Whoever does this doesn’t want Delta Five broken.
They want us busy.
Distracted.
Chasing shadows while they move something—or someone—right past us.
I close the laptop and stand, pulling my jacket on.
The quiet is gone now.
So is the illusion that this war ended clean.
Because Malenkov was a tyrant.
But whoever comes next?
They’re patient.
And patience kills more people than rage ever will.
1
Aaron
Location: Lisbon, Portugal
It’s dark outside. I notice her because she doesn’t notice me.
That alone makes her dangerous.
She stands outside the archive building with her phone pressed to her ear, shoulder tucked against the stone wall like she’s trying to disappear into it. No panic. No urgency. Just quiet concentration while the city moves around her.
Tourists pass. A tram rattles by. Life continues.
And somewhere deep in my chest, instinct tightens.
“She doesn’t know,” I murmur into the mic.
Ronan’s voice comes back low and steady. “Confirm.”
“She thinks she’s safe.”
That’s confirmation enough.
I watch her end the call and slip the phone into her bag, fingers brushing a silver pendant at her throat—nervous habit.She exhales, glancing up at the building behind her like she’s debating whether to go back inside.
Don’t.
Every part of me wants to tell her not to.
“Name’s Lark London,” Lena says in my ear piece. “NGO data archivist. No priors. No combat training. No idea she’s flagged.”
I follow Lark as she starts walking, at an unhurried pace, posture relaxed. She doesn’t see the man step out of the alley behind her.
I do.
“Contact,” I say quietly.
