Chapter 3

I cranked the steering wheel hard; in the rearview mirror, the house was swallowed by the night within seconds.

I drove with my left hand on the wheel and my right hand dialing.

Erin’s number—powered off.

I called again. Still off.

I sat at a red light for a moment, used a bit of hacking to dig up Colin’s number, and dialed.

It rang three times before he picked up, his voice loose with drink. “Who’s this?”

I didn’t give my name. “Where’s the party?”

He paused, then laughed. “Oh, you’re still at it. Reed, how’d you get my number? You some kind of stalker? What are you gonna do—show up at the door and beg on your knees for her back?”

“Address,” I said. “Ten seconds.”

As if I’d told him a joke, Colin laughed even louder. “Who do you think you are? A worker trying to sound tough? You can’t get in. We’re downtown, okay? Not a place for someone like you.”

“Put Erin on,” I said.

He didn’t want to miss the fun. He actually handed the phone over.

Erin sounded irritated the second she got it. “What do you want?”

“Take the brooch off,” I said. “Now.”

She snorted. “What’s wrong with you? You keep yelling about some brooch—are you that desperate for attention?”

“That thing will draw people,” I said evenly. “This isn’t a game.”

Her voice turned even more scornful. “Draw people? What, you in debt? Or did you steal something? Don’t dump your mess on me.”

“Put it in your purse. Don’t wear it,” I said. “Right now.”

“Why should I listen to you?” Her voice rose, like she wanted the people around her to hear. “Reed, you’re not my husband anymore. Don’t talk to me like that. And I’m busy—stop calling.”

Before she could hang up, I added, “What hotel are you at?”

Erin gave a cold laugh. “You want to come find me? I told you—you can’t get in.”

Beep. She cut the line.

I took a slow breath and dialed another number.

My handler.

He picked up on the second ring, his tone noticeably colder. “Flying Eagle.”

I went straight to it. “The brooch is gone.”

Two full seconds of silence—no surprise, just him running through possibilities. Then his voice dropped lower. “Say that again.”

“I don’t have time to explain it twice,” I said. “It’s on a rich kid right now. He’s wearing it to an upper-class event tonight, downtown. I need the location.”

“How could you—” He started, then swallowed the rest. “Explain later.”

My voice stayed steady. “I’ll send you their numbers. Use the phones to locate them. If we drag this out, people will die tonight.”

I sent the numbers. A few seconds later he said, “Signal’s coming from Manhattan Avenue area. Triumph Hotel. Seventeenth floor ballroom. You hear me—seventeenth.”

I repeated it. “Triumph Hotel, seventeenth floor.”

“And one more thing.” His tone sank further. “The people coming for you aren’t some random crew. The word we got is—they’re a group that’s been at war with us. They specialize in picking off our cleaners. They hunt by badge ID.”

My grip tightened on the wheel, fingertips whitening. “Can you alert local police?”

He let out a short, humorless laugh. “You think they’ll believe you? What are you going to report it as—offshore driller? Or cleaner?”

I didn’t ask again.

That’s how it is. The rules were never built for people like us.

He left me with one last line. “Stay in contact. Don’t die in the street.”

Then he hung up.

I shoved the phone into my pocket and stepped on the gas.

—

On the seventeenth floor, the ballroom blazed with light, full of clinking glasses and casual laughter.

A band in the corner played bright, easy jazz. Servers moved through the crowd with trays. Dresses brushed suits. The air carried perfume, alcohol, and roasted beef.

Colin Hall stood at the center of it all in a black suit, an eagle-shaped brooch pinned to his chest.

He held a drink in one hand and an arm around Erin’s waist with the other, like he was showing off a brand-new purchase.

Erin wore a black gown tonight, her back bare in a long white curve of skin.

Colin leaned in near her ear. “Your ex is seriously annoying.”

A flicker of irritation crossed Erin’s eyes. “That’s just how he is. So annoying. How did he even get your number? He’s not actually going to show up, is he? That’d be humiliating.”

Colin smiled with even more contempt. “Let him come. You think he can get past the door?”

Erin nodded and relaxed into a smile. In her mind, Reed was just a stubborn man who didn’t know his place—someone who might cause a scene at the entrance, get dragged out by security, and then fade back into her life like a bad memory.

But another group had already entered the building.

Quietly.

The seventeenth-floor camera feed was taken over. Servers were pulled aside one by one and replaced…

Guests on the sixteenth were still eating dessert. A meeting was still running on the eighteenth. Downstairs, the front desk was still smiling and welcoming people in.

