Chapter 20
Ronan
Location: Northern Alps — Black Ravine Corridor
Roscov thinks he’s smarter than me.
That’s his mistake.
His voice comes through the comm again—too calm, too confident, like a man who believes he’s still controlling the board.
“You’ve always been predictable, Pierce,” he says. “You attach. You protect. You bleed for the people you care about.”
I don’t answer.
Because I already hear what he’s not saying.
Aaron’s eyes flick to me. “He’s stalling.”
“No,” I say quietly. “He’s posturing.”
Miles murmurs from overwatch, “Movement on the upper ridge. Small unit. Five, maybe six.”
Roscov continues, “You could still walk away. I’ll let the woman go. I’ll even call off the pursuit.”
There it is.
The offer.
The lie.
“You already let her go,” I reply evenly. “And you still followed.”
A pause. Just long enough to tell me I struck something real.
“You misunderstand,” Roscov says smoothly. “I didn’t follow her. I followed you.”
That’s when I know.
He didn’t plant the tracker to retrieve Lena.
He planted it to map my response.
My tactics. My timing. My team.
Aaron mutters, “Son of a—”
“Roscov,” I cut in, raising my voice so it carries. “You moved your men too close.”
A chuckle filters through the static. “You’re bluffing.”
“No,” I say. “I’m informing you.”
I tap twice on my comm.
Jase answers instantly. “Charges set.”
The fatal mistake isn’t arrogance alone.
It’s clustering.
Roscov concentrated his elite unit to watch me—forgot that mountains amplify sound… and pressure.
“Now,” I say calmly.
The ravine erupts.
Controlled detonations ripple through the rock corridor—precise, surgical. Not an avalanche. Not chaos.
A collapse.
The ground convulses as the hidden Ascendancy command corridor caves inward, sealing exits, crushing equipment, severing their internal routes.
Screams echo briefly.
Then silence.
Miles exhales. “Holy hell…”
Roscov’s voice crackles back—no longer smooth.
“What did you do?”
I don’t smile.
“You put your people where I could reach them.”
“You just killed dozens of my men,” he snarls.
“No,” I correct. “You did.”
Static hisses.
Then, quieter—angrier.
“You think this ends me?”
I step forward, boots crunching over shattered stone.
“No,” I say. “This ends your invisibility.”
Another pause.
Then something else bleeds into his tone.
Recognition.
“You didn’t just serve under command,” Roscov says slowly. “You were command.”
I say nothing.
But the past is already moving.
Behind my eyes.
Behind the name he shouldn’t know.