Chapter 6
SIX
The war room at Blackout Sierra wasn’t flashy—no polished glass walls or sleek command center bullshit the government liked to show off.
It was concrete, steel and function. Big screens filled one wall, and maps were pinned between them, some of the edges curling.
A long, scarred table was built of heavy wood and looked like it came from the ski resort above them. The whole place smelled faintly of coffee and gun oil and throbbed with a brand of tension that never let up.
Archer sat around the table with the rest of Sierra, taking in every move his team made without even turning his head—a trick he picked up while Cipher held him prisoner. Without moving or blinking, he could track every move the terrorist had made—coming, going or plotting his next attack.
Archer picked up the scrape of Rome’s boot against the floor, and the quiet tap of O’s fingers on the computer keys. Archer could never quite tell if O was researching a threat or playing online games. It was as much of a mystery as the guy’s real name.
Could be Owen. Could be Oris. The only person who might know the truth was Cannon.
Their CO stood near the screen, his shoulders squared against the weight of whatever he was about to drop on them.
Archer rolled his shoulders once, working out stress that never fully left anymore.
He knew how to read a room, follow command and move with a unit the same way he clung to the shadows in his former life.
His old therapist at the Black Heart Ranch would say it seemed like he was built to be a ghost.
Cannon finally pushed off the wall and stepped forward, drawing everyone’s attention.
“A government building took a bomb forty-three minutes ago.” He stepped closer to the screen and tapped once, bringing up a shot of the damage.
The room went silent as they took in the wreckage of brick and twisted steel beams. Smoke curled from a blackened hole in the corner, and floors had collapsed on top of each other, reduced to rubble.
Archer let out a low breath through his teeth. “Controlled damage. Whoever built the explosive understood exactly where to hit to compromise the structure. The force pushed inward.” He lifted his jaw. “They were sending a message, not racking up a body count with casualties on the street.”
All eyes locked on him.
Cannon gave him a brief nod. “Multiple injuries. No fatalities reported yet, but they’re expected to roll in.”
Archer fixed his stare on that black hole, like a ruined mouth full of broken teeth. He braced his forearms on the table and couldn’t stop what he was about to say.
“Sounds like Cipher.”
The word sucked the air out of the war room.
O cut a look at him. “What do you know about Cipher besides what you saw on the news? You weren’t in Blackout at the time.”
Archer didn’t answer right away. He studied the screen another second, letting the pattern settle in his head and confirming what his gut already knew.
“I know Cipher held me hostage for thirteen months. He grabbed me while I was undercover.”
No one moved.
Cannon’s jaw flexed, and he swept a look around the table. “So before anyone decides Archer’s new nickname is Mia for MIA, don’t even think about it.”
Rome exhaled hard, dragging a hand down his face. “Fuck.” He shook his head and stared at Archer. “I’ve been busting your balls about meditating when you probably use it to deal with trauma. Fuck. I’m an asshole.”
Archer’s lips twisted. “You were an asshole before you ever knew me.”
His attempt at lightening the atmosphere fell flat.
Townie leaned back in his chair, nodding as if he knew something the rest of them didn’t. “Meditation,” he echoed. “Silence. Monk.” He snapped his fingers and sat up straighter. “That’s it. Henceforth, you shall be known as Monk. You know, because of the meditating.”
“Why not just call me by my name?” Archer asked, but he was already chewing over the nickname, testing the feel of it.
“Carmichael is a little much to say on the fly, don’t you think?” Townie shot back.
A faint breath of humor moved through the room, but it didn’t stick long. Not with what was sitting underneath it.
When he spoke, he kept his tone level like he was walking them through an op instead of a year of his life.
“He grabbed me during an undercover op. I was tracking one of his networks. Thought I was getting close.” He gave a slight shake of his head. “Turns out Cipher was already watching me.”
No one interrupted.
“The first week, he moved me from place to place. I was hooded and restrained most of the time. He kept me disoriented, giving me no schedule, no reliable way to track time.” His fingers reflexively curled against the table, and he forced them to relax.
“After that…it was mostly black.” He flicked his gaze to Rome. “Why do you think I’m so good at being in the dark?”
Rome’s chair creaked as he shifted. “Couldn’t get out?”
