enough to the airport that I can leave without thinking twice. Extravagance attracts attention, attention attracts questions, and questions get people killed.
The sun is just beginning to rise when I shut the door behind me and slide the bolt into place. The heater rattles weakly in the corner, fighting a losing battle against the December cold. The bedspread is thin, patterned in some forgettable shade of brown, and the TV is bolted to the wall like it’s afraid someone might try to steal it.
I set the guitar case down by the wall and stand there for a moment longer than necessary, hands braced on my hips, jaw tight. The silence presses in, heavy and unforgiving now that the city is shut out. No music, no traffic noise worth noting, just the hum of cheap electricity and my own breathing.
I should feel satisfied.
The job wasn’t completed, but it wasn’t botched either. The window closed—that happens. You adjust, move, and wait for the next opening. Clean and simple. So why does irritation coil so tight in my chest?
I know why. Kate, and those gorgeous eyes.
I strip off my jacket and toss it onto the chair by the door harder than necessary. The memory comes unbidden—warm skin under my hands, the sound she made when she forgot to filter herself, and the way she looked at me like I was something solid in a world that kept shifting under her feet.
I clamp down on it immediately. That was a mistake, not because of the sex. Sex is just sex—a release, a momentary lapse in discipline that I won’t repeat. It was a mistake because I stayed.
I should have left the moment the target boarded that plane. I should have melted back into the city and erased myself like I always do. Instead, I stood there and let her talk, filling the silence and getting close enough to matter for reasons that had nothing to do with want and everything to do with weakness.
I don’t do weakness.
I unbutton my shirt slowly, methodically, folding it instead of tossing it aside.Old habits die hard.Control is easier to maintain when everything has its place. I kick off my boots and line them up neatly by the door, then drag a hand through my hair and exhale through my nose.
I peel off the rest of my clothes and step into the shower, turning the water on hot enough to sting. Steam fills the small bathroom quickly, curling around the edges of the mirror, blurring my reflection until I barely recognize the shape staring back at me.
Good.
