“We’ve got some paperwork bullshit to do later. Congratulations. Worst onboarding in Naval history.”
Fly and North chuckled again, joined by several of the others as they reached the building entrance. He opened the door, briefly fist-bumping Easy.
“Man, you’re a piece of work,” Easy said as he went inside.
Tex was the last to enter. “Keep that sense of humor, Shaw. You’re going to need it.”
Flash entered the conference room last, taking a seat next to Fly and North. He was feeling like their damn den mother now. Keeping an eye on them was part of his mandate now.
Their CO, Lieutenant Dillion Casey, entered the room, along with two…his breath sucked in…wraiths.
The Asian American man was a coiled spring with lean, dense olive-brown skin over muscle contained in a frame that moved with a fluid, economical grace. The matte-black suit had no seams, disappearing beneath a leather duster that moved like liquid shadow, but on him, it accentuated his sleekness.
Flash's breath hitched as the man shifted his weight, and for a terrifying second, a ghostly overlay flickered across his form, a pattern of sleek, razor-sharp scales that shimmered like polished obsidian along his forearms. His eyes held the true horror, dark and unblinking, but they didn't just file away details. Theycalculated, measuring every person in the room with the cold, patient gaze of a predator that knew exactly when and where its single, explosive bite would land.
The woman moved with a sinuous efficiency that made Flash's skin prickle, her presence somehow more unsettling than her male counterpart's overt menace. She stood tall with sleek, athletic strength, her buttery brown skin marked by faint iridescent patterns that seemed to shift and writhe just beneath the surface when he wasn't looking directly at them. Her dark locs were pulled high into a controlled crown, the heavy ropes gathered away from her face while the closely shaved sides revealed intricate geometric lines cut into the hair with almost mathematical rigor. Nothing about the style felt decorative. It looked deliberate, ordered, and faintly dangerous.
Her face was striking, all sharp cheekbones, smooth skin, and full, unsmiling lips. Her features held a quiet symmetry that drew the eye without softening the hard intelligence behind them. Flash found himself unable to look away from her eyes. Her irises blended amber and lime green, a color that shouldn't have existed in nature yet somehow did. They were steady, patient, watching before acting.
For a heartbeat, Flash thought he saw something else overlaying her form. A spectral suggestion of scales rippled across her skin. The elegant line of her neck elongated. Her fingers tapered to unnatural points. A snake's ghost coiled around her human frame, beautiful and lethal, waiting for exactly the right moment to strike.
He swore the room's temperature dropped several degrees, recognition prickling his skin. The Veil was a language, and he was finally becoming fluent. He was seeing their truth, their soul's signature laid bare. Komodo was contained, explosive lethality. Krait was hypnotic, venomous grace. The overlays were the physical manifestation of what these people were inthe Veil's reality, and his mind, now part of that world, simply translated it into shapes it could comprehend, a pack member recognizing his allies.
“Listen up. We’ve been tasked with assisting with the apprehension of a CIA Shadowguard. This is Ardan “Komodo” Slater and his partner, Seneca “Krait” Vale. The floor is yours.”
“We are Shadowreavers. We hunt our own kind when they step out of line. There will be no mercy here.” He clicked the button and the flat screen lit up. Flash clenched his jaw, all his muscles tensing. He worked hard not to show it, but the woman’s unblinking eyes homed in on him with surgical precision. He ignored her unnerving scrutiny.
“This is Killa Saqra Rumi. You know her as Lechuza, and you have a history with her. That’s why we need your team to stop her from further unsanctioned assassinations.”
The accusation didn't fit the woman he knew. He'd pulled her out of a cell in Venezuela, watched her stand unbroken while Herrera's men tried to make her something less, watched her hold her oath when breaking it would have stopped the pain. That woman didn't slaughter indiscriminately. The proof didn't move him either. He'd spent a career around operators who could stage a kill to read like someone else's hand, the right marks in the right places, a signature anyone trained could wear.
Flash couldn’t stop himself. “How do you know it’s really her who’s committing these crimes?”
Komodo set down the clicker and focused his gaze on Flash. “Jae Shaw. I would expect nothing less than your loyalty to her. Her signature kill marks are all over the victims. We don’t make mistakes when it comes to our cohorts. At the very least, we wish to question her regarding the deaths. It’s our right.”
Tex rose. “It might be your right, but this is my team, and I say how we deploy. We split up, follow the leads you have. Communicate the best course of action in apprehendingher.” He invaded Komodo’s space, his eyes the flinty blue that broadcast that Tex never backed down from anyone. “I’ll emphasize that. Apprehend, Shadowreaver. Are we clear?”
Komodo’s gaze never wavered. “Crystal, Lieutenant.”
The tense moment between Tex and Komodo played over and over in his head as he entered his apartment. He shifted his shoulders, then immediately pivoted, but it was too late. The shadow he’d detected only milliseconds before was faster than Flash.
The man, who had easily twenty pounds of muscle over Flash, slammed him against the wall. A curved knife appeared at his throat. As with Komodo and Krait, a spectral tapestry of living stripes stained his skin, each one a deep, burnished orange etched with the black of a starless night. These ethereal markings writhed and flexed with his every movement, coalescing around his hands to form the ghostly, oversized paws of a predator. Most unnerving was the phantom weight that seemed to settle on his shoulders, a suggestion of a powerful, low-slung body forcing him into a slight crouch, as if the spirit of the tiger itself were manifesting, ready to spring.
“Bagh,” Flash said, recognizing the shaggy-haired Shadowguard. “You’ve caught me unprepared for guests. Sorry for the mess.” A faint smile ghosted the man’s lips. “Funny guy, listen up. Lechuza needs your help.”
“No shit. I don’t know where?—”
“Arizona.” He rattled off the information.
“You’re trusting me?”
“With her life and yours,” he whispered. “If you betray her, I’ll find you and cut out your fucking heart.” His face was slipping between feral feline features and human, his eyes burning amber. The sound of an engine backfiring outside drew his attention. When he looked back, Bagh was gone as if he’d vanished into thin air.
5
The hangar hummedat 3 a.m. like it always did. The desert wind dragged itself along the corrugated walls in long, low complaints, the climate system breathing under her feet. She'd been awake for too long, chasing a ghost. She'd run out of reasons to pretend otherwise. Everything she'd brought up earlier had been put back to sleep, the floor restored to its ruin of oil stains and concrete dust, the hangar back to the lie it told the desert.
She walked the perimeter the way she always did before she let herself rest, sidearm in her right hand, her left brushing the edge of a tool chest she'd modified to look like decades of neglect, fingertips reading the dust she'd let settle by design.
