Chapter Four
Morning at Nightfall Drifters Ranch never really started quietly.
It started with coffee.
And Cookie.
By four every morning, the ranch house kitchen was already alive—lights on, skillet going, the rich smell of bacon and fresh coffee drifting down the hallway like a promise nobody in the building had the discipline to ignore.
By seven, the place was fully awake.
Sage had been up for hours.
He sat perched on the edge of the long kitchen counter just inside the room, one foot hooked around a stool rung while the other bounced absently against a cabinet door. His laptop glowed in front of him while he skimmed through system logs with quick, precise taps.
Behind him, the ranch kitchen hummed with morning noise.
Cookie moved between the stove and counter like a man who had run the same kitchen for twenty years—though he’d only come to them not long ago from a cattle ranch down in west Texas. A cast-iron skillet hissed on the burner while a second pot of coffee finished brewing.
“Eat something before you break my equipment and cabinet,” Cookie said without looking up.
Sage reached blindly for the toast that appeared beside him.
“Your computer is fine,” he said, already typing again. “I was very gentle with it.”
In truth, he’d finished updating Cookie’s laptop five minutes ago and had moved on to his own.
Across the room, Ramsey was deep into a story that had grown increasingly heroic with every retelling.
“…I’m telling you, the guy came at me with a damn tire iron.”
Memphis snorted from the table. “You mean the guy tripped over a trash can and scared himself.”
“That is not how it happened.”
Ramsey gestured dramatically.
Sage glanced up, squinting at him.
“Was this before or after the tire iron turned into a sword?”
Memphis lost it.
The room erupted.
Micah barked out a laugh while Black’s mouth twitched around the rim of his coffee mug. Memphis slapped the table once, shaking his head.
Ramsey turned toward the counter. “You weren’t even there.”
Sage scrolled through a line of code, unfazed.
“Exactly. Evidence required.”
More laughter rolled through the room.
Sage’s fingers kept moving, flipping through system diagnostics and archived reports while the noise washed around him. One window froze, and he reset it without looking before returning to the screen.
Most people heard chaos.
Sage heard patterns.
Which was why the name on the report made him pause.
His fingers slowed.
Adrian Vale.
That wasn’t unusual on its own—Adrian had been the reason half the team had driven back from California before sunrise—but the reference tag attached to the name didn’t match the rest of the file structure.
Sage tilted his head slightly.
“Huh.”
He scrolled back.
Then forward again.
A second database link appeared.
Older.
Much older.
Now, that was interesting.
He leaned forward on the counter, curls falling across his brow as he opened the connection thread. File trees bloomed across the screen in layered columns.
The tag attached to Adrian’s name wasn’t Genesis.
It was buried deeper in the archive.
Sage clicked into the record, curiosity already taking hold as he began pulling associated names.
A quiet spiral of connections began to form.
“Okay,” he muttered under his breath. “That’s weird.”
Behind him, Cookie set another mug of coffee down on the counter with a clink.
“Everything’s weird with you people,” Cookie said.
Sage barely heard him.
Movement sounded in the hallway.
Sage registered the shift in the room’s rhythm before he looked up—boots on the floor, a quiet pause in the conversation.
Law.
The former soldier stood just inside the doorway, tall enough that the frame almost looked smaller around him.
Law started toward the counter.
“What kind of trouble are you causing this early?”
Sage returned to his laptop.
“Falling down a rabbit hole,” he said lightly. “Pretty sure it’s your fault.”
That earned a faint huff of amusement.
Law stopped beside the counter, leaning one hand against the edge as Sage turned the laptop slightly toward him.
Lines of names and file references streamed down the screen.
Law leaned closer, studying the screen.
Sage tapped one entry with the tip of his finger.
“Adrian,” he said. “Apparently, he’s been hanging out in a database he shouldn’t exist in.”
Law studied the entry.
“Meaning?”
Sage flicked open another file, curiosity fully engaged now.
“Meaning,” he said thoughtfully, “Adrian might not have been working alone.”
The screen shifted as another directory expanded.
Older file architecture.
Older tags.
A list of archived operations appeared—most of the names were flagged inactive.
Dead.
Missing.
Buried.
Sage scrolled.
Then stopped.
His bouncing foot stilled against the cabinet.
Law noticed immediately.
“What is it?”
Sage leaned a little closer to the screen, eyes narrowing as he clicked into the header of the file.
The tag expanded.
A name appeared at the top of the archive directory.
PIPELINE / FIELD ASSETS
He opened the connected records.
