Page 57 of Raven

I nodded. “I know. But I want to help.”

He pulled me into his arms. I pressed against him, memorizing his scent, the beat of his heart, the feel of his strength.

“I’ll come back,” he murmured. “I will always come back to you.”

“I know.”

* * *

Later that day,the house was filled with quiet goodbyes.

Laney hugged him with tears in her eyes. Cyclone pulled up in a black SUV, dressed for war.

I stood on the porch, arms wrapped around myself, watching Raven gear up.

He kissed me like it might be the last time—but we both prayed it wouldn’t be.

“I’ll call if I can. If not—just know I’m alive until someone says otherwise.

I’ll keep my phone off—it’s safer.”

I blinked fast and nodded. “Raven… please be careful.”

He gave me one last look—fierce, tender—before sliding into the vehicle beside Cyclone.

The doors shut.

The engine roared.

And just like that… he was gone.

29

Raven

Iran– two days later. The air was dry and hot, and the sun was brutal even in the early morning hours. Dust clung to every surface. I crouched behind a crumbling stone wall, scanning the burned-out village with narrowed eyes. Cyclone was beside me, silent, unmoving—just as we’d been trained.

Our contact, a wiry local with sharp eyes and a nervous twitch, who smelled like he hadn’t had a bath in a long while, had dropped us off just outside the town of Darvan, where the last transmission from the missing SEAL team had originated. That was seventy-two hours ago.

“Dead quiet,” Cyclone muttered, adjusting the grip on his suppressed rifle.

“Too quiet,” I said. “I feel like we’re being watched.”

Cyclone gave a sharp nod. “Let’s do this.”

We moved as one, slipping through alleys and rubble, checking corners, broken doors, and rooftops. It was a ghost town—burned-out vehicles, bullet-pocked walls, abandoned livestock. But no bodies.

“No signs of a fighting,” Cyclone said. “They didn’t go down here.”

I knelt near the old mosque at the edge of town. Something glittered in the sand—a bent dog tag. I picked it up, turning it over in my gloved hand.

“This one’s military issue. Belongs to SEAL Team eight,” I said.

“Damn,” Cyclone breathed. “They were here.”

My eyes narrowed as I studied the damage. “It wasn’t smashed in combat. This was deliberately destroyed,” I told Cyclone. Must have been the bad guys who did this. We need to find them before it’s too late.

We followed the trail, scuffed footprints leading out of town, toward a dry riverbed that twisted into the jagged hills. After an hour of climbing, we reached a ridge that overlooked a remote compound, half-buried in the canyon.

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