For a moment, no one breathed. Ronan’s focus shifted from my face to Specter’s arms still loosely around me, and something dangerous flashed across his expression—a flash of possessive fury quickly mastered.
The air crackled with unspoken tension. Specter didn’t immediately release me—instead, he helped me to my feet with deliberate care, a subtle provocation that made Ronan’s jaw tighten visibly.
I stood between them, suddenly the focal point of a silent confrontation between predators. The basement hummed with tension—neither man willing to break eye contact or yield ground.
Ronan’s fingers curled at his sides—not quite fists, but the promise of violence. Specter shifted his weight forward slightly, adjusting his stance. The message in both movements was clear—they were measuring each other, calculating risks and advantages.
The electronic chirp of Specter’s phone broke the standoff with jarring suddenness.
I seized the moment to wipe tears from my face, returning to my workstation with forced steadiness. The scattered papers from my outburst still littered the floor, but I stepped over them, focusing on my laptop with manufactured concentration.
“I have to take this,” Specter said, voice neutral as he stepped away to answer.
My fingers hovered over the keyboard, typing nothing, simply needing somewhere to fix my attention that wasn’t Ronan. His presence filled the room like a physical pressure—still by the doorway, still watching, rainwater pooling at his feet.
Specter’s voice dropped to a low, urgent murmur as he turned away. His posture changed instantly—the man who awkwardly comforted me vanishing, replaced by the predator receiving hunting coordinates.
Boot heels clicked against concrete as Ronan finally moved from the doorway. I tensed, refusing to look up, my pride a fragile shield against whatever might come next.
Metal scraped against metal from the direction of the weapons table—the familiar sounds of a man preparing for violence. Magazine checks. Blade inspection. The routines that centered him.
Specter ended his call and turned back to face us. For a heartbeat, the basement felt impossibly crowded—three broken people with lethal skills crowded into a space barely large enough for one.
“We have Brock’s location,” he announced without preamble.
My head snapped up, and all other concerns were temporarily suspended. This was our first concrete lead since escaping Brock’s facility.
“Where?” Ronan’s voice was sandpaper-rough, as if he’d spent hours in silence.
“Private house owned by Oblivion outside Campinas,” Specter replied, his eyes shifting between us. “My contacthas confirmed that no one from Oblivion should intervene. Brock’s running this operation off-book.”
“Which means he’ll have his own security,” Ronan stated, moving toward the weapons table with predatory focus.
“Extensive security,” Specter corrected. “My contact can’t help directly—they’ve risked enough just giving us this intel.”
Ronan nodded once, all business now. “Then we’ll handle it ourselves. You and I ca...”
“No,” Specter cut him off with surprising firmness. “This isn’t a two-man job. Not with Brock’s resources.” His eyes flicked briefly to me before returning to Ronan. “We’re going to need a third pair of hands.”
Chapter 23
Maeve
I slammed my fingers against the keyboard, each keystroke punctuating my anger. The basement air hung heavy with tension, the harsh fluorescent lights casting everything in unforgiving clarity.
Focus. I needed to focus.The mission was tomorrow, and if I didn’t finish compiling this evidence, everything we’d risked would be for nothing. Specter had slipped out an hour ago to gather “equipment”—his deliberately vague explanation telling me everything and nothing. The thought of what weapons he was collecting made my stomach clench.
My eyes burned, vision blurring from exhaustion. I blinked hard, refusing to acknowledge the headache building behind my temples. Sleep wasn’t an option—not after what had happened earlier.
Ronan’s words still cut fresh, “She’s not going in.” Three words, delivered with such cold finality that even Specter had hesitated.
But Specter had won that argument. “She’s the only one who can handle the security hub,” he’d insisted. “Withoutsomeone managing those systems, we’re walking into a death trap.”
The logic was undeniable. The security protocols I’d uncovered in the Oblivion files required someone with my specific knowledge. Someone who understood the systems well enough to create a diversion while Ronan and Specter found Brock.
Someone expendable.
I glanced across the room where Ronan sat dismantling a handgun, efficiency in every action. His shoulders formed a rigid line, tension visible even from there. He hadn’t spoken a word to me in hours.