Page 15 of The Reaper
Operation Nightshade—dug up like a corpse. Dominion Hall—offering what I’d bled for. And Ryker—pulling strings I hadn’t known existed.
And her.
The woman in the window.
I didn’t know her name. But I’d felt her.
That heat. That fire. That dare.
I’d tested Ryker. He’d passed.
Now it was her turn.
Charleston closed around me as I walked. Lanterns flickering. The harbor whispering beside me.
I looked at my watch. 11:30.
Almost a whole day to find out if that silhouette was real—or just another ghost.
5
MEGHAN
The next morning, the dock smelled like salt and diesel and possibility.
Sunlight hadn’t fully cracked the horizon yet, but the boats were already in—muffled shouts in Gullah, shoes on wet wood, gloved hands hauling up bins of fresh catch.
I wore black. Usually did. Linen pants, tank top, hair knotted at the base of my neck, dark glasses hiding the circles under my eyes.
Finn was beside me in a navy tee and cargo shorts, clipboard in hand. He didn’t need it—we both had the day’s list memorized—but it gave him something to hold, something to scribble on when he got bored.
“You sure about the snapper?” he asked, nodding toward a bin being unloaded at the next boat.
“Only if the eyes are glass-clear and the gills aren’t the color of regret,” I said.
He huffed a laugh, but I didn’t smile. I wasn’t here to banter. I was here to source perfection.
The boat we’d been waiting on had just tied off—a smaller rig captained by an older Black man with shoulders like steel beams and a weathered face that didn’t waste expressions. He gave me a curt nod as we approached.
“Morning, Miss Delaney,” he said.
“Captain Hodges.”
“Stripers came in good this run. A few amberjack, too. One halibut you’re gonna want to see.”
I nodded, stepping closer as the bins were pried open.
The smell was brine and blood and something elemental. The fish glistened, scales iridescent in the low light, ice steaming faintly in the humidity. I crouched, reached in barehanded, and gently tilted the halibut’s head to inspect the eyes.
Clear. Bright. No clouding.
Perfect.
I nodded once and stood. “We’ll take it. The stripers too. I want the amberjack filleted dockside. Heads stay with me.”
Captain Hodges grunted approval and started shouting instructions to his deckhands.
Finn scribbled something onto his clipboard. “You thinking crudo or smoked?”
