How did a simple extraction mission go so wrong?
Callum was in a pinch. This was supposed to be a simple snatch-and-grab. Now, his comms were broken, his gun was a foot away, and a group of lowlifes were coming to get him.
Worst of all, Fred—his supposed contact and ally that posed as a simple forklift operator in this warehouse—was a traitor.
Damn it. Damn it all.
His breathing ragged as his mind calculated over his next step. What to do?
Just as he was about to make a move, a blinding white light erupted in the hallway behind him. A flashbang. His years of training took over.
Callum dropped to his knee, shielding his eyes as the flash burned away his vision. The concussive BOOM was a physical thing, a blow that deafened him and rattled the air in his lungs. He clenched his teeth.
As his vision returned, a group of men rushed him from the sides of the server room. They came without guns, armed with lousy street-fight trinkets.
Seriously?
He parried a jab, ducked a vicious swing of a fire extinguisher, and blocked a baton coming for his face with a forearm.
But it was an odd attack, almost like it was planned to puzzle him. They were too sloppy, too easy.
"Who do you all work for?" he grunted, twisting one of the boy's wrist until he cried out in pain, the others on the floor, groaning.
"We don't know, man! We were just paid to mess with ya!" the guy shrieked. "They said you were just trouble, we didn't know you were some military shit! We're sorry!"
Callum squinted. A diversion..a cheap one at that. But it kept him busy long enough. Another one attempted to attack so he spun, his knee sending the amateur to the floor as he grabbed his gun.
"Hands up, Riley. Put your weapon down." Suddenly, Fred's voice echoed in the stillness, and Callum licked his lips calmly as he let go of the gun and the goon beneath him as he stood up, jaw clenched.
Fred was standing in the doorway, a huge M41 focused on him. The rest of the boys scrambled to leave, disappearing into the shadows.
Callum looked at Fred's face. The man's smile was thin, filled with a smug satisfaction that grated on every one of Callum's nerves.
"We knew you were coming," Fred said, a low, triumphant purr in his voice. "We've been watching you for weeks. Every mission. Every op."
"For the Architect," Callum said, the name a test.
Fred's smile widened. "So you've heard. Not just a rumor, is it? We're everywhere. We've got a hand in everything. We're in your teams, in your ranks, in your communications. You've been running blind for years, Agent Riley."
Callum's jaw tightened. Of course the task force wasn't clean anymore. He felt rage in his system bubble up, his throat drying up. Everything felt hopeless. "And what does the Architect want with me?" he manages to ask.
"You're Thorne's favorite boy," Fred sneered. "The heir apparent. You're the one he's grooming. Take you down, we take Thorne down. We send a message. A lesson. We'll dismantle Chimera from the inside out." He angled the M41, the barrel pointing directly at Callum's chest. "It all starts with you."
Thwunk!
He had no time to dodge when the shot rang out. But it wasn't a loud crack that should have echoed through the warehouse…and there was no searing pain that burned through Callum's flesh.
Instead, Fred's body went rigid. His eyes widened in a look of stunned surprise before his muscles seized up and he collapsed, a dead weight that fell on the floor with a hard thud.
What the...?
Callum reached for his gun, his ears ringing. He scanned the shadows, a familiar, prickling sense of dread spreading through his stomach. Somehow, knew that sound. It was a tranquilizer leaving its chamber—and whoever that was just shot Fred.
A figure stepped from the darkness, the movements fluid and silent.
Then the light from a distant window caught her face. Her brown hair was loose, longer now, and framing her shoulders. A black fabric mask obscured her nose and lips. The figure was too familiar, the way she moved, the shape of her. But it was the eyes he'd last seen two years ago that came into view—still hardened, still the same.
"Looks like you got yourself into a bit of trouble, Agent Riley." she said, her voice smooth. "Sorry, I'm late."
A wave of pure, unfiltered fury pushed through Callum's exhaustion. His skin felt cold.
He had no words for the infuriating nonchalance in her voice. The fact that this woman was here, saving him, was a violation of every rule he'd ever lived by! It was a cruel twist of fate, dragging her back into his life with a tranquilizer dart and a snarky comment.
His jaw went tight. The words felt stuck on his tongue. His mind was a barrage of curses.
Callum Riley have never felt such urge to scream in his whole life. Instead, he forced his voice down to a low, dangerous growl. "What the hell are you doing here?"
She blinked, her visible eyes glinting with an almost imperceptible amusement. "Come on, is that a proper way of saying 'thank you'?"
The ringing in his ears was truly painful. She came forward circling Fred's limp body before kneeling to examine him. The way she moved, the way she knelt, was all too familiar. Every line of her body, every confident gesture—he knew them better than his own.
"Yelena," he rasped, the name a curse and a confession all at once.
She finally looked up at him.
"Are you hurt?" she asked, her voice just as calm, just as smooth as he remembered.
