Chapter Twenty
White Ravens
Scar
Scar slept for most of the day, better than he had his entire life.
His place was ridiculous. Quiet, clean and sleek, with warm lighting. Nicer than anywhere he’d ever lived.
From ages eight to twelve, he’d slept in gutters or parks to avoid the crack dens his mom hauled him to while she got high.
As a teenager, he’d bounced in and out of juvenile detention, where he’d learned to sleep with one eye open.
By eighteen, he was crashing on random sofas that smelled like piss and liquor, or in the back seats of stolen cars.
But for the last five years, he’d lived in a six-by-eight-foot cell with a toilet bolted to the wall.
If he had to, he’d leave the luxury the Ravens were offering and walk away, especially if it meant not being owned or experimented on again.
He took a thirty-minute shower and dressed in a pair of light-blue jeans and an oversized white hoodie.
He left his quarters-slash-penthouse a few minutes before five for his meeting with Jo.
A woman met him at the elevators with a polite smile.
“Good evening, Scar. My name is Rose. I’m the manager of your hospitality division. I’m here to escort you to Operations Command.”
Uh, okay.
“How are you finding your accommodations in your quarters?”
“Fine,” he muttered.
“You can make a list of anything else you’d like stocked in your rooms.”
Books, a lot of books, and chicken-flavored Cup O’ Noodles—if I’m still here.
“Yeah, okay.”
She led him through the first level of the facility, and he kept his head on a swivel, watching everything that moved.
Each department was sectioned off by glass walls, a design intended for transparency rather than secrecy. Yet he still mapped each exit sign and stairwell.
Rose pointed out the multiple divisions as they passed: Intelligence and Analysis, Medical and Rehabilitation, Field Operations Support, Logistics and Transport, Training and Simulation, but one in particular caught his eye.
Shadow Division: Black Ops Planning and Execution.
Some of the stern-faced workers were in mid–weapon breakdown, others studied multiple rotating maps and satellite feeds, tapping and clicking on screens.
No one stared or gawked as he walked by, but they paused briefly and gave him a nod reserved for someone of importance before going back to their jobs.
A man jogged up to him in a pristine white suit with a shiny, blue unapologetic tie and fell into step beside him.
He didn’t speak, just bit his bottom lip, looking him up and down as if he wanted to devour him. He leaning over so far that his dark-blond curls fell across his forehead.
Scar stopped short. “What the fuck are you doing?”
The guy jumped, throwing his hands up as an enormous grin spread across his face.
“Oh, sorry! I’m Elias Bloom. Head of Wardrobe and Tactical Attire for you and Gage.”
Scar resumed walking. “Are you the one who put all that blinding white shit in my closet?”
“Well, you are the Whites,” he said cheerfully. “But I can tailor to your taste. Honestly, don’t you think white is the best color? It’s so versatile.”
Scar snorted. “If you say so.”
“I’m already planning to outdo the Blacks coordinator. I got some shit that’s gonna’ blow everyone’s minds.”
“Good luck,” Rose said from beside him.
“Can I see your hair?” he pleaded, hands clasped together as though praying Scar would say yes.
“No.”
“Then can I get you to come by later tonight for some measurements? The sooner the better.”
If I’m still here after this meeting.
“Fine,” he shrugged.
Elias lifted a hand for a high-five, then dropped it at Scar’s indignant expression.
“Whew. Love that energy!” Elias snapped his fingers rapidly. “We’ll create magic, you and me. We got chemistry…I feel it!”
Scar shook his head as the guy speed-walked away, his long white duster swishing behind him.
“Everyones really enthusiastic that you and Gage are finally home.” Rose smiled.
Scar grunted.
“And for what it’s worth,” she added, “we were all outraged at what the old director did to you. I only wish Meridian had killed him more slowly.”
Scar frowned. “Meridian?”
Her cheeks flushed. “The Black Raven. The first of you. He’s amazing. He and his partner, Ex, have stopped genocides, taken down countless drug and human traffickers, erased illegal weapons distributions before they reached urban city streets, shutdown warlord territories, you name it.”
