I swallow. “What?”
“Ifanythingfeels off, don’t push through it.”
I huff out a laugh. “It’s a mission, going after Daniel. Everything already feels off.”
I stare at him and I see it. Something I’ve never seen in Jace’s eyes.
Fear.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Iask, my voice wavers just the slightest.
His jaw clenches, his eyes flash with some unnamed emotion before he shuts it down.
“Because I can’t be there,” he whispers.
The knot in my chest loosens. “I’ll be fine.”
His mouth opens then closes; it’s quite the sight to see. Jace Ravencourt, trying to find the words. I would laugh if his face didn’t look so pained.
“I’ll be back before you know it.” I hug him and kiss his cheek.
When I pull back his eyes are closed, he takes a deep breath. When his eyes open, he’s himself again.
“Go,” he says, voice low. “Before I do something stupid and try to follow you.”
The van rumblesover the cracked coastal roads, our weapons laying across our laps. Dakota sits beside me, arms braced on her knees, eyes locked on the window. Luca loads his sidearm with practiced calm, and Noah is tapping rapidly on a tablet, scanning for comms and checking blueprints of the target area.
No one speaks much. The tension is thick.
This is our first real chance. The first time, Daniel slipped. The Guild has spent weeks chasing ghosts, but this one feels real.
I tighten the straps of my combat vest, Glock holstered at my thigh. The van pulls to a stop, and we file out.
Jace would be going over the plan one last time right about now. Something to cut through the weight of it all. Keep us focused, not thinking too hard.
Tex.
I swallow hard. We’ll finish this. For him.
The night is cold and damp, the sea air curling under my collar as we move in the shadows between the stacked shipping containers. Saltand rust linger in the air, mixing with oil and old metal. It was the kind of place where people disappeared.
Dakota holds up a clenched fist, signaling a halt.
We duck low behind a steel crate stamped with foreign serials. Luca scans the perimeter through a scope, and Noah taps silently into a surveillance feed. A shaky drone image flickering on his wrist screen—low-res, but enough to count three guards by the main container unit and another two pacing along the southern fence.
“I’m guessing he’s here,” Noah whispers. “Thermal pings. Inside that black container, center grid. It's guarded.”
Dakota’s jaw clenches. “Luca, Isobel—you flank left. Sweep the fence line and create a path. Noah and I will hold our position and monitor movement. No guns unless they fire first.”
Rules. Lines. I keep them in mind, even as my pulse thrums with adrenaline and rage.
Luca and I move out, ducking under rust-stained railings and skirting puddles slick with oil. I could feel the weight of Tex’s memory pressing on my back—like a vow burning under my skin.
I keep Maeve’s words close. Use my anger as fuel. I won’t let it take over.
The first guard comes into view, his footsteps lazy. Luca signals to me behind a container. I wait for the beat of his breath, then lunge forward, catching the man in a chokehold and dragging him into the shadows. He doesn’t make a sound before crumpling to the ground.
Luca gives me an impressed nod. “Remind me not to piss you off.”