What was this? Why was she acting so casual? Like she cared?
"You shot him. Why?" Callum repeated, his voice low and dangerous.
Yelena stood up. "I didn't shoot him. I tranquilized him. There's a difference. And as for why I'm here, the same reason you are. Or, the reason you thought you were here." She gestured to the unconscious Fred. "He's not just a mole. He's a logistics director for the Architect. A top-tier asset. He was waiting to hand you a fake drive and a dead end. I'm here to take him in."
Callum's mind raced, connecting the dots. The bad intel, the cheap diversion, the professional killer he'd just fought. It all fit. And she knew everything. How'd she know?
"Why the hell should I trust you?" he spat, wary.
"You shouldn't," she said, her voice dropping, devoid of any humor. "But I saved your life. And the General can answer your questions."
General?
Callum froze. Thorne knows about this? How much was he left in the dark about? What the hell?
Yelena pulled Fred's body through the opening of the bay door, which was slowly rising with a mechanical groan. Beyond it, not his team's usual armored transport, but a sleek, matte black sedan with tinted windows waited in the pouring rain. A driver sat in the front, motionless, as if he'd been waiting there all night.
She dropped Fred's body with a soft thud and looked back at Callum, her visible eyes fixed on him, an intensity there that still had the power to shake him to his core.
Damn it all.
"You can stand there and try to piece it together, or you can get your head in the game," she said. "The mission changed. We have a live asset, and we have one shot at him. Are you coming or not?"
The question hung in the damp air.
Callum's weary mind was running a hundred miles a second, trying to process two impossible truths: the mission was a lie, and the woman he'd spent two years trying to forget was standing right in front of him.
He holstered his pistol, the motion tight and deliberate. "Fine," he bit out. He strode past her, his shoulder brushing against hers in a cold dismissal to the car. He held the trunk open. With a quiet grunt, she loaded the dead weight, and he is almost tempted to help her but refrains himself, immediately climbing into the backseat without waiting for her.
Yelena slides into the back seat beside him. His head was reeling. If it isn't for the pain in his body, he would be so convinced he's hallucinated the whole ordeal.
The air was heavy with unspoken words as the car pulled away from the warehouse, silent except for the low hum of its engine and the rhythmic movement of the windshield wipers. She didn't say a word, just stared straight ahead. He couldn't stand it. He itched to ask questions.
"So Thorne sent you," he said, his voice low and dangerous.
"Yes."
"And the mission—the bad intel, the diversion—it was all to get you here?" his jaw clenched.
"No," she said, "It was all to get him here. Fred. The Architect's network is a hydra. You cut off one head, and two more grow back. The only way to stop them is to get to the source. Fred's a linchpin."
"And you're the one who knew that," he said, a bitter, sarcastic tone in his voice. "Suddenly, after two years, you just show up. With a perfectly timed tranquilizer dart. It's almost... poetic, isn't it?"
Her hands didn't flinch. "It's a job, Callum. Not a play."
"A job," he scoffed. "Is that what you call it? Because the last time you left, it wasn't a job. It was a vanishing act."
The air in the car seemed to grow colder. She finally turned to face him, her eyes hard.
"Some of us don't have the luxury of goodbyes," she said, her voice a low, cold whisper. "I had a mission."
"A mission?" he repeated, anger in his voice. "What kind of mission takes two years and an entire black-ops team to find? What could possibly have been more important than… than a simple phone call?"
She didn't answer, just returned her gaze to the road ahead. The conversation had veered away from the mission, into the dangerous territory of their shared past. She wasn't going to give him an inch.
"I'm staying. In Chimera." she speaks. He gets the urge to grab the flesh of his heart and hang it somewhere so it stays still. He doesn't know why her words were relieving. "You can ask the General yourself. But for now…" she trails off, eyes on the bruises he gained tonight.
The car pulled up to a set of gates carved into the side of a mountain, its dark metal glinting in the rain. The familiar elegance of Task Force Chimera's base was a sight that usually brought him a sense of peace. Tonight, it just felt like another cage.
The silence lasted until they were stepping out of the car, with her hand on the trunk lid.
"Callum." she calls out.
Electrifying. Against his better judgement, he stopped.
"Are you hurt?" she whispered, her voice so low that it was barely audible.
His head snapped up, his body tensing as if he'd been struck.
He searched her eyes for any sign of a joke, a hint of the playful sarcasm he'd once known. But there was nothing. He wanted to scoff, to tell her to go to hell, but the words caught in his throat.
Callum walks past her.
But she catches up after telling the driver orders about the unconscious Fred, their footsteps echoing softly in the cavernous hallway that led to the central command hub. He wanted to walk faster but he was too tired.
Callum was a knot of coiled rage and confusion as he entered Thorne's office. He wanted so bad to break something!
