Someone hit my door loudly and I froze mid cleaning. It was almost unnoticeable under the music blasting through the speakers, but I had listened to Noah’s playlists enough times to know every single bump and breath inside those tracks. This sound did not belong there. My body tensed on instinct.“Ethan. Ethan, open up.” A woman’s voice called again while pounding the door even harder. Mrs Henderson. Of course.I muttered a curse and straightened. The AR was still leaning behind the open bookshelf, exposed. I grabbed it with one hand, slung it out of sight, and shoved the shelf closed with my shoulder until the click sounded. Wood dust skittered across the floor. I used a throw blanket to cover the broken panels and splinters piled under the shelf. My foot throbbed and I forced myself to walk normally.I limped down the hallway, flicked on the porch light, and unlocked the door only a few inches. Mrs Henderson stood there in her fluffy pink robe, her tiny brown terrier yapping around

I didn’t wait for midnight before leaving my house because rules were for people who didn't know what they wanted for themselves. I left the house at dusk when the sky was still yellowish and the ground still hot from a sunny day. I drove until the road turned to a path and then I turned off the engine and sat there with the windows down. I pulled the duffel from the trunk and laid everything out on the hood like I was dressing for war.AR-15 with the suppressor I’d kept oiled all that while, the Chest rig with six mags. A suppressed Glock 19 on the drop-leg with NVGs that still had the same cracked lens from Kandahar, a trauma kit heavy in the cargo pocket: two tourniquets, QuickClot, chest seals, a decompression needle I prayed I wouldn’t need and two frags and a roll of det cord. Then I locked the car, pocketed the keys, and disappeared into the pines.A mile through the pines, I had the soft sound of boots and paused to listen again. The mill rose up ahead like a corpse that for

I drove until the sun rose behind me and dipped low in front again. Twelve agonizing hours passed with only coffee stops, piss breaks, and the steady throb in my shoulder that refused to let me sleep. Every mile was a reminder that time was moving faster than I was and Noah’s life was ticking away with every turn of the wheel. Cars passed and disappeared into the night, each one stopping somewhere until I was alone again on the road.Just after nine at night, I rolled into the half-lit parking lot of the Grand Meridian Hotel. Its cracked fluorescent sign had seen better days, just like me. I had stayed here countless times, and though the place looked older, it was still alive and still humming with people who didn’t know or care what battles I’d fought to get here.I opened the trunk, pulled the duffel, and walked inside. Marco, the concierge, looked up from his newspaper, and for a moment, his eyes widened like he’d seen a phantom. Then recognition hit, and a slow smile spread acros

Van Cleef leaned back slightly as if he needed the extra distance to stay composed.“Ghost,” he asked, his voice steady, but his eyes betrayed him. They travelled behind him, checking to see if his guards were close enough to intervene. That alone told me that he hadn’t expected me to get this far without being stopped.He extended a hand toward the telephone moving too quick to be casual.“I suggest you don’t,” I said. My voice didn’t rise. “One wrong move, and I’ll have your throat open before your guards even reach the elevator.”His hand stopped in midair. His jaw tightened and he grinned his teeth behind his lips. He didn’t like being caught off-balance but I didn't care. “You really think threats put you in control here?” Van Cleef asked. “There’s a ten-million bounty on your head. Do you honestly believe you can walk in here and dictate terms?”“I don’t care about the bounty,” I said. “And I don’t care about your guards. All I care about is my brother. You want me? Fine. But i