Archer released a breath that almost passed for a laugh. “I tried, early on. I quickly learned that partway out just means all the way back in with damages.”
The weight in the room shifted, heavier, but not with shock.
It was something closer to respect.
“So I adapted,” he went on. “Built routines where there weren’t any. Counted breaths. Tracked sounds. Memorized every movement in the building. You could call it meditation. I call it survival.”
Rome winced slightly. “Still an asshole.”
Archer’s lips quirked. “Yeah, but now you’re a self-aware one.”
A quiet huff moved through the room at his renewed joke.
“Cipher is methodical. Everything is calculated—even the violence.” He turned his head to look at that building again. Even though he knew Cipher was captured and imprisoned…he couldn’t help but spot the pattern.
Cannon’s voice cut in. “How’d you hold the line?”
It was a question men in their position asked because they all knew there could come a time they’d need to hold it together too.
Archer didn’t respond immediately. For a heartbeat, the room wavered at the edges—not gone, just distant.
“He wanted to turn me, like he did so many in government positions. But no matter what he did, I wasn’t going to let that happen.”
He paused again, grounding himself in the here and now. He let out a quiet breath. “The worst part of the whole experience was getting rescued by my little sister’s boyfriend.”
Rome blinked. “Wait. Charlie team took down Cipher. You were there?”
He gave a faint nod.
“Your little sister…”
“Is Ellory. And yeah. She’s dating Ash.”
Townie grinned. “Dude, that is brutal.”
Several snorts sounded as the humor broke through.
Archer gave the team the first genuine smile since he walked in the room. “It was humiliating.”
Rome shook his head. “And Ash still dated her knowing she was related to you.”
The guys cracked up, and the room breathed again.
Cannon gave a single nod, drawing them all back to business. “Now we have a pattern. But we know it’s not Cipher.”
“No,” Archer agreed, stare fixed on that screen. “But whoever it is learned from him.”
* * * * *
Creeping around the base made Jolie think of her childhood days. When Christmas rolled around, excitement took over and she would wake up before her parents and search for her gifts under the tree.
Now she was searching for her phone. Or any phone. A landline, even.
And an exit.
The hallway stretched longer than it should have, the overhead lights spaced just far enough apart to create pockets of shadows between them. The walls weren’t drywall—they were poured concrete, but uneven in spots, like they’d been patched over time.
Pipes ran along the tops of the walls in a maze of connections that made her glad she wasn’t a plumber.
Some of the rooms didn’t have doors, and when she glanced in, she saw nooks only large enough to fit a desk or a cot. The place was unlike any buildings she’d ever seen. It was comprised of small rooms connected by hallways, then the space would open up unexpectedly.
She clutched a book in one hand and dragged her other along the wall as she walked. It was an old habit from navigating the dark in her house, checking on her siblings. Somehow it felt less like she was floating and more tethered to earth—something she needed right now.
The air was cool but not a bit musty or damp. She couldn’t pick up a single sound from outside these walls, which altered her sense of time.
A left turn dumped her in another hallway. A right turn—same thing. The place looped in on itself like a maze, which gave her a sense of dread she refused to let take over.
As she reached the end of the hall, the space opened without warning.
The ceiling vaulted two stories high, crisscrossed with steel beams and industrial lighting that cast everything in a clean glow. The floors were still concrete, but they looked polished from people living in this space.
She realized she was looking at a common area and couches with retro wood arms arranged in a rough square around a low table scarred by knife marks and drink rings.
A massive TV was mounted on one wall, flanked by shelves stacked with mismatched books and old magazines.
She even spotted a board game shoved in sideways.
Off to the side, a pool table stood under a hanging light and a dartboard hung crooked on the wall, the darts embedded like someone had thrown them with more frustration than accuracy. There was a card table too, with chairs pulled out as if a game had been abandoned mid-hand.
The team wasn’t here. She listened hard but heard only the low hum of the heating system. She continued to the far end of the room and explored an opening. A wide doorway branched into a new room.
She paused, fingers anchored on the wall, taking in the space that looked like a restaurant kitchen had been dropped here, complete with stainless steel counters and double refrigerators. A few cabinets were labeled in black marker. Dry goods. Medical.
Ammo.