Chapter 17 Aaron
Aaron
Location: Outside Safehouse — Lisbon
Time: Night
Idon’t go far.
I never do.
Just the block.
Just enough distance to breathe without breaking something I can’t fix.
The city hums around me—late-night noise, laughter, footsteps, life moving forward like nothing waits in the dark.
I don’t trust it.
I don’t trust anything that looks normal.
My comm is quiet.
That’s what hits first.
Not the noise.
The absence of it.
I check it anyway.
Still quiet.
Wrong.
Ronan fills silence. Always.
A cold feeling slides down my spine.
I turn back toward the building.
And that’s when the lights die.
Not flicker.
Not fade.
Gone.
The entire block drops into black like someone pulled a switch on reality.
My hand is already on my weapon.
My comm crackles—
“—Aaron—” static— “—movement—inside—”
I’m already moving.
No hesitation.
No thought.
I don’t take the front.
I cut for the service stairwell, taking the steps two at a time, gun up, pulse hammering.
One word in my head.
Lark.
The hallway is wrong.
Too dark.
Emergency lights should’ve kicked in.
They didn’t.
That’s not failure.
That’s control.
I hit the door.
Unlocked.
Wrong.
Everything is wrong.
Inside—
Chaos.
One of Ronan’s techs is down—chest barely moving.
Another slumped against the wall, blood running down his temple.
The air smells like metal and ozone.
Struggle.
Fast. Clean. Professional.
My gaze snaps to the table.
The flash drive—
Still there.
They didn’t come for the data.
My stomach drops.
They came for her.
“Lark!”
Nothing.
I move.
Too fast.
Bedroom—clear.
Bathroom—clear.
Closet—empty.
No.
No.
No.
Balcony.
The door is open.
Cold air rushes in.
I step out and see it immediately—
The line.
Cut clean.
They came from above.
Extraction team.
Timed.
Precise.
Ninety seconds.
That’s all it took.
My comm slams back to life.
“Aaron! They hit the grid—looped the cams—we lost visual!”
“Ninety seconds was enough,” I snap.
My grip tightens on the railing hard enough to feel the strain in my bones.
Too late.
I was right here.
And I left.
Then I see it.
On the table inside.
A phone.
Not hers.
Placed.
Deliberate.
I grab it, thumb hitting the screen.
One message.
You should have stayed in the box.
Something in me goes still.
Cold.
Controlled.
Dangerous.
I crush the phone in my hand.
Ronan’s voice cuts in, sharp. “We’ve got a vehicle—black van, no plates, heading east.”
“I’m coming.”
“You’re five minutes out.”
“Then I’ll make it three.”
I’m already moving.
Down the stairs.
Fast.
Faster.
No hesitation now.
No restraint.
They didn’t take her because she ran.
They didn’t take her because she fought.
They took her—
Because I left her alone.
And now?
Now this isn’t a mission.
It’s personal.