Ryan's Pov
Outside, the afternoon air was sharp and cool, carrying the faint tang of jet fuel from the airstrip beyond the fences.
Parked near the edge of the lot, leaning casually against the hood of a black Audi RS7, was Maya Torres.
She raised an eyebrow as Ryan approached, her arms folded, her posture casual but eyes alert like always. When he pulled a cigarette from his pocket and lit it with steady fingers, the flame briefly illuminating his face, Maya tilted her head knowingly.
"I'm guessing it didn't go well." she said dryly, her voice carrying a husky edge. "I know you only light one of those when a meeting went south."
Ryan exhaled a stream of smoke, watching it curl away in the dim light. "It's messed up, Maya. Real messed up."
"Thought so." she muttered, pushing off the hood. "Let's ride."
They slid into the Audi, the leather seats heated from the sun. Ryan drove in silence, his eyes fixed on the stretch of open road as the base disappeared in the rearview. Maya didn't press... she knew better. Ghosts operated in silence until it was time to strike.
The city blocks eventually thickened, giving way to cracked asphalt and patches of neon that struggled even in daylight above dive bars and strip clubs. Ryan pulled into a faded lot outside a run-down bar whose paint had long surrendered to rust and rain. The sign above buzzed weakly, the letters barely holding the word Whiskey's.
Inside, the smell of stale beer and cigarette ash hit like a wall. A jukebox played a low hum in the corner, drowned beneath the grumble of late-day drinkers. Ryan scanned the room once before spotting him... Tyrone Briggs, leaning back at a small table with a half-empty glass of bourbon, his ever-present leather jacket hanging loose off his shoulders.
Ryan walked straight over. Tyrone's eyes lit with recognition, and the two men clasped hands in a firm, familiar dab.
"Hale." Tyrone said, his deep voice carrying amusement. "Didn't think I'd see you crawling out here."
His gaze flicked to Maya, and he offered her a nod. "Torres. Still keeping him out of trouble?"
"Trying." Maya said, sliding into the booth beside Ryan.
Tyrone chuckled, then leaned back in his chair, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. "I know you two are not here to share a drink with me. So just go on and ask whatever you came here for."
Ryan leaned forward, his voice low but sharp. "I need you to dig up something for me about Operation Sky Sintel."
At the mention of the name, Tyrone's brows shot up. He let out a low whistle, shaking his head.
"Sky Sintel, huh? That's a dangerous shadow to chase, brother." He took a sip of bourbon, savoring it before leaning forward with mock casualness. "But why the sudden interest?"
Ryan's expression didn't falter.
Tyrone smirked. "And come on. You saw the news, man. That captain popped her whole damn crew, man. That was some sick shit."
"That's his cousin, you idiot."
Maya's voice cut sharp across the table. Her eyes narrowed, her hand resting casually on the table as if daring Tyrone to keep going.
Tyrone froze, the smirk wiped clean from his face. His eyes darted between them, lingering on Ryan's unflinching stare.
"Ah... hell." He shifted in his seat, suddenly sober. "I'm sorry, man. I didn't know."
Ryan waved it off, his tone steady, controlled. "It's fine, forget it."
Tyrone cleared his throat, setting the glass down. "Alright. Look... I'll dig into it. I can't promise what I'll find but I'll scratch around."
"That's why I came to you." Ryan said simply.
For a moment, the table sat in silence, the jukebox humming something old and slow in the background. Then Tyrone forced a grin, trying to cut through the heaviness.
"But now that you're here... come on, Hale. One drink, just one. You owe me that much."
Ryan hesitated, his cigarette still smoldering in the ashtray. The temptation to drown himself in the burn of bourbon lingered but his mind was already fixed elsewhere... on Brooklyn's trembling voice, on the way she clung to him like she was about to be erased from the world.
Maya gave him a look. Not a warning, not a push. Just that unspoken communication ghosts shared in the field.
Finally, Ryan reached for the glass Tyrone slid across the table. He lifted it, clinking it once against Tyrone's.
"One drink." Ryan said, his voice low.
They drank, the bourbon burning its way down. And beneath the dim bar lights, the three of them sat in a silence that wasn't exactly comfortable but wasn't empty either... each one knowing that the moment the glass hit the table, the shadows would call them back again.