23. Hannah
Hannah
Nobody speaks for half a second.
Not me.
Not Clay.
Not even the militia commander outside.
Because apparently, the man standing ten feet in front of us is supposed to be dead.
Wonderful. He looks different from the instructor; his hair was blonde, but he apparently died it.
Smoke drifts through the shattered loading dock while distant explosions shake the river district.
But suddenly all of that feels farther away.
Less immediate than the cold weight settling in my stomach.
Gabriel Walker watches Russ calmly.
No reaction.
No denial.
Which somehow makes this worse.
Clay’s voice drops lower beside me.
“What does he mean dead?”
Russ keeps his rifle trained on Gabriel as he answers.
“There were rumors a few years back.” His jaw tightens slightly. “Black operations team. Off-books government work. The entire unit disappeared during an extraction in Eastern Europe.”
Gabriel finally speaks.
“We were abandoned.”
The words land hard.
Not angry.
Not emotional.
Just factual.
That tells me more than anger would have.
The militia commander laughs harshly outside.
“Yes. And now he works for whoever pays best.”
Gabriel’s eyes shift toward the commander.
Cold.
“You trafficked children,” he says to the militia man.
“And you’ve killed for governments who bury mass graves.”
The temperature in the loading dock drops instantly.
Because nobody denies either accusation.
Jesus Christ.
Who are these people?
Clay slowly steps more in front of me again.
Protective instinct.
Automatic.
Gabriel notices it immediately.
“You trust the wrong people, Vincent.”
Clay’s expression hardens.
“I’m not taking morality lessons from a ghost.”
A strange flicker almost looks like amusement in Gabriel’s eyes.
Almost.
Then his attention shifts back to Hannah.
“You need to decide quickly.”
“No,” Clay says immediately.
I touch his arm lightly.
“Clay.”
His head turns sharply toward me.
Absolutely furious already.
Good.
Because honestly?
I’m furious too.
At all of them.
“You don’t get to make decisions for me.”
His jaw tightens hard enough to ache.
“Hannah—”
“No.” I step around him before he can stop me. “I’m done with everyone talking about me like I’m cargo.”
The loading dock goes very quiet.
Even the militia commander watches me now.
Good.
Let them.
I’m exhausted.
Covered in blood.
Being hunted by apparently multiple armed organizations.
I’ve earned the right to be angry.
I look directly at Gabriel.
“You knew they were targeting me?”
“Yes.”
“And you said nothing?”
“You were safer not knowing.”
“That’s not your choice to make.”
A flicker of something moves behind his eyes then.
Regret maybe.
Interesting.
“What exactly am I supposed to know too much about?” I ask.
Gabriel hesitates again.
And that terrifies me more than anything else tonight.
Because this man clearly isn’t afraid of violence.
But he is afraid of information.
Before he can answer—
A deafening explosion erupts somewhere outside near the northern bridge.
The entire warehouse shakes violently.
Concrete cracks overhead.
And suddenly every radio inside the loading dock explodes with overlapping voices.
“Multiple armored units inbound!”
“North wall breach!”
“Fall back!”
The militia commander swears sharply in Arabic.
Gabriel’s expression changes instantly.
Not panic.
Calculation.
Urgency.
Then automatic gunfire erupts from the street outside.
Not scattered fire.
Execution fire.
Controlled.
Precise.
Terrifyingly disciplined.
Screams follow seconds later.
Real screams.
My blood runs cold.
One of the militia fighters stumbles through the loading dock entrance covered in blood.
“They’re killing everyone!” he shouts frantically.
Gabriel moves instantly.
Fast enough it barely looks human.
He grabs the terrified fighter by the vest.
“How many?”
“Black uniforms—no insignia—”
A gunshot cuts him off.
Blood explodes from the back of the man’s skull.
His body collapses instantly at Gabriel’s feet.
The loading dock goes dead silent.
Because standing in the smoke-filled entrance behind the falling body—
Are men dressed entirely in matte black combat armor.
No insignias.
No visible faces.
No hesitation.
And every single weapon in the room slowly lifts toward them.
One of the masked soldiers steps forward calmly through the smoke.
Then speaks in perfect English.
“Acquire the doctor.”
My stomach drops straight through the floor.
Because they’re talking about me.