Names populated the screen one by one.
Some marked deceased.
Some unresolved.
A few recently accessed.
Sage exhaled slowly.
“Well,” he murmured.
Names populated the screen one by one.
He tilted his head slightly as he scanned the list, curiosity sharpening.
“Okay,” he said quietly. “Someone’s digging through old files.”
Now he looked up at Law.
The laughter across the room faltered.
Chairs scraped as people shifted closer to the counter.
Memphis leaned forward, squinting at the screen. “What ghosts?”
Sage scrolled through the archive entries, bringing the list into clearer view. Names stacked down the column—some marked deceased, others unresolved.
“Lost boys,” Sage said.
The room went still.
Micah’s shoulders tightened slightly as he stepped closer to the counter.
Sage noticed.
They’d traded enough street stories over the months for Micah to know exactly what Sage meant.
Sage flicked another file open.
“Most of these guys disappeared years ago,” he said, tapping the screen. “But three records were accessed recently.”
“Accessed by who?” Memphis asked.
Before Sage could answer, the door swung open again.
Viper stepped inside.
He didn’t ask what was going on. His gaze went straight to the laptop.
“Why is someone digging through dated records?” Law asked.
“Because they’re not old anymore,” Viper said, his gaze shifting to Sage. “Caldwell reopened them. Something’s active.”
Sage’s fingers paused over the keyboard.
Then he scanned the list again as his eyes flicked across the resurfacing names.
He flicked his eyes up to Viper. “This is going to get messy?”
“Probably,” Viper said quietly.
The room shifted into motion almost immediately.
Memphis dragged a chair closer. Black folded his arms beside the counter, studying the screen with quiet intensity while Micah leaned in beside Sage, scanning the resurfacing names.
Questions started moving around the room—low, focused, practical.
Sage half-listened while continuing to work. His fingers moved across the keyboard, opening archived files and cross-checking timestamps as the old database unfolded across the screen.
Beside him, Law stayed where he was.
Sage could feel the weight of his attention without looking up.
After a moment, Law said quietly, “Find something?”
Sage kept typing.
“Working on it.”
Law’s mouth twitched faintly.
Sage flicked another file open, the screen populating with a fresh set of cross-referenced records. Something small caught his eye—an access flag buried deep in the log.
He frowned slightly.
“That’s new.”
Law leaned closer to the laptop. “What is?”
Sage scrolled back through the log, isolating the entry.
“One of the other boys just flagged,” he said, tapping the screen.
The name appeared in the file header.
The access timestamp had just been updated.
Sage leaned back on the counter, considering it.
“No criminal activity,” he said after a moment. “No reports, no warrants, nothing.”
Memphis frowned. “Then why flag it?”
Sage tilted his head, tracking the log.
“Looks like he went from dormant to active.”
“That means someone was pulling strings again. Who’s this guy?” Winter murmured, stepping closer, coffee in hand.
Sage glanced up briefly. Icy blue eyes under dark brows, a square jaw shadowed by a cropped beard—Winter carried himself like the SEAL he used to be. Big but lean, miles of muscle under deliberate movement. Despite his size, he moved almost silently, like a shadow slipping into the room.
“Rook,” Sage murmured.
The name tugged at something—familiar, but out of place.
He hadn’t thought about him in years.
Viper stepped forward slightly, his attention fixed on the screen.
“Genesis will start tracking him, plus the remaining names,” he said. “Quietly. He could be tied to Adrian’s death—or be the next target.”
He looked to Law.
“Pull the old files and see what patterns you can find.”
Law nodded once.
Then Viper’s gaze shifted back to Sage.
“You’re on intel support.”
Sage gave a small shrug as if it didn’t matter. “Already there.”
He turned back to the laptop, fingers moving again as the room shifted toward operational planning.
If Viper thought he was sitting this one out, he had another thing coming. Sage had no intention of being sidelined—but Viper didn’t need to know that. The only person he answered to was Azrael.
Someone started discussing access points. Memphis was already pulling up a map of the old L.A. territory.
Sage barely heard any of it. He was busy planning.
Another window opened on the screen.
More archived names.
Old ghosts.
He was halfway through another log file when his phone vibrated against the counter.
The sound was barely there.
Almost nothing.
But he froze.
Just for a second.
His fingers stilled on the keyboard before he reached over and flipped the phone face down beside the laptop.
Then he went back to typing.
Across the counter, Law didn’t say anything.
But Sage knew he’d noticed.