Page 90 of The Scout

I kept moving, slow and steady, my boots hitting the wooden planks in measured intervals. The boardscreaked under my weight, the sound lost beneath the distant crash of waves against the pylons.

This was too easy.

Too fucking clean.

The ransom deposit had been paid. My comms were clear. There were no enemy positions marked, no stray signals, no extra bodies on thermal.

It was just me. And the unmoving figure waiting at the far end of the pier.

A vibration buzzed against my thigh. My phone.

Blocked number.

Right on schedule.

I pressed accept, lifting the phone to my ear.

“Wire the money,” a distorted voice instructed. Male, robotic, devoid of inflection.

I exhaled slowly, my grip tightening around the phone. “Not until I get proof of life.”

A brief pause. Then?—

“Tell your teams to zoom in.”

I didn’t repeat it aloud. I didn’t have to. Elias was already relaying the order.

Silence crackled in my ear as the team adjusted their surveillance feeds. My pulse remained steady, but every muscle in my body was coiled tight, ready for something to happen.

Finally, Elias’ voice came through.

“Target just turned. Now facing the pier. We’re ninety percent sure it’s Will.”

Ninety percent.

Not a hundred.

My stomach clenched. Ninety percent was good. But ninety percent still got people killed.

I took a slow breath, forcing my voice to stay even. “Wiring it now.”

My people handled the transfer, their confirmations coming through in clipped, controlled tones. A few seconds later, the reply came through:

“Funds received.” The voice on the line exhaled, then said, “Thank you. Don’t come looking for us.”

The call cut off.

I stayed still, listening to my team over comms.

“All clear. No additional movement.”

“No thermal readings outside of Scout and the target.”

Nothing.

But my instincts weren’t satisfied.

Something wasn’t right.

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