Page 44 of Crown of Ash

"I know you did it." Marcus turned his wrist until he was the one holding Andre's hand instead of the other way around. "Some part of me has known for a long time. I never let myself look at it too closely, because looking at it meant admitting how much of what I built… was built on something you were risking for me. And I didn't know how to carry that on top of everything else I already owed you."

"You don't owe me anything."

"I knew that's what you'd say." Marcus brought Andre's hand up, pressed his mouth to the back of it, brief and certain. "Doesn't make it true. But I'm done pretending I didn't know. That I haven’t always held on to just a little sliver of hope."

Andre was quiet for a moment, and when he spoke again his voice had gone rough in a way that had nothing to do with the room.

"Tomorrow night," he said.

"Tomorrow night," Marcus agreed. "And then no more secrets left to close. Just us."

"Just us." Andre stood, close enough now that there was no room left between them at all. "I can live with that."

"So can I," Marcus said, and meant it more than he'd meant almost anything in six years.

Chapter 23

Ghost had the property up on three screens, a digital triptych of surveillance, before Bell's people ever left Lakefront. It was a secluded lake house, nestled forty minutes north of Flint's crumbling heart, its ownership shrouded in the anonymity of a shell company. The property had been purchased eleven years ago and had remained a ghost itself, never once mentioned in any document or transaction that bore Drakov's name. The moment Ghost cracked his network, Drakov had fled to this hidden sanctuary. Cornered men, Andre knew, always retreated to their secret lairs, places they believed were unknown to the rest of the world. In his desperation, Drakov had unwittingly revealed his.

"Six from Bell, ten from Sovereign, our four," Marcus murmured, his voice a low rumble in the darkness of the staging area two hundred yards out. "Reaper's people take the water side. Nobody moves until Ghost confirms the jamming's live."

Andre checked his vest one more time, not out of necessity but to give his restless hands something to do. Something that wasn't shaking.

"You good?" Marcus asked, his voice a soft whisper meant only for Andre's ears.

"I've done raids before, Whitfield."

"Not this one." Marcus's eyes found his in the dark, held there a second longer than tactical necessity called for. There was an intensity in his gaze that sent a shiver down Andre's spine. "This one means too much to us both. I need your head clear for it."

"It's clear."

Marcus didn't look entirely convinced, but before he could press further, Ghost's voice crackled over the radio, flat and certain. "Jamming's live. You're green."

They moved.

The property emerged from the darkness piece by piece like a puzzle being solved: a boathouse hugging the water's edge, a two-story main house with more windows aglow than a man expecting trouble should have left burning, a tree line that was thin enough to offer cover yet thick enough to require it. Andre, Zain, and Trip took the east flank, falling into the same formation that had worked at the docks: quiet, practiced, unhurried.

The first two guards went down without a sound, victims of Zain's hands that moved with a quiet efficiency that Andre had learned not to question. The night swallowed their bodies as Andre's heart pounded a steady rhythm in his chest, the only sound in the otherwise silent darkness.

Radio traffic hummed with a steady rhythm in Andre's ear, a comforting undercurrent to the tension that hung in the air. For the first six minutes, everything was as it should be. Sovereign's people had the perimeter locked down, their voices crisp and professional over the radio. Bell's team had secured the boathouse, their movements as calm and competent as had been promised in the war room. Reaper's people were already infiltrating from the water side before Andre's team even reached the tree line, a testament to their skill and efficiency.

Then Sable's voice cut through the radio chatter, and it was anything but calm.

"We lost eyes on Whitfield."

Andre felt a chill creep up his spine, his heart pounding like a drum against his ribcage. His breath hitched in his throat.

"Say again."

"He was with us going in the side door. Two minutes ago. Now he's not." There was a pause, a moment of strained silence that spoke volumes. "We're searching. Nobody's seen him."

"Ghost." Andre was already moving, his boots crunching on the underbrush, Zain falling into step behind him without needing to be told. "Cameras."

"Working on it. Whoever built this place built it paranoid. Half the interior's dead zones on purpose." A beat, keys audible even over comms. "Got something. South hallway, second floor. Thermal's showing two bodies. One's not moving right."

"Which one's Marcus?"

"Can't tell from heat signature, Andre, I'm not a wizard."