Scar absorbed that.
“And who decides all this?” he asked.
“Jo,” she said easily. “Missions are sanctioned, carefully, but ultimately decided by her and her team.”
They stopped at a set of double doors labeled: STRATEGIC OPERATIONS COMMAND.
“They’re waiting for you.”
He walked in with his head high and his hood low.
Slowly, the conversations fell silent.
The first thing he noticed in the large room was the color-coded sections. Black. Brown. Green…and White.
The massive department was overloaded with mounted screens—showing everything from live satellite feeds to world news—tactical tables with holographic rotating maps, comms panels, and rows of headsets along the wall.
Each section had multiple members sitting within it, wearing the corresponding color. At the front of each one sat two figures. Scar didn’t know any of them by name, but their presence radiated power.
In front of the Blacks was a man dressed in layers of darkness. He was controlled stillness, emanating something dangerous. Beside him was another man—he assumed his partner—he was a little shorter but appeared no less deadly.
At the head of the Browns’ section were two men who seemed…grounded, solid.
One radiated a dense strength, heavy and serious, his expression hard as bedrock. His partner—all coiled intent—was leaning close to him with his mouth near his ear as if murmuring secrets, all with his eyes never leaving Scars’.
They were draped in shades of brown—suede, caramel, deep umber, and earth tones. Nothing sharp or flashy, but still impressive.
The Greens looked less like assassins and more like hunters paused mid-prowl. They didn’t fidget or posture. They observed and waited.
And then Scar saw him. Gage sitting comfortably in a room full of killers as if he too belonged there.
Calm and sexy as fucking hell, dressed in a light-gray sweater beneath an off-white casual blazer hugging his tight frame. But it was the silver-rimmed glasses with black reflective lenses that did it for him.
Roz glared in his direction, sitting so close to Gage he might as well had been sitting in his goddamn lap.
“Thank you for coming.” Jo gestured to the empty chair on the other side of Gage. “Please.”
He walked to his seat, eyes locked on his partner.
“Evening,” Gage said smoothly, after he sat down.
Scar almost groaned. Gage smelled incredible. Warm and powdery, like steam clinging to his freshly showered skin.
It wasn’t until the lights dimmed that he pulled his attention away from him.
Jo didn’t ask him to tell everyone a little about himself, like he’d dreaded she would, or did a roll call, instead she clicked a button on the remote in her hand that dimmed the lights and made a large screen mounted on the wall turn on.
It displayed a montage of images and videos of war and brutality.
Villages burning, men dragged from their homes and executed in the dirt.
Children and women beaten into silence, mass graves, cartel convoys rolling through towns and leaving bodies hanging from bridges as warnings, warlords recruiting kids barely strong enough to hold the rifles shoved in their hands, religious fanatics burning churches and mosques with believers still inside, crops torched so nothing would grow back, poachers gunning down wildlife.
It went on for over an hour, and the aftermath was worse than the crimes.
He watched it all, stomach churning. Gage stared straight ahead, listening.
Scar didn’t know what was worse: seeing it all or only hearing it.
Then…
The Ravens descended.
Footage of each team fighting—hooded and concealed—entering hot zones and breaking entire militias apart.
One moved like a blade, and the other like a sawed-off shotgun. One like a storm, another like the ground itself, the Blacks destroying and consuming like fire and smoke combined.
Scar struggled to keep up with them.
When the lights finally came back on, Jo waited for it all to sink in.
Scar had known violence his whole life. Street fights. Drive-bys. Turf wars where innocent people were often caught in the crossfire. The kind of violence that was loud, messy, and emotional. Ignorance that led to no change, only more chaos.
“This is what we do,” Jo said.
Scar didn’t look away.
He’d killed for petty shit all his life. Doing it for something bigger and more important than himself might reverse his lifetime of bad karma.
“All Ravens undergo enhancements,” she said. “Not to make you monsters, but to make you capable.”
