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No word from Code.

I tried his number. Straight to voicemail.

I texted:

Please tell me you're okay.

Nothing.

I called Angelica back. "Have you heard from Jase?"

"No, why?"

"Code went to find someone. He's not answering. I was hoping he was in contact with the men in Jasper Creek."

"Kit, when these guys are on a mission, they go dark. We don’t hear from them. That’s just the way it is. He’s fine."

"Or he's hurt. Or captured. Or⁠—"

"Stop. You're spiraling." Angelica's voice was firm. "Code knows what he's doing. He's been doing this for twenty years."

"That doesn't make him invincible."

"No, but it makes him smart enough to stay alive. Trust him, Kit."

We hung up again.

I paced. Forty laps. Fifty.

The sad clown painting seemed to mock me with its droopy face.

Three hours passed since Code's text.

I picked up my phone to text him again, even though I knew it was pointless.

A text came through before I could pull up our text thread.

Safe. Found Eddie. Russians have him. Heading to intercept. Don't worry.

Don't worry. Like that was possible.

I typed back:

Be careful. I love you.

I stared at the words. Three days together and I was telling him I loved him?

But it was true. Insane, impossible, way too fast, but true.

I deleted the words. This was something I wanted to say in person.

I typed again:

Take care of my man.

The three dots appeared. Stayed for a long time. Then disappeared.

I sank onto the bed, phone clutched in my hand, and prayed harder than I'd prayed in years.

Please let him be okay. Please bring him back to me.

The TV played silently. The sad clown watched.

And I waited.