The room, with its walls of glass overlooking the compound, was supposed to be a place of calm. But right now, it just felt like a trap.
General Peter Thorne was sitting at his desk, and Yelena sat in one of the chairs facing him, her body relaxed, as if she were waiting for a sunny morning briefing. He refused to acknowledge what stirred in his chest at the sight…in knowing she was here. Snap out of it!
Thorne looked at Callum, his expression serious but tinged with a flicker of something close to regret. "Have a seat, Agent Riley."
Callum remained standing, his hands on his hips. "What the hell is going on, Sir? That mission was a decoy. My team—"
"Your team was never in danger," Thorne interrupted. "They were pulled a mile out. We needed you on-site. And we needed to make it look real. What I did was not ideal, but it was the most efficient way to get our target."
Callum's jaw tightened, the admission of manipulation hitting him with fresh anger. "And what about her, sir? What about Agent March?" he asked, not looking at Yelena, but indicating her with a frustrated wave of his hand. "How long have you had her on the payroll? And why the hell was I the only one out of the loop?"
Yelena finally spoke with a tone of absolute, chilling certainty. "I wasn't on the payroll. Not officially. I've been operating alone for two years." She met his gaze, her eyes unwavering. "And as for why I'm here… you know why. Because I'm the only one who could do this."
"This isn't a simple task force mission. This is a commission by a group of nations, a partnership. Their intelligence indicates that the Architect is running a global money-laundering system that is connected to human trafficking and a number of other covert illegal operations. We've been hitting dead ends for years. But a month ago, we got a new lead. We were given a name: Fred. As it turns out, our 'Fred' is a top logistics director for the Architect. A black-ops ghost." Thorne explains.
"So much for a forklift operator local contact,"
"That was just the cover," Thorne said, his gaze unwavering. "He's a ghost. Trained in the same syndicate as Yelena. She was the one who reached out to us."
Callum's gaze flickered to this man he respected and trusted, the man who had served as a mentor and a father figure for years. He had sent him on a decoy mission just to catch a ghost without his knowledge. He had a million questions for Thorne—how long had he been in contact with her? Why? He swallowed the questions.
"So you've been working with her behind our backs," Callum said with grit. "Is that what this is? My new partner is an asset you've been hiding?"
New? Yeah right. Yelena almost scoffs.
"Not hiding. And Yelena's the lead of this operation."
The woman who had left him with no explanation, the same one he had been told to forget—she was back, and he was working under her command. It was a hellish scenario!
"And why her?" Callum couldn't help but ask, the words a challenge. He knew the answer, of course.
"Callum." Thorne sighs.
"Fine," Callum said, the word a bitter confession. His shoulders slumped. "I'll work with her. For the mission."
"Thank you." Thorne nods, a bow of appreciation before he talks about having to leave the office for his tasks. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving a vacuum of silence that was somehow heavier than the argument had been.
Callum was about to follow when Yelena spoke.
"Well, since you've accepted that we will be working together, how about you look at me for a start?" she asks, with a calm so infuriating it made Callum want to scream.
"Let's get one thing clear, Agent March," he began, his voice cold. "I don't trust you. I'm only here because Thorne ordered me to be. This partnership is strictly for the mission, and nothing else."
She watched him, her eyes unnervingly steady. "I know."
"Then don't act like we're friends," he spat, taking a step toward her. The rage he'd been holding in for hours was now a physical presence in the room.
Yelena's lips curled into a faint, knowing smile. "We never were, Callum."
"What are you trying to play at?" he growled, fists clenched at his sides.
"I'm not trying to play anything." she shrugs. "It's the truth. We were never friends. I don't think we'll ever be."
"Well, good," he bit out. "Have it drilled in your head that I don't want to have anything to do with you."
Her small, knowing smile vanished, replaced by a flicker of raw hurt that he'd almost forgotten existed in her. It was a crack in the perfect facade, and it was the most shocking thing he'd seen all night.
"Too bad, though," she said, her voice a whisper. She finally looked away, down at the floor. "Because I'm not here for the mission, Callum. I'm here for you."
The words hit him like a physical blow. His breathing ragged.
Did he hear that right? What kind of a twisted game is this?
He felt an incredible cold rage surge through his veins, burning away the last remnants of the man who had loved her. Two whole years, then she says this?
"Don't you dare," he said, his voice a low, vicious snarl that didn't sound like his own. He took another step, forcing her to look up at him. "Don't you dare say that. You walked away. You vanished. You broke every promise you ever made and left me to pick up the pieces."
He leaned in, his face inches from hers. "You can't just waltz back into my life and say that like it means anything." His voice was trembling with a fury so pure it felt like it might tear him apart.
"Don't even try. I don't want you. I don't want you anymore."
Yelena didn't flinch, didn't argue.
In that moment, she was nothing more than an obstacle to overcome.
Still, they both knew his words were a lie.