Page 63 of The Sniper

The muscles in his jaw tightened, his fingers twitching like he wanted to grab her—shake some sense into her. His frustration wasn’t just about the mission. It was about her. About them. About the fact that they both knew damn well neither of them would survive losing the other.

Fitz, sitting at the table with his arms crossed, cleared his throat. “Enough. Both of you.”

Daniels didn’t look away from Reyna, his glare burning into her. She didn’t back down.

Fitz let out a long-suffering sigh. “Artemis set up a meet. Rooftop in the industrial district. It’s too obvious, too exposed, which means she’s got something planned.”

Daniels turned to him. “Then I walk in, flush her out.”

“Like hell you do,” Reyna snapped. “You go in blind; she drops you before you even get two words out.”

Daniels turned back to her. “So, what? I send someone else in my place? She’ll know the second it’s not me.”

“No one’s saying you don’t go,” Fitz cut in. “But you’re not going in alone. Reyna takes the high ground.”

Daniels didn’t like it. Reyna could see it in the way his shoulders tensed, the way his lips pressed into a thin line. But Fitz wasn’t asking. He was making a call.

“Last time I checked, Fitzwallace, I didn’t work for you.”

Fitz grinned and took a sip of whiskey. “And why is that? When this is done, we really need to have a long chat about your professional future. I’ll even throw in a collar for Reyna.”

Daniels snorted.

“Artemis is expecting you to be desperate,” Fitz continued. “Expecting you to come alone. Reyna’s your insurance policy. If she tries anything, she goes down.”

Reyna lifted her chin, victorious. “Sounds like a plan.”

Daniels glared at her before turning back to Fitz. “Fine. But the second I say take the shot; you don’t hesitate.”

Reyna met his gaze, her voice steady. “I never do.”

The rooftop was silent, save for the faint hum of the city beyond. The skyline stretched in all directions, dark buildings illuminated by the occasional flickering streetlamp. The wind cut sharp and cold, ruffling the edges of Reyna’s black tactical gear as she settled into position.

She lay flat against the rough rooftop of the building opposite, her beloved Bravo-51 Spec Ops rifle steady in her hands. The Desert Tech SRS A2 Covert was great if stealth was your primary goal, but for accuracy and comfort of use, Reyna always returned to her Bravo-51. Through the scope, she tracked Daniels’s every move.

He was a dark figure against the moonlit rooftop, his stance casual but coiled tight like a spring ready to snap. He wasn’t showing it, but she knew he was on edge. Knew he was still pissed she was even here.

She was pissed, too. But that was their thing, wasn’t it? They were always toeing that line between frustration and need, challenge and surrender.

Through her earpiece, Fitz’s voice crackled. “Eyes on target?”

She swept the rooftop ahead, scanning the perimeter. Nothing but concrete and rusted rooftop machinery. Then?—

“Contact,” she murmured.

Artemis stepped into view. Alone. Unarmed.

Reyna’s grip tightened on the rifle. Something was off.

Daniels took a step forward, his voice calm but laced with steel. “You wanted me. I’m here.”

Artemis tilted her head, the faintest ghost of a smile crossing her lips. “How very predictable of you.”

Reyna adjusted the scope, watching every movement. Artemis was too relaxed, too smug.

“Where are they?” Daniels asked.

“Who?” Artemis spread her hands, the picture of innocence. “I came alone.”

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