43. Felicity
FELICITY
Oh.
Oh, this man was dangerous.
Not in the wild, unstable way Vaughn’s people were dangerous.
Not cruel.
Not chaotic.
Commander James “Rook” Callahan looked dangerous the way hurricanes looked dangerous.
Controlled.
Precise.
Certain destruction if pushed too far.
Rain poured over him in sheets while lightning illuminated the driveway in violent flashes.
Tall.
Massive.
Broad shoulders beneath a black jacket soaked dark from the storm.
And his eyes?—
God.
Cold gray steel.
The kind of eyes that looked like they’d seen terrible things and survived anyway.
Beside me, Hersh went completely still.
Not threatened.
Recognizing.
“Rook,” he said quietly.
The man nodded once from the yard below.
“Blaze.”
The two men stared at each other through the storm like predators deciding whether they respected each other enough not to fight.
Trigger leaned toward Wolf slightly.
“If those two ever punched each other, I think Texas would split in half.”
Wolf didn’t disagree.
Ava exhaled slowly beside us.
“Well… that answers that.”
Hersh’s eyes flicked toward her instantly.
“You know him too.”
Not a question.
Ava nodded once.
“Everybody in certain circles knows Rook.”
Interesting answer.
Not:
works with him.
Not:
trusts him.
Knows him.
The distinction mattered.
Down below, Rook slowly lowered the challenge coin back into his pocket.
“I’d rather not get shot tonight,” he called up calmly.
Trigger frowned.
“I haven’t decided yet.”
“Fair.”
And somehow?
That single word told me this man was very used to people pointing weapons at him.
Hersh moved first.
Down the hallway.
Down the staircase.
Fast.
Wolf followed immediately.
Trigger looked disappointed nobody was opening fire.
I hurried after them while Ava stayed close behind me.
The second we reached the living room, Hersh opened the front door hard.
Wind and rain exploded into the house instantly.
Rook stepped inside without hesitation.
And somehow the entire room felt smaller afterward.
The man carried command naturally.
Not loud.
Not arrogant.
Just absolute certainty.
Water dripped from his jacket onto the wooden floor as his eyes swept the room in one quick tactical scan.
Exits.
Sight lines.
People.
Threats.
Military.
Very military.
Then those hard gray eyes landed on me.
Not cold now.
Assessing.
“You’re Felicity.”
Not a question either.
I nodded slowly.
Rook studied me for half a second longer.
Then looked toward Hersh.
“She looks terrified.”
Trigger muttered:
“Well this has been a terrible evening.”
Rook ignored him completely.
His focus stayed on Hersh.
“Caleb called me three hours ago.”
Every Ranger in the room froze.
Hersh’s voice sharpened instantly.
“You talked to Caleb?”
“Briefly.”
Briefly?
That sounded ominous somehow.
Wolf crossed his arms.
“Where is he?”
Rook’s expression didn’t change.
“Unavailable.”
That was absolutely military code for:
doing something illegal in another country.
Trigger sighed heavily.
“I miss having normal friends.”
“You don’t have friends,” Wolf reminded him.
“Rude.”
But nobody was really listening now.
Because Hersh had gone laser focused.
“If Caleb called you,” he said carefully, “then he already knows about Flick.”
Rook nodded once.
“Yes.”
Nobody spoke.
How much did Caleb know exactly?
And how fast had this spread?
Rook reached inside his jacket slowly.
Every Ranger in the room tensed instantly again.
He pulled out a waterproof folder.
Then tossed it onto the kitchen table.
It landed with a heavy slap.
“Mercer,” he said quietly.
Ava’s face drained instantly.
Oh no.
Rook looked toward all of us.
Then delivered the sentence that changed everything:
“You’re not dealing with a corrupt senator anymore.”
Silence.
Thunder shook the house hard enough to rattle the windows.
And Rook’s steel-gray eyes settled on Hersh.
“You’re dealing with Shadow Division.”