Chapter 10 Ryder
RYDER
Yusuf Aden Barre is dead, exactly as planned, and the consequences arrive on schedule. They always do, like a vacuum that doesn’t stay empty. It collapses inward—violent and fast.
Gunfire snaps from the far side of the hall. Two shooters pushing from the east corridor, another breaking from the rear stairwell. I clock their spacing, the way they’re moving people toward choke points.
My eyes scan the conference room, looking for two familiar figures. I shouldn’t be here. My mission is complete; I should be on the way to my extraction right about now, but for the first time, I found myself defying orders just so I could come back for them. For her.
I couldn’t bear to leave Kate behind in all this danger, to deal with the fallout of my mistakes. Neither she nor Addison deserves this.
When I finally spot her, she’s hiding under a table with Addison by her side. She’s already looking at me with panic-filled eyes. I’m covered head to toe in tactical gear, but I can tell she knows it’s me. Of course, she recognizes me. She’s a smart girl.
Different emotions flicker in her eyes—shock, wonder, fear—before finally settling on betrayal when she realizes I am not the man, the photographer, or guitarist she thought I was. But there is no time for explanation. I need to get them both out of here. Now!
I advance, take one of the gunmen down before he finishes leveling his weapon. A second attacker tries to flank, but he’s too young and eager. I put him down and keep moving.
Explosions ripple somewhere deeper in the building—not big enough to level the structure, just enough to shatter glass and fracture attention. Smoke blooms low and fast, turning the air into grit. I move fast, cutting through the chaos, efficiently clearing a path.
By the time I reach Kate and Addison, the room is in full evacuation. Security is funneling survivors toward the west exit. Smoke curls along the ceiling like a living thing. I step into their space, my body automatically positioning between Kate and the nearest threat.
“Move!” I command.
That one word is enough to have them in motion. Addison grips Kate’s arm and pulls. Kate stumbles, then finds her feet, still staring at me like I’m something that doesn’t belong in daylight.
We move with the flow until another blast rocks the corridor ahead, and people surge the wrong way. I reroute us without explanation, pushing through a side passage I memorized two days ago while pretending to photograph light fixtures.
Outside, Mogadishu is unraveling. Sirens wail, gunfire crackles in the distance as the city responds the way cities always do when you pull a pin and walk away. I know this pattern; I’ve lived inside it. I should already be gone.
Instead, I keep them moving.
“Where are you taking us?” Addison asks.
“The only place you’ll be safe,” I reply, the US embassy route already etched into my head—a series of turns and timings so accurate I could run blind.
I feel Kate’s presence like a weight I didn’t plan for—her uneven breathing, the way she flinches at every sharp sound, the heat of her through my bulletproof jacket when the crowd compresses us together. I adjust my pace without thinking, match hers, and keep her upright.
Kate stumbles when the floor drops half an inch at the threshold between corridors, and I catch her elbow without looking, my hand closing around bone and muscle. She flinches at the contact, breath coming in fast.
Addison’s pace, on the other hand, never falters; she’s already talking before the fear has time to root itself, her voice low and steady, pitched just for Kate.
“Hey. Eyes on me,” she coos. “You’re with me. You hear me?”
Kate nods too quickly. “I—I hear you.” Her breath stutters. “I’m fine. I’m fine.”
She isn’t.
Addison adjusts her grip, fingers tightening around Kate’s wrist. “Good. Then keep moving. Don’t look around. Don’t stop. Just follow our steps.”
Kate swallows hard, gaze flicking everywhere at once—shattered glass, smoke, bodies moving too fast. Her hand trembles when it curls into Addison’s sleeve.
“I don’t like this,” she whispers.
“I know,” Addison replies without missing a step. “But you’re doing great. Just stay with me.”
Kate’s eyes find me then, locking on like I’m a fixed point in a shifting landscape. She looks at me the way people look at exits they’re afraid will disappear.
“James?” she mutters, barely audible.
I’m here, close enough that my presence blocks the open space in front of her. I don’t soften my voice as I bark more commands.
“We need to keep moving.”
She flinches, then obeys.
Another explosion rattles the street ahead. Kate freezes for half a second too long. I grip her elbow, firm enough to anchor, not hurt. “Kate. Now!”
She sucks in a breath like she’s been underwater too long, then nods. “Okay. Okay.”
I don’t offer reassurance; I don’t have the language for it. I offer direction and proximity, and that will have to be enough.
We hit a choke point where the crowd bottlenecks around a collapsed barrier. People surge, panic turning sharp. Someone falls, and more screams follow. I step forward, raise my voice just enough to cut through.
“Single file. Now.”
