Page 40 of Shadow of Misty Mountain

He laughs—low and amused. “You say that like it wasn’t a strategic trade. One location for information that gave this country six months of warning against a foreign insurgency. One operation for global leverage.”

“They trusted you.”

“They were tools. Sharp ones, yes. But still replaceable.” His voice hardens. “Travis should’ve died in Syria. I made sure of it. Nick—he died a hero, but he died ignorant. And yet here you are, dragging their ghosts back into the light.”

My stomach turns, but I don’t let it show. I look down at the journal in my hands and force a tear into my voice. “I don’t want to be part of this. I just… I just want to be safe.”

Carlton moves in, slowly this time, and reaches out. “Then hand it over, sweetheart. Let the men play their games. You don’t belong in this war.”

I let him take it. I release the decoy journal into his hands and watch him cradle it like it’s sacred.

He doesn’t know. My heart thunders. I don’t breathe. I don’t blink.

He flips it open, starts scanning the pages. For a moment, I think he might catch the con—spot the clean handwriting that doesn’t match Nick’s exact loops, the aged pages that are just a little too uniformly yellowed.

But his expression turns pleased. “At last.”

Then his eyes lift and lock onto mine again. The cold behind them freezes me in place.

“Where’s Travis?” he asks.

I blink. “Wh…what?”

Carlton steps closer. “You think I don’t know you two are working together? You think I didn’t have eyes in Misty Mountain the moment you crossed the town line? I’ve known he was alive for years. I was just waiting for the right bait.”

He taps the journal. “And here you are.”

Something shifts outside. A creak in the wood. A whisper of snow disturbed. I don’t react. I keep my breathing shallow and panicked. Let him see what he wants to see.

“Travis isn’t coming,” I say, voice soft. “He told me I was on my own.”

Carlton smiles. It’s not human. It’s a thing made of power and arrogance and decades of manipulation stacked like bricks into a fortress no one ever tried to breach.

“Then I guess he failed you. Just like he failed your brother. Did you really think this would end differently?” he says, one eyebrow lifting with that condescending confidence only men like him can manage. “Little girl walks into the lion’s den with big brother’s old war stories and a decoy file. Cute.”

I keep my eyes wide, my body angled just enough to suggest fear, even though my heart’s steady now. Because I can feel it. Travis is close. I can’t hear him—he’s too good for that. But I know he’s here. Somewhere in the shadows, waiting for the perfect second. The man can move through a forest like a wraith. Silent. Controlled. Deadly.

Carlton gestures with his gun, nodding toward the old leather-bound notebook he’d tossed onto the crate. “That’s what this was all about, huh? Your brother’s precious words. Too bad it’s just more sentiment than substance.”

“You wouldn’t know substance if it punched you in the throat,” I mutter, barely loud enough for him to catch.

He laughs, a short bark of amusement. “Feisty. Just like your brother. Until he wasn’t.”

My hands curl into fists at my sides. “You sold them out.”

Carlton shrugs. “I sold them for a higher cause—American money and access to Russian intel. No such thing as loyalty anymore, sweetheart. Just leverage.”

“You cost five men their lives.”

“Correction.” His eyes gleam. “I made a deal. Your brother got sentimental. Would’ve been better off if he’d kept his mouth shut like the others.”

I force a small, quivering breath. Just enough to keep his ego high and his guard low. “You killed Nick.”

“I orchestrated a necessary solution,” he says. “Don’t take it personal. He wasn’t supposed to survive long enough to talk, anyway.”

I hold his gaze. “He didn’t just talk. He wrote everything down. I read it. I know everything you did.”

Carlton stiffens. Gotcha.

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