She walked around the room, slow and deliberate.
Her gaze roamed over him and Gage.
“Your files already show neural adaptation, adrenal regulation, musculoskeletal reinforcement, and sensory amplification.”
Scar gritted his teeth.
So all that shit that’d been done to him had a name and purpose.
“Nothing further will ever be done without your express consent,” she continued.
“What you’ve already endured cannot be undone.
What comes next is learning how to live with it.
How to control it. How to focus it. We’ll train you individually first to identify your strengths and limits, then together.
There’s a reason Ravens move in flocks in the wild. They do it for safety and efficiency.”
She stopped in front of them.
“What we do here is necessary,” she said quietly.
“Not for politics. Not for power. But for people who aren’t protected by laws never meant to reach them.
The world will feel the impact of your work.
But it’ll never know your name. The Ravens are a fully covert operation.
Your anonymity is for your protection and the people you’re affiliated with… or families.”
She let the words settle before continuing.
“The moment a Raven’s identity touches the outside world, it becomes leverage. Enemies won’t come after you. They’ll go after the people you love. Trust me, it’ll be the fastest way to end you. So that line has to be cut and stay that way.”
Scar didn’t mind no one knowing his name. He had no family, and his popularity in South Chicago had almost gotten him killed more times than he could count before he’d been sent to prison for life.
“Whites, you are the final Ravens. The last of us…” She stared at Gage. “And whether you believe it or not, something very special and rare came out of your program. Gage, your loss of vision doesn’t disqualify you or diminish the weight you’ll bring to this team.”
“I already told you,” Gage said evenly. “I will not kill.”
A low scoff came from the black section. “We got ourselves a saint.”
Jo ignored them. “And as I said, no one will force you to. But if you and Scar learn to operate together”—her eyes gaze flicked between them—“you won’t have to.”
Roz grunted under his breath.
“Roz, I know you and Scar have bad blood.” Jo pointed at the frozen image on the screen. “But what you’ve just seen—what’s happening in the world—is bigger than your pride, ego, and petty feuds. You’ve spent your lives tearing shit down. This is your chance to build something up.”
Scar felt chastised, and by the downward cast of Roz’s eyes, it appeared he did too.
“Roz, you’ll begin training on assimilations with Corvo. Gage, you’ll start by working with Dr. Blackwell first, learning to take control of your vision impairment.” A slow grin curved Jo’s pink lips. “Scar…at his demand, you’ll be training exclusively with Meridian.”
Hisses and muted laughs echoed around the room.
What the hell is that about?
“Scar, Gage, rely on your brothers and learn fast. We don’t have the luxury of time. The world needs you.” And with that, Jo turned and left the room with her entourage.
Gage stood, and Roz immediately stepped in, offering him his arm. Gage took it without hesitation.
“I think that should be your code name,” Roz said, leading Gage away. “Saint sounds pretty badass.”
Gage’s laugh was soft.
Scar had to force himself not to go after Gage, feeling as if they had important shit to discuss that couldn’t wait.
And damnit, he liked that codename too. It fit.
Gage had just cleared the threshold before the room darkened, and a chill settled over him.
He turned and came face to face with the man in black. Tall. Broad-shouldered with unreadable midnight eyes.
He was a nightmare come to life.
The man’s partner—who’d been introduced as Ex—stepped into Meridian’s space, and the dark killer’s gaze lowered to him, fierce and molten before it softened just enough for him to lean in and press a kiss to Ex’s mouth.
It was chaste but still hot as hell.
What the—
“Go get dressed and meet me in the garage in thirty minutes,” Meridian said casually, as if he hadn’t just blown Scar’s mind. “Don’t make me wait a minute longer.”
He glanced down at his hole-free jeans and clean, white hoodie.
“I am dressed.”
Meridian glared, but didn’t repeat himself, before he turned and walked away.
Scar watched people clear out of his path as if they didn’t want to be the reason he stopped.
Scar hesitated for half a second before he went to find the weird guy responsible for his wardrobe.