The morning sun was warm on Cole's face. He sat on the porch, coffee in hand, watching the fields turn from brown to green. Spring was coming. New life. New beginnings.
But Cole couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. The silence was too deep. The peace was too perfect.
He had been back from New York for three weeks. Three weeks of nothing. No texts. No threats. No footsteps in the dark.
Three weeks of waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Evelyn came out with a basket of laundry. She hung sheets on the line. The wind caught them, made them dance.
"You're thinking too loud," she said.
"I'm always thinking."
"About what?"
"About who's next. There's always someone."
She walked over. Sat beside him.
"The Consortium is gone. Kane is dead. Derek Cross is dead. There's no on
