Page 87 of Cyclone

I knew all about her husband and child. That was before I broke out of that rat hole of a prison they put me in. They thought I was crazy. Because I told them this woman belonged to me, and I was going to get her.

I watched Cyclone take the note from her hand.

Read it.

Feel its weight.

Good.

Let him know.

Let himsee.

He was part of this now, whether he wanted to be or not.

But he wouldn’t be there when it ended.

No.

She had to come back to the silence.

To the mirror.

To the version of herself she left behind in that bunker.

That’s where he’d be waiting.

And when she finally looked at him again?

Reallylooked?

She’d remember who she was meant to be.

Who she was meant to bewith.

And this time, she wouldn’t walk away.

48

Cyclone

Jude sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the fireplace, a stack of old files open on the rug, a pen tucked behind her ear. Her hair was tied in a messy knot, and she was wearing my hoodie, sleeves pushed up, jaw set.

It was the most dangerous version of her I’d ever seen.

And the most beautiful.

She looked up when I handed her the rest of the surveillance photos Oliver had pulled.

“He’s close,” I said. “Too close. I think he wants us to find him—just not on our terms.”

“He’s baiting us,” she murmured, scanning the photos. “Making us chase shadows while he stays in control.”

“Not anymore.”

I dropped down beside her, spreading a second set of intel across the floor—locations tied to old ghost sites, aliases used by dead operatives, CIA facilities long scrubbed from existence.

“He called himselfThe Auditor,” I said. “At least, that’s what others called him. No real name. No digital footprint. But he worked observation detail at multiple sites before Syria. He’s been doing this a long time.”

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