Chapter 59 Morgan
Morgan
By twilight, the van was back.
My hands went cold the moment I saw the headlights slip past the window and slow down as if it was taking its sweet time cataloguing the cottage.
My stomach dropped to a point so low I could feel it.
Every planning spreadsheet, every coded breadcrumb, every late-night file I’d sent into Cyclone’s net now felt like a flare I’d lit over my own head.
I dragged the curtains closed and double-checked the locks until my fingers ached.
Ruby sat cross-legged on the floor, trying to braid her hair for tomorrow.
She liked the way the braid curled her hair the next day.
Ruby was humming under her breath like nothing in the world could touch her.
The sight should have calmed me. It didn’t.
It only made me angrier—angrier that I’d put this life between us and the quiet she deserved.
The van idled at the end of the driveway this time. Not passing. Watching. A shadow lingered, then another figure climbed out of the vehicle and stood with hands in his pockets, angled so he could see the cottage without being obvious. My breath hitched.
I pulled my phone to me and tapped Cyclone’s number with hands that shook.
The call went to voicemail twice before I hung up, throat tight.
If the digital trail had been enough to put a cursor on me, then Cyclone would have seen the login attempts and the intrusion signatures—if he’d had the time.
He didn’t. He had a war to fight. I’d sucked him into my quiet life and I hated myself for it.
I shouldn’t have called. I kept thinking that over and over, proof pressing like a bruise under my ribs.
But when the shadow moved closer to the porch light, when I saw the phone in his hand lift like he was taking a picture—something cracked.
The cottage wasn’t just mine to protect anymore.
Ruby’s safety was on the line. Damian’s promise had been to come back after.
I couldn’t wait until after if the after never came.
I swallowed hard and hit redial on Damian’s number. My thumb felt heavy. He answered on the second ring, voice a low cut through the static that always made me steady for a heartbeat, even when I was panicking.
“Damian.” My voice came out thin.
There was no humor in his response—only the kind of quiet that meant the world was already recalibrating on his end. “Morgan. What—”
“Listen.” I forced the words out fast, like ripping a bandage.
“I didn’t listen when you told me to stay out.
I—” Heat flushed my face, and I could hear my own shame in that admission.
“I’ve been feeding Cyclone breadcrumbs. I found a pipeline.
I sent the coordinates. I thought I could do it from here, keep Ruby safe while helping you take Luthor down. ”
Silence on his end, a breath I couldn’t see but felt. Then, low and dangerous: “I know what you did. You did what you had to do. Love, stop worrying about it.”
“No.” I almost laughed, but it came out as a strangled sound.
“I put a target on our cottage. They traced some of the traffic. There was a login attempt this afternoon—blocked, barely. And now there’s a van.
They slowed. Someone’s outside taking pictures.
I—” My voice broke. I heard Ruby shuffle in the hall and press closer against the couch.
“I don’t want you to come because I don’t want you to risk the team—”
“Hold on to that for me.” He cut in gently but firm. “Don’t make another move until I say. Tell me exactly what you saw.”
I told him everything. Every small detail—the way the van crawled like a predator, the way the man lingered at the far end of the driveway.
I mentioned the login I’d found, blocked but real, and how the stream had been probed.
When I finished, my throat felt raw. Ruby’s hand found mine and squeezed like an anchor.
On the line, Damian breathed out a sound that was part anger, part worry. “You should have told me sooner.”
“I know.” I swallowed back a sob. “I didn’t want you to—”
“To be right?” he finished for me, softer. For a beat, I could practically hear him counting his team in his head. “Okay. Lock everything down. Hide Ruby where she can’t be seen. Don’t answer the door to anyone. We’re moving now. I’ll be there soon.”
The words hit me with the force of something I’d been wishing for and dreading in the same breath. “Damian—” I couldn’t find the sentence that would unmake what I’d done, so I said the closest thing: “I’m sorry.”
There was a tiny crack in his voice when he replied, a human sound that made my chest hurt worse than fear. “We’ll sort it out when this is done. Keep the recorder off unless you need it—no more breadcrumbs until we sweep the area. Ruby—get her to your room and lock the door. Now.”
Ruby still held onto my hand. My arms folded around her without thinking.
The van’s engine hummed low outside, a scary note under everything else.
I pressed the phone between my shoulder and ear, hands fumbling for keys, for locks, for the stupid, mortal things that might give me leverage against a threat I couldn’t see.
I heard activity on the line then, voices low and urgent. Cyclone—he’d picked up the breadcrumb, I realized, and Damian’s tone changed instantly from personal to professional. “We’re on our way,” he said, and I heard the team talking while they were getting in the SUV.
Someone’s hand pressed to the window—someone eying the porch light, testing whether the house had security. My skin crawled.
“Promise me one thing, Morgan.” Damian’s voice was close enough to cut through the night. “No more solo moves.”
“I promise.” The word tasted like both iron and relief. I wrapped Ruby tighter and put the recorder in the bottom drawer, the one I never used. I slid the bolt on the bedroom door and stood in the dark, listening for the sounds of men coming down a country road.
Outside, the van idled on, its shape a dark question against the gravel. Inside, my heart thudded loud enough to drown the motor. I had told him. I had told the truth.
And now I waited—bare and trembling and a little less alone—while the team I’d dragged into this life pulled themselves together and came for me.