Then he touches my cheek—just one gentle brush of his thumb. “I’ll be right back.”
I nod, throat tight. “Go.”
He shuts the door and moves away, joining the others as they form up. I watch through the windshield as Haven 7 merges with the FBI team like they were built for this.
Rafe signals.
Rhett checks comms.
Boyd shifts his weapon, scanning the building.
Chase does something that looks like a joke to Wyatt, but Wyatt doesn’t laugh—just nods.
And then they move. They disappear into the night, swallowed by the looming warehouse and the harsh lights and the wind.
And I am alone. In a locked SUV. With my heartbeat pounding like a drum. I keep my hands in my lap and force myself to breathe. One inhale. One exhale. I glance at the rearview mirror.
Nothing.
I glance out the side window.
Nothing.
Just snow and empty lot and the shadow of the warehouse.
Minutes pass.
I try not to count them.
Then my radio crackles—voices, clipped, urgent. I can’t make out all the words, but I catch phrases like“breach”and“clear”and“east side”.
They’re inside.
They’re doing it.
My stomach twists. Fear and pride tangling together.
Maybe this ends tonight.
Maybe the nightmare stops.
A shape moves at the far edge of the lot.
I stiffen.
It’s a man. Walking too calmly. Too casually.
He’s not FBI. No patch. No visible gear.
He heads toward the SUVs.
My heart slams into my ribs.
Don’t open the door.
I don’t move. I don’t breathe. I try to call for help with the radio but there’s nothing. No answer. Silence.
The man comes closer, and the floodlights catch his face. Sharp jaw. Dark hair. A smile that isn’t warm at all. My blood turns to ice.
