Page 52 of Broken Oath

“Maybe.”

“Looking for us?”

“Maybe.”

Sniper reached beneath his jacket.

Rook stopped him with one look.

“Not here.”

Six families had already suffered enough.

There would be no gunfire near those graves.

No matter who sat inside that sedan.

The vehicle remained for another thirty seconds.

Then it pulled away.

Slowly.

Without coming closer.

Rook watched until it vanished beyond the cemetery gates.

“Could have been nothing,” Sniper said.

“Nothing doesn’t sit in the rain for two hours with its engine running.”

Fathom studied the empty road. “Do we abort?”

Rook looked back at the graves.

“No.”

They had already missed the funerals.

He wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye.

An hour later, the cemetery stood empty.

Almost.

Three figures dressed in black moved between the headstones.

Rook’s injuries protested every step.

His ribs ached beneath his coat. His shoulder burned where the doctors had repaired torn muscle. The wound along his thigh pulled whenever he climbed the rain-softened ground.

He welcomed the pain.

It reminded him that he was alive.

Six better men weren’t.

They stopped in front of the graves.