Page 91 of The Scout

It was too perfect. Too fucking perfect. Whoever had Will, whoever had orchestrated this—they weren’t amateurs.

And that was the problem.

Professionals didn’t make clean trades. They didn’t leave behind loose ends. They didn’t return their hostages in one piece unless there was a reason.

Unless they wanted me to let my guard down.

My fingers curled into fists. My heartbeat didn’t pick up, didn’t slam in my chest. Not yet.

I took a breath.

Fuck it.

I ran.

The wind tore against my face, the night swallowing my footsteps as my boots pounded against the planks. The shadows ahead didn’t shift. No movement. No signs of an ambush.

But I still couldn’t see the end of the pier.

Couldn’t see what waited beyond the dark.

Twenty feet.

Ten.

Five.

I stopped short.

Will was there.

One eye swollen shut. Hands bound. A fucking earpiece in his left ear.

The tension in his shoulders wasn’t just exhaustion. It was fear. He wasn’t relieved to see me. He wasn’t desperate for help.

He was warning me.

His jaw locked tight, his whole body stiff as he shook his head.

His lips barely moved when he spoke, but I still heard it.

“It’s a trap.”

I didn’t think.

Didn’t hesitate.

I grabbed Will, threw him over my shoulder, and bolted for the railing.

The world erupted.

Slow motion took over my senses. The pier split apart, debris splintering through the air as I leapt onto, then over the railing. We launched over the edge as the concussive blast hit us in full, and then into nothingness, the darkness swallowed us whole.

31

ISABEL

The explosion shattered the night.

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