I shut off theDatelinenarration and park. Ben unbuckles his seat belt, but I stay where I am. If he’s telling the truth, I don’t need to go inside, right?
“You coming?”
“Nah, I’ll just wait here.”
Ben’s lip quirks. “Cybil, it’s going to be okay.”
“I’m sure that’s what every murderer tells his victim right before he strangles her.”
“You think I’m going to kill you?” Ben laughs, but when he sees I’m not laughing, he stops. “You’re serious.”
“You haven’t exactly been honest with me, Craig.” I look at the farmhouse and frown. Was that movement in the window? My heart drops into my stomach. Is Ramirez there? Rook? “What are we doing here, because I know it’s not to pick up a gift for my uncle.”
Ben looks back at the farmhouse and I’m pretty sure gives a shakeof his head. The front door opens, and my jaw unhinges when Athena walks out.
“What in the world?”
“Stay here.”
Ben gets out of the car and closes the door behind him. He takes a step toward Athena and then stops, his posture rigid like he’s preparing for a fight. I quickly unbuckle my seat belt and get out too.
“I said to stay in the car,” he calls over his shoulder.
“What are you doing here?” I ask Athena.
“Come inside, Cybil.”
“You know her?” Ben asks, confused.
“Yes, but I don’t know why she’s—”
I stop when I see another woman appear in the doorway behind Athena.
“It’d probably be safer if you two come inside now.”
Ben waits for me, and together we walk up to the old farmhouse. The floorboards groan under our steps. The scent of mildew and old wood is thick in the air as we step inside. Sunlight filters in through the broken slats and filthy windows.
Another woman stands just behind a table—tall, blond, and serious, with the kind of posture that says she’s not here for polite conversation. I flick a look toward Athena. She gives me a small, reassuring nod—the kind that says,“You’re safe—or at least, not dying today.”
“Hello, Cybil,” the blonde says, her voice crisp enough to chill a glass of sweet tea. “It’s nice to meet you finally.”
I don’t respond. I just move to stand beside Athena, like my body has decided who it trusts before my brain can catch up. Ben notices. There’s a flicker of hurt in his eyes, and then it’s gone so fast I wonder if anyone else saw it.
And someone did.The dark-haired woman standing between Ben and the blonde. She looks vaguely familiar, but I can’t place how I know her. What I do notice is how carefully she’s watching me. Not with open suspicion, but with some kind of quiet scrutiny that reads like a warning.
“Cybil.” Athena gestures to the woman staring at me. “This is Ruby Knight.” Ruby barely gives me a nod. “And this is Katherine Scott, Special Agent in Charge, Organized Crime and Counterintelligence with the FBI.”
My stomach tightens. I glance at Ben, who’s watching me. So. FBI. I don’t even have a chance to react to the relief rushing through me or the emotion building in my chest, because Ben shifts his attention to Athena.
He steps forward, his posture tight, voice low and controlled. “And you are?”
There’s no charm, no grin.
Athena doesn’t flinch. She meets his gaze with that unbothered calm that makes people either trust her or want to run. “It’s not necessary for our purposes here.”
Ben doesn’t blink. “That’s not a name.”
Athena arches a brow, then finally says, “You can call me Athena.”