Authority is a currency, and I spend it without hesitation. Addison moves first, pulling Kate with her. I follow, clearing the rear, eyes scanning for movement that doesn’t belong.
Halfway down the block, an armed group breaks from an alley ahead. I change course without breaking stride, cutting us through a narrow market lane—stalls abandoned, produce crushed underfoot. Kate slips on something wet; I catch her again, haul her upright, my grip firmer this time.
“Eyes up,” I say.
She nods, swallows, and forces herself to look forward.
A vehicle backfires nearby, and she jumps, fingers curling into my sleeve. I feel it through the fabric—the way her hand tightens like she’s anchoring herself to something immovable.
We move faster, walking through more twists and turns, until the embassy walls come into view.
Marines are already repositioning as the city roils beyond.
I flash credentials I shouldn’t have to explain, and the gate opens just enough.
I usher them through, one hand still at Kate’s back, until we’re past the perimeter.
The gates slam shut behind us, and only then do I stop and let the tension drain just enough to acknowledge what I’ve done.
Addison turns to me, eyes sharp, questions lining up behind them.
Kate is staring at me again, really staring this time, like she’s trying to reconcile two incompatible images.
I don’t give them answers. I never planned to, but I’ve already crossed the line that mattered. Leaving was the rule, but staying was the choice I made instead.
And choices, I know better than anyone, have consequences.
I guide Kate and Addison deeper into the compound, away from the entrance. Habit keeps me scanning rooftops, windows, and shadows that no longer matter. My body doesn’t trust safety just because someone tells it to.
Kate’s hand slips from my sleeve when we stop, but I still feel the ghost of it there. She looks smaller now that the immediate threat has passed—shock settling into her bones. Her face is pale, eyes too bright. She hasn’t started shaking yet, which means it’s coming.
Addison stays close to her, one hand braced at Kate’s back, the other already tugging a medic’s attention with the kind of authority that comes from experience. She knows how this works. She’s been here before.
I take a step back, creating space without leaving. A Marine eyes me, then looks at the blood on my sleeve and the weapon I still haven’t holstered. He clocks me as an asset or a liability—I don’t care which—and moves on.
Kate’s gaze follows me as I retreat half a step, like she’s afraid I’ll disappear if she looks away. I don’t meet her eyes. If I do, I won’t leave when I need to.
The embassy courtyard hums with the aftermath—survivors being counted, names checked against lists. Somewhere inside, phones are already lighting up with headlines and alerts. The story is being written in real time, stripped of nuance, flattened into something palatable.
I don’t belong in that story.
Addison returns to me a few minutes later, expression sharp and contained. She doesn’t thank me or ask questions she knows I won’t answer. She simply holds out her hand. “The photos.”
I pull the flash drive from the inner pocket of my jacket and place it in her palm. It’s warm from my body heat, heavy with what it contains—proof, context, truth wrapped in pixels and metadata. Enough to justify everything that just happened without exposing the hand that caused it.
“This is everything,” I tell her. “Use it carefully.”
She nods once, eyes flicking down to the drive, then back up to me. “I will.”
Kate watches the exchange, confusion sharpening into something more dangerous—understanding without explanation. She opens her mouth like she wants to speak, then closes it again, uncertainty flickering across her face.
I turn away before she can stop me, already mapping my exit through the compound. A vehicle is being prepped on the far side, engines idling low. I’ll be gone in under three minutes.
“James.” Her voice catches me mid-step.
I stop without turning. It’s a mistake. I know it the moment my feet still, but I let it happen anyway.
“You’re not really a photographer, are you?” she asks.
“No.”
I hear her swallow. “A musician?”
“No.”
There’s a pause long enough to stretch thin. When I finally turn, she’s closer than I expected, eyes searching my own like she’s trying to memorize them in case this is the last time.
“Who are you then?” she insists quietly. “Better yet… what are you?”
I hold her gaze for a second longer than is wise. Long enough for her to see the truth I won’t give words to.
“A ghost.”
Her breath hitches. “Is your name really James?”
“Yes.”
“But not Smith.”
“No.”
The courtyard noise swells around us—life pressing in—but the space between us feels sealed off, suspended.
“Will I see you again?”
“No.”
It’s not cruelty. It’s fact.
Her face tightens, something like disappointment and something like relief crossing her features at the same time. She nods once, like she expected the answer even as she hoped for another.
I don’t wait for her to say anything else, or give her the chance to try and hold me here with questions I can’t afford to answer. I turn and walk away. Behind me, the embassy continues to hum with life—safety and stories that will never include my name.
Ahead of me, the road narrows back into shadow, but I don’t look back.
I never do.