Page 92 of Cyclone

Just an old hoodie, jeans, and a thousand-yard stare I’d practiced in the mirror.

Let him think I was breaking.

Let himbelieveit.

I reached the clearing and stopped in the center.

Waited.

Breathed.

And then—movement.

Just a flicker, between the trees.

My heart pounded.

I didn’t move.

Didn’t flinch.

Let him come.

Let him think he was winning.

Because in exactly four minutes, Cyclone was going to light this entire place up.

52

Jude

He stepped out of the trees like he’d been waiting his whole life for this moment.

Same build.

Same walk.

Same dead eyes.

He wore a plain jacket, dark jeans, a calm expression that would’ve looked harmless to anyone else.

But I knew better.

I’d known since Syria.

Since that mirror.

Since the moment I saw him smile.

The air thickened between us as he crossed the clearing—slow, deliberate, like he was savoring every step. A predator who thought the kill was already his.

He stopped ten feet away.

Close enough for me to smell the faint trace of aftershave.

He smiled again.

Just like before.

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