“You don’t remember me.”
And judging by the look on Hannah’s face—
That terrifies her more than the bullets do.
21
Hannah
Istare at him through the smoke.
My heart pounds hard enough to hurt.
Because I know that face.
Somehow—
I know it.
Not well.
Not clearly.
But enough to make cold dread slide slowly down my spine.
The black-clad operator watches me carefully while gunfire continues exploding outside the warehouse.
“You don’t remember me,” he repeats quietly.
Clay steps in front of me instantly.
Protective.
Dangerous.
Every weapon in his hands suddenly feels very, very personal.
“Start talking,” Clay says coldly.
The operator’s gaze shifts toward him briefly.
Assessment again.
Then back to me.
His expression doesn’t change.
“Six months,” he says. “Colorado training facility.”
My stomach drops instantly.
No.
Impossible.
The survival course.
The classified resistance program.
