Sharper.
Steadier.
I meant every word I said to Tracker. I’ll honor that promise no matter what it costs me.
But that’s not the only thing driving me anymore.
They took my brother, and I don’t care how long it takes.
Every single one of themisgoing to pay.
Chapter Two
RYAN
Pain is the first thing I feel, but it’s not the kind you push through. It’s the kind that drags you under, heavy, suffocating, like my body isn’t mine anymore. Every breath burns. Every inch feels torn open. For a long moment, I don’t know if I’m alive or if this is what dying feels like.
Voices drift somewhere nearby.
Distant and muffled.
“He’s coming around.”
I try to move.
Nothing.
Just a weak twitch, and the effort sends a sharp, brutal pain tearing through my chest. A groan slips out before I can stop it.
“Easy.” Closer now. “Don’t fight it.”
Forcing my eyes open, everything is blurred, too bright, light stabbing through my skull. My throat feels scorched.
When I try to speak, only a rasp comes out. “Where…” I swallow hard. “Where am I?”
Shapes come into focus—white walls, machines, wires, and then a figure steps into view.
Sam.
He looks the same.
And not.
His hair is shorter, with gray specks at the temples, and his jaw is tight. His eyes are still sharp, always watching and calculating, but there’s something new sitting behind all of that.
Something tired.
“Hospital. You’re safe.”
It doesn’t sit right.
Too quiet. Too clean. Letting my gaze move around the room, I take inventory the way I was trained to.
“This isn’t a normal hospital,” I rasp.
A pause, just long enough to confirm what I already know.
“FBI facility. Off the books. Secure.”
