Chapter 56
Wren
Wren McKay had once helped design the logic that decided who lived and who became a footnote.
Now she lived on the wrong side of her own systems.
She had been powerful.
She had fallen on purpose.
And it had cost her everything.
Boone Grant is not supposed to be on this op.
That’s the first problem. But he’s the only one who can fix this.
The second problem is that he said yes.
I watch him cross the tarmac from the terminal, shoulders squared, movement controlled, as if the world were something he measures before he touches it.
The black cowboy hat he always wears is pulled down to cover his eyes.
I remember when he would set it on my head and kiss me.
He’s more handsome now than the last time I saw him.
Some things never change.
Some things never heal.
“Still walking like you expect someone to shoot you,” I say as he stops in front of me.
His mouth curves faintly. “Still standing like you’re daring them to try.”
I hand him the file.
“You’re late,” he says.
“You always arrive early. It balances.”
His eyes flick to mine—sharp, assessing, familiar in a way that tightens my chest whether I like it or not.
“So,” he says, tapping the folder. “Sentinel’s mess?”
“His echo,” I correct. “Different architect. Same blueprint.”
We start walking toward the hangar.
Inside the file are photographs.
Smiling people. Group barbecues. Church fundraisers. Volunteer search teams.
And then—
Nothing.
“They’re building something,” I say. “Not a cell. Not a strike team. An infrastructure. Quiet. Distributed. Loyal.”
“Loyal to who?”
“That’s what we’re here to find out.”
We reach the transport.
“Seven disappearances in eighteen months,” I continue. “All clean exits. All people who knew how to move men, supplies, data, or money without being seen.”
“Support ghosts,” he says.
“Yes.”
“And you think this turns into what?”
I hesitate.
“Not an attack,” I say. “A capability. Something you can turn on years from now. Something no one sees coming.”
He studies me.
“Sentinel always said the real war isn’t won with soldiers,” he says. “It’s won with systems.”
“Exactly.”
He stops walking.
Turns to me.
“Why me?”
Because the truth is dangerous.
Because Boone Grant doesn’t do half-measures.
“Because whoever’s doing this,” I say carefully, “is using trust as the entry point. Shared history. Shared values. Shared pain.”
“And you think I’m bait.”
“I think you’re a mirror,” I say. “And mirrors scare people who don’t want to be seen.”
A long beat.
Then he nods once.
“Alright. Let’s scare them.”
As we move toward the aircraft, I feel it—the shift.
The way the past wakes up when the future gets dangerous.
Logan and Scout won their war.
But this one?
This one is quieter.
Slower.
And if we’re wrong—
It won’t explode.
It will spread.
And Boone Grant is about to step straight into the fire.
With me standing beside him.
And for the first time in years…
I’m not sure which of us is the bigger risk.