No one noticed the seventeenth floor had been invaded.

Near a side door of the ballroom, a middle-aged man frowned at his phone. He tapped the screen a few times and muttered, “Why is there no signal?”

A woman beside him laughed. “We’re up high. Signal’s always bad.”

Still uneasy, the man lifted his phone higher and walked toward the door, wanting to step into the hall to try again. He’d barely reached the side door when a uniformed server stopped him.

The server was young, expression polite, voice cold. “Sir, this door isn’t available right now.”

The man’s face tightened. “I’m paying to be here. I’m not here to be locked in.”

The server didn’t move aside. He simply raised a hand and blocked the doorway. “Please return to your seat.”

The man’s temper flared. He shoved forward. “Who the hell do you think you—”

A dull pop cut him off.

Not a movie explosion—just a silenced gunshot, short and clean, like a hammer cracking a piece of porcelain.

The man’s head snapped to the side. His body went slack and toppled backward, smashing into the champagne tower behind him.

For a split second, the ballroom went blank. No one understood what they’d just seen.

Then someone screamed. A woman clapped a hand over her mouth. Men recoiled on instinct. Someone surged for the main doors, trying to run.

Two men in black suits stood there like bodyguards. They didn’t shout. They just raised their hands.

Another dull pop.

The young man rushing the door took a hole through the chest. His body stiffened, then dropped to his knees, fingers still reaching forward as if he could pull himself through.

The screaming grew louder.

Both side doors were shut. The main doors were locked. Not a sliver of hallway light bled through the seams.

People started crying. Some dove under tables.

Colin froze, his glass slipping from his hand and landing soundlessly on the thick carpet. His face drained of color. His lips moved, trying to form, What is happening?

Erin’s hand clamped on his sleeve, knuckles white.

“Everyone—get down.”

The voice wasn’t loud, but it cut straight through the chaos.

A man stepped out from the back of the crowd. He wore an ordinary dark suit, like any guest—except his eyes weren’t a guest’s eyes.

Several others were spread around behind him, each holding a gun.

Someone didn’t comply, started to rise and edge away. A shot cracked—another muted pop—and the person’s forehead opened. The body fell backward into a chair.

The room dropped into a tighter, colder silence.

Only then did they understand: “Get down” wasn’t a suggestion. It was an order. More and more people clutched their heads and crouched.

Erin crouched too, shoulders shaking uncontrollably. She reached for Colin, but Colin was already half kneeling, eyes darting everywhere—searching for an exit, for security, for anyone who could save him.

The leader’s gaze swept the room slowly, cutting across each face like a blade. Then it stopped on Colin. On Colin’s chest.

A brooch was pinned there.

An eagle, set with tiny stones. Under the lights, the ruby eyes looked like a dot of dried blood.

The leader raised his pistol, barrel steady on Colin’s forehead. “You’re Flying Eagle?”

Colin went rigid, like he’d heard a foreign language.

His lips trembled. “Flying Eagle? Are you insane? I’m Colin Hall. My dad—”

“Don’t play dumb.” The man fired once into the ceiling.

The entire room sucked in a breath and held it. No one dared make a sound.

The leader took a step closer, muzzle returning to Colin. “The brooch doesn’t lie. The ID, the clearance, the signal—it’s all in that thing. If you’re wearing it, you’re claiming who you are.”

Colin’s face turned completely white.

He looked down at the brooch, fumbling to unpin it, fingers shaking so badly he couldn’t catch the clasp.

“It’s not mine,” he finally forced out, voice sharp with panic. “It’s hers! It’s her stuff!”

Like he’d found a lifeline, he ripped the brooch free and hurled it at Erin.

It landed by her feet. Erin jerked backward, shaking her head hard, her voice breaking into a sob. “It’s not me! I don’t know anything! That’s my husband’s—no, I don’t know, maybe he stole it, did he steal your brooch? I thought it was just jewelry! I don’t know anything!”

She talked too fast, too wildly. Reed’s face flashed through her mind—his voice on the phone warning her, That thing will cause trouble. She’d laughed then. Now a cold line of fear crawled up her spine.

The killers heard her and actually laughed.

Not loud laughter—low, suppressed chuckles, like she’d just told them the most naive joke.

The leader tilted his head, eyes moving from the brooch to Erin’s face. “You don’t know what it is? You don’t know who it belongs to?”

Erin’s lips trembled. She shook her head desperately.

The leader’s gaze settled on her. His voice was calm, almost casual, like he was announcing a simple fact.

“Then I’ll tell you—who he is.”