Utah – Donovan Security Tactical Compound
The desert stretched endlessly, a burnt horizon beneath a bruised sky fading into lavender dusk. A plume of dust erupted behind the black SUV as it tore down the gravel road leading to the Donovan Security compound—a fortified stronghold nestled in the middle of nowhere. Nothing but rocks, silence, and heat for miles.
Audrey sat rigid in the passenger seat, her boots planted against the floorboard, fingers tapping restlessly along the window. She loathed the desert—too open, too still, too many ways to die unseen.
Sebastian drove one-handed, tapping the dashboard screen with the other.
"Five minutes out," he said. "The chemical is secure. Adrian and Lia have activated thermal sweeps and signal jammers. If Lucien slipped something into our system, they'll catch it."
"And if they don't?" Audrey kept her eyes trained on the barren plains. "You still think this place can protect us?"
He looked at her, eyes dark with purpose. "It's not about protection. It's about confrontation."
She didn't respond, but the stiff tension in her posture spoke for her.
Sebastian lowered his voice. "You think Clara set us up?"
"No." Audrey hesitated. "But she's walking a razor's edge. She's only feeding us fragments—enough to stay useful, never enough to trust."
As they pulled into the compound, steel gates slid open with a mechanical hiss. Armed guards, faces expressionless behind dark visors, saluted the SUV as it rolled in. The moment they parked, two figures approached.
Adrian—Sebastian's head of operations—and Lia, the compound's lead intelligence analyst.
Adrian opened Audrey's door. "Rousseau."
She nodded curtly. Adrian looked as if he'd been carved from stone: military buzz cut, a scar etched across his left temple from a grenade in Djibouti. Loyal. Brutal. Efficient.
Inside the command center, glass walls separated the various divisions—operations, tech, intel. Massive screens lit up the dark room, displaying maps, biometrics, encrypted data flows. Lia was already at her station, her fingers flying across the keyboard.
"We've got something," she called without looking up. "Two flagged threads between Zurich and Damascus. Both mention 'L'Ombre.'"
Audrey raised an eyebrow. "Shadow?"
Lia nodded. "French slang. One of Lucien's known aliases on the black market."
"Coordinates?" Sebastian asked.
"Just whispers. But here's the odd part—one of the encryption strings is a frequency we haven't seen in years. Not since…"
She hesitated.
"Not since Prague," Audrey said, finishing the thought.
Silence dropped over the room like a blade.
Adrian crossed his arms. "They're using ghost lines. Restricted frequencies. Ones only a few of us had access to."
Audrey's eyes narrowed. "Then we have a leak. One of ours."
Sebastian didn't speak, but the fire behind his calm expression ignited.
Lia pulled up another screen. "There's more. Surveillance from Marseille—right after the sniper incident. Two vehicles left the zone in the chaos. Both vanished before reaching the French-Italian border."
"A dead end?" Sebastian asked.
"Not quite." Lia tapped a key. A grainy photo appeared on the screen.
Audrey stepped closer, her breath catching. The image was low resolution, the figure obscured. But the way he moved—tall, hooded, a slight limp in the left leg—she recognized that limp. She had trained it out of a soldier years ago.
"No…" she whispered.
"Lucien?" Sebastian asked.
She shook her head. "Worse. Elias Fontaine."
Adrian muttered a curse. "That ghost again."
"You know him?" Sebastian asked.
Audrey's voice dropped to a chill. "He was my CO in Marseille. My trainer. My protector. Then he vanished during a botched arms operation near Albania. Everyone assumed he died in the explosion."
Adrian added, "Three corpses were found. Fontaine wasn't one of them."
Lia brought up another file. "He's alive. And not alone. There's chatter about an operation called 'Nightglass.'"
Sebastian stepped closer to Audrey. "What is Nightglass?"
She shook her head slowly. "I don't know. But if Fontaine is running point, it'll be calculated chaos. He was always two steps ahead of everyone. Brilliant. Ruthless. Loyal—until he wasn't."
Adrian leaned forward. "We need to speak with Victor."
Sebastian blinked. "My father?"
Adrian nodded. "He worked with Fontaine back in his CIA contractor days. Before Donovan Security existed. If anyone knows what Nightglass is, it's him."
Audrey frowned. "I thought he was off-grid."
"He is," Sebastian said. "Montana. Near Glacier Park."
"And you think he'll talk?" Audrey asked.
Sebastian's voice darkened. "To me—he will."
She didn't doubt it. Sebastian had that quiet steel, the kind that bent for no one—not even his father. But blood tied to war always left scars.
"We move at dawn," Audrey said.
"No," Sebastian countered. "We move tonight."
Later That Night
Compound Barracks
The desert wind sighed through the vents like a warning.
Audrey stood beneath the warm rush of the shower, watching the water wash away dirt, sweat, and blood. But the weight in her chest—the sharp, restless ache—remained.
Elias Fontaine.
Alive. Changed. The man who had molded her into something lethal, and then disappeared into the very darkness he'd taught her to fight.
She leaned forward, resting her forehead against the cool tile. Eyes closed.
The soft creak of the door caught her attention.
"You shouldn't be here," she said quietly.
Sebastian's voice came from behind, calm and low. "You didn't lock it."
She didn't turn. The sound of his steps crossed the tile. He didn't touch her. Just stood close—close enough for the heat of his presence to wrap around her like armor.
"You're trembling," he said gently.
"I'm fine."
"No. You're not."
She turned slightly, letting the water stream down her shoulders. His gaze didn't waver—not at her body, but at the truth in her eyes. The fatigue. The weight.
"You think I'm breaking," she murmured.
"I think you're tired of pretending you're not already broken."
The words landed heavy.
She said nothing. Just watched him. Waiting.
His shirt was soaked from the mist, but he didn't seem to care. His expression wasn't hungry—it was knowing. As if he saw every scar she carried and wasn't afraid of a single one.
She moved first.
Stepped into him. Kissed him like it was a secret long buried, like the only way to speak now was through fire and contact.
His arms wrapped around her, pulling her close as the water fell between them. Their kiss wasn't soft—it was raw. Desperate. Years of silence, pain, and near-misses crashing into the moment.
She pulled him under the stream, their foreheads touching between breaths. His hands framed her face, grounding her.
He whispered her name like a vow.
"Stay tonight," she said, voice barely audible.
"I will."
No promises beyond the dark. No plans for morning. Just now. Just them.
Because tomorrow, the war would come again.