Rain slammed against the car roof as Natalie raced through Eastbridge's narrow streets. Sirens blared somewhere behind them, gradually fading away. Ethan stared out the window, his jaw tense. The city lights blurred into long streaks of red and gold.
"Care to explain," Natalie said, "why you thought going to Locke's party was a good idea?"
Ethan let out a slow breath. "I needed to see her. I had to know if she could still lie to me."
"And?"
"She can," he replied flatly. "She looked right at me as if nothing had happened."
Natalie shook her head. "You let your feelings cloud your judgment. That's how people get hurt."
He turned towards her. "I didn't get hurt. Not then. Not now."
"Keep that attitude," she muttered, "and you might actually make it."
They arrived at the safehouse and turned off the lights. The building felt smaller tonight, as if danger had followed them home. Ethan peeled off his wet jacket, heavy with rain.
Natalie tossed him a towel. "You're bleeding."
He glanced at the shallow cut on his arm. "It's nothing."
"Everything's something when people want you dead," she insisted. "Sit."
She cleaned the wound quickly, her touch steady but gentle. For a moment, silence filled the room—thick, tense, almost tangible.
"You don't talk much," she remarked.
"I used to," he replied. "Before words cost me everything."
While Ethan showered, Natalie checked the security feeds. All clear—for now. But her gut told her otherwise. Someone had found Ethan twice in two days. That wasn't luck; that was tracking.
She zoomed in on the camera near the alley. A shadow flickered and then vanished.
Her phone buzzed with a message from an unknown number:
Stop helping him. Or you'll burn with him.
Natalie's eyes narrowed. She deleted the text and locked her phone. When Ethan stepped out of the bathroom, she leaned against the table as if nothing had happened.
"We'll stay low for forty-eight hours," she said. "After that, we move again."
Ethan nodded, but his mind was elsewhere.
He couldn't shake Claire's voice. You shouldn't be here. Not you're alive, not I'm sorry. Just fear.
She was hiding something—something bigger than guilt.
He pulled out the folded note with the phoenix emblem. The more he stared at it, the more he questioned if Vale's death had been a lie. If Vale was alive, who had betrayed him back in prison?
Natalie noticed the note. "You still have that?"
"I need to find out who sent it," he said. "Whoever it is knows my every move."
"Then start thinking like them," she replied. "If you were tracking someone, where would you watch from?"
Ethan paused. Then it clicked. "The cameras."
He walked to the apartment door, unscrewed the wall plate, and pulled out a tiny black lens hidden inside.
Natalie's eyes widened. "They planted it here?"
"Someone knows this safehouse," Ethan said quietly. "Which means someone close to Vale is leaking information."
That night, they tore the apartment apart—checking every wall, vent, and lamp. They found three more bugs. Whoever was watching had been listening for days.
Natalie cursed under her breath. "That means every plan we've made—they know it."
"Then we come up with a new one," Ethan said. "But first, we find the mole."
He grabbed a photo from Vale's old files—five faces circled in red. Former members of the Phoenix Circle. One of them had to be the leak.
Natalie pointed at a name: Luca Graves.
"Vale's tech guy," she said. "Disappeared right after the boss died. If anyone could plant trackers, it's him."
Ethan folded the photo. "Where is he now?"
She pulled up a map on her phone. "South Docks. Runs a repair shop. Keeps to himself. Or so people say."
Ethan's expression hardened. "Then we pay him a visit."
The next evening, the docks were quiet except for the hum of old machinery. The smell of oil and salt filled the air. Ethan and Natalie moved through the shadows, their footsteps muffled by the rain-soaked wood.
A single light flickered inside the shop. They slipped in quietly.
Luca was hunched over a workbench, soldering a circuit board. He looked older and thinner, but his hands were steady.
"Nice setup," Ethan said.
Luca froze. The tool clattered to the floor. "Ethan Ward," he whispered. "You're supposed to be dead."
"Seems like that rumor's popular," Ethan said, stepping closer. "Who's spreading it?"
"I—I don't know what you mean."
Natalie shut the door behind them. "Don't lie, Luca. We found your cameras."
His eyes darted between them. Sweat rolled down his neck. "It wasn't me. I swear. They made me—"
"Who?" Ethan demanded.
"The Red Circle," he said quickly. "They came after Vale died. Said they were cleaning up his mess."
Ethan frowned. "Red Circle?"
Luca nodded. "Ex-Phoenix members. They turned on Vale before he disappeared. They've got money, guns, politicians. They wanted you gone before you could take control."
"Names," Ethan said.
"I don't have them. They use code names—Ghost, Iris, Blade. That's all I know."
Before Ethan could press him further, the window shattered. A bullet tore through Luca's chest.
Natalie dropped to the floor and pulled Ethan down with her.
Outside, a silenced rifle clicked again.
"Sniper!" she hissed.
Ethan crawled towards Luca, blood pooling on the floor. "Who sent them?"
Luca's lips trembled. "Ghost… watching… you." Then his eyes went blank.
Ethan clenched his jaw. Another friend dead. Another ghost from Vale's past.
Natalie peeked through the crack in the door. "We need to move. Now."
They rushed through the back exit as another shot shattered the light above them. Sparks flew down. Ethan grabbed Natalie's hand and pulled her into the shadows.
"The car's two blocks over," she said.
"Too far," Ethan replied. "We'll draw fire. Head for the water."
They sprinted down the pier, feet pounding against the wet planks. Behind them, the shooter's footsteps echoed—steady, calm, confident. Whoever Ghost was, he wasn't rushing. He was hunting.
At the edge of the dock, Ethan spotted a small patrol boat tied to a post. He jumped aboard and started the engine.
"Go!" Natalie shouted, firing off one quick shot behind them.
The boat roared to life and sped into the dark bay. Bullets pelted the water, sending splashes into the air.
As the city lights faded behind them, Natalie caught her breath. "That's twice you've escaped death this week."
Ethan stared back at the dock. A lone figure stood under a streetlamp—face hidden, rifle slung over his shoulder.
The man raised two fingers in a silent salute before vanishing into the fog.
Ethan's blood ran cold. "He knows me," he said quietly. "And he wants me alive."
Natalie frowned. "Why keep you alive if he could've killed you?"
Ethan gazed at the Phoenix Ring faintly glowing on his hand.
"Because," he said in a low voice, "the real war hasn't started yet."