Page 37 of Forsaken

"Negative," came the response, tinged with the same frustration she felt building in her chest. "Building's completely cold."

A rat skittered through a pile of debris nearby, its claws scratching against concrete. The sound echoed in the emptyspace, emphasizing the absence of the confrontation they'd expected. Morgan's jaw clenched as understanding settled over her like frost.

He wasn't coming.

The realization sat heavy in her stomach, bitter as prison coffee. Cordell had outplayed them again, somehow knowing their carefully laid trap was waiting. Someone had warned him – someone with access to their operation, someone inside the Bureau itself.

The game board had shifted before they'd even made their first move.

"Cross," Mueller's voice came through again, heavy with resignation. "I don't think—"

"I know," Morgan cut him off, not wanting to hear the words that would make it real. Her free hand found the phoenix tattoo on her forearm, tracing its outline through her jacket sleeve. "He's not coming. He never was."

The distant sound of traffic continued its endless rhythm, indifferent to their failed operation. Morgan stared up at the building's dark windows, each one a blank eye staring back at her. Somewhere in this city, Cordell was probably watching, waiting, planning his next move. But it wouldn't be here. Not tonight.

"Fall back," Mueller ordered, though his tone made it more suggestion than command. "We'll reassess in the morning."

Morgan stayed motionless for a moment longer, letting the night air fill her lungs. The same autumn wind that had carried dead leaves across her father's grave now whispered through empty corridors above, as if the building itself was mocking their efforts.

She had been so certain. So sure that her challenge would draw him out, force him to face her directly. Instead, she stood alone in a decaying parking lot, while somewhere in Dallas,Richard Cordell remained safely hidden in whatever web of power and influence he'd spent decades spinning.

Morgan's jaw clenched as she turned away from the abandoned building, frustration and anger simmering beneath her skin. She stalked back to her car, each step echoing her determination. This setback wouldn't stop her. It couldn't.

Cordell hadn't come because he couldn't afford to be caught. Which meant he was vulnerable – more vulnerable than she'd realized. He had power, influence, a network of corrupt agents at his disposal. But he wasn't invincible.

And now she knew for certain that someone inside the Bureau was feeding him information. Someone had warned him about their trap. That someone had just become her new target.

The game wasn't over. The rules had just changed.

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

The blue glow of the monitor cast shadows across Richard Cordell's aged face as he leaned forward, eyes fixed on the flickering image before him. The room around him was a cocoon of darkness, broken only by the faint hum of surveillance equipment and the stark light from the screen.

On the monitor, a lone figure moved through a dimly lit alleyway. Morgan Cross. Her short blonde hair caught the sickly yellow light of distant street lamps, and even through the grainy footage, the set of her shoulders spoke of a newfound determination.

Cordell's lips tightened into a thin line. "Well, well," he murmured, his voice barely audible even in the silence of the room. "Look how far you've come, Agent Cross."

He watched as Morgan paused, her head turning sharply as if sensing some unseen threat. Her hand instinctively moved towards her hip, where Cordell knew her service weapon would be holstered. Even through the impersonal lens of the camera, he could see the change in her. Gone was the hesitation, the doubt that had once clouded her eyes. In its place was a steel-hard resolve.

A memory flashed unbidden through Cordell's mind: Morgan as a rookie agent, eager and idealistic. How different she looked now, hardened by years behind bars, her skin a canvas of prison tattoos telling a story of survival and defiance.

"You've learned well, haven't you?" Cordell spoke to the image on the screen, his tone a mix of grudging admiration and cold calculation. "Daddy's little girl, all grown up and out for blood."

He leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled beneath his chin. Part of him — a part he ruthlessly suppressed — couldn'thelp but feel a twinge of pride. Morgan had endured, had fought her way back from the abyss he'd engineered for her. She'd taken the lessons of her imprisonment and forged them into a weapon.

"But you're still so blind," he muttered, shaking his head. "So focused on your quest for justice that you can't see the bigger picture."

On the screen, Morgan had resumed her cautious progress down the alley. Cordell's eyes narrowed, studying her movements, the way she scanned her surroundings. She was good — better than good. She'd become the kind of agent that, in another life, he might have mentored.

"Such a waste," he sighed, a note of genuine regret coloring his words. "We could have done great things together, you and I. If only you'd learned to play by the rules."

He reached out, his weathered hand hovering over the keyboard. With a few keystrokes, he could end this — alert his people, have Morgan taken care of before she could cause any more trouble. But something stayed his hand.

"No," Cordell murmured, withdrawing his fingers. "Not yet. Let's see how far down this rabbit hole you're willing to go, Agent Cross."

He settled back, eyes never leaving the screen. In the dim light, the hard lines of his face seemed carved from stone, his expression unreadable. But deep in his eyes, something burned — a mixture of anticipation and something darker, more personal.

Cordell's fingers hovered over the pause button, his face half-illuminated by the monitor's bluish glow. He pressed it, freezing Morgan mid-stride, her arm raised as if warding off an invisible threat. Even in this static image, her defiance radiated through the screen.

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