Page 1 of Ashes to Ashes

PROLOGUE

ASH

The first timeI saw them—eyes like molten amber watching from the treeline—I convinced myself they were nothing but sun-drunk hallucinations bleeding through pine needles.

The second time, those impossible golden eyes tracked my movement through the forest scope, and when I blinked, they blinked in perfect synchronization—predator recognizing predator.

The third time—well.

The third time started a story that chose me. No one would have dared warn me. No one could have prepared me. I wouldn’t have believed them anyway.

Because when those ancient eyes met mine, the forest went silent—every bird, every insect, every whisper of wind holding its breath. And in that crystalline moment, I felt the weight of recognition settle into my bones like a homecoming I’d spent twenty-eight years running from.

The third time, I realized they’d been hunting me long before I knew I was the prey they’d been waiting for.

1

ASH

The forest breathes around me—ancientpines exhaling secrets that coat my tongue with copper and moss, an unwelcome intimacy that makes my skin prickle.

Mission parameters flash through my mind. Clear. Sequential. Safe.

“Target’s a klick northeast, in the clearing,”Colonel Graves said during the briefing, eyes betraying anticipation when he mentioned the stone key.“Dr. Litvak has the classified documents and the stone key. Your objective is simple. Retrieval, no casualties unless absolutely necessary.”

I ghost between shadows, boots whispering over fallen needles. My fingers buzz with electric awareness, bones humming at a frequency that makes my teeth ache.

Moonlight fractures through the canopy in liquid-silver splinters, and a single word claws up from somewhere deeper than thought.

Home.

Recognition detonates through my system, bones vibrating with certainty—my marrow remembering what my mind forgot. The scent of pine and decay fills spaces inside me I never knew existed.

Twenty-seven missions. Each one impossible.

Each time Graves watched my briefing with that smile—like he knew I’d survive things that should kill anyone else.

Somewhere behind me, the wind shifts.

And with it—a whisper. Faint. Childlike.

Ashlynne.

I whip around. Nothing but trees. Bark slick with moonlight, shadows too deep.

Just my imagination. It has to be.

“Target’s half a klick northeast,” Davis whispers through the comms, dragging me back to reality. “Still stationary.” The static fragments scrape my eardrum raw, sound splintering into my skull like glass shards.

“Moving in,” I respond. The words grind against a throat suddenly parched, tongue thick and uncooperative.

My gut twists with primal warning—not intuition but knowing.

Time stretches like taffy pulled too thin. The watch on my wrist reads 2300 hours, but the bloated moon hanging overhead whispers that it’s much, much later.

Focus. Assess. Compartmentalize.

Something flickers at the edge of my vision—pale and fluid, moving through trees like water through fingers. I pivot, weapon raised in one liquid motion. My heart lurches at the sight.

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