Fated in New Orleans

12

The road back to Crescent Moon stretched dark and quiet, headlights slicing through the cypress mist. Neither of them had spoken since leaving Baton Rouge. The hum of the truck filled the silence—steady, grounding—but the tension between them sat thick as fog.

Finally, River broke it. “You and Rhea,” he said, voice low. “Why black ops? You could’ve gone legit. Worked for any defense firm in the country.”

Salem kept her eyes on the road, jaw tightening. “Could’ve,” she said simply.

He waited, patient as ever.

She exhaled, a faint, humorless laugh escaping. “We didn’t have anyone, River. Grew up in an orphanage down in Lafourche Parish—swamp deep enough you could lose a life or find one if you were desperate enough. It wasn’t a bad place, but it wasn’t a future either. We aged out at sixteen. No foster homes wanted two girls with sharp tongues and faster hands.”

River listened, silent but intent, the way only he could.

“Rhea could hotwire a boat before she could drive,” Salem went on. “I could bypass a lock faster than most engineers. We lived by being faster, smarter—finding patterns no one else saw. Black ops recruiters love kids like that. The ones no one would miss.”

His grip on the steering wheel tightened. “They used you.”

Salem shrugged, eyes still on the blur of highway lights. “They trained us. Fed us. Gave us purpose. We didn’t have the luxury of caring what it cost. By the time we realized what kind of missions we were running, it was too late to walk away clean.”

River’s voice dropped lower, edged with quiet anger. “How long?”

“Seven years,” she said softly. “Recon, infiltration, tech recovery. Half the missions didn’t exist on paper. When it all went under, we burned our aliases and walked. Figured if we kept moving, the ghosts wouldn’t catch up.”

The corner of his mouth ticked. “And now one of those ghosts just resurfaced.”

“Yeah.” Her voice hardened again. “Major Pryce taught us everything—how to vanish, how to hunt, how to make someone disappear. But he never thought we’d turn that training back on him.”

River looked at her, studying the calm over the storm. “You’re not afraid of him.”

She finally turned her head, meeting his gaze. “Fear’s a waste of energy. He knows our patterns. I’m betting he thinks we haven’t changed. That’s his first mistake.”

He didn’t smile, but something flickered behind his eyes—respect, maybe even something more. “And the second?”

Salem’s lips curved faintly. “Underestimating how pissed Rhea’s gonna be when she hears his name.”

That earned the quietest chuckle from him, deep and low, a sound that softened the edge of the night.

For a few miles, the truck was silent again except for the steady rumble of the road beneath them.

“Salem,” River said finally.

She glanced over.

He didn’t look at her when he spoke. “You said you didn’t have anyone. You do now.”

For a second, she didn’t answer. Didn’t breathe. The words hung there, steady and unflinching—more dangerous than anything Pryce could’ve thrown at her.

Then Salem looked back to the dark stretch of highway ahead, her voice a quiet rasp. “Careful, Alpha. That almost sounded like sentiment.”

River’s smirk ghosted in the reflection of the windshield. “Almost.”

The lights of the Crescent Moon compound came into view up ahead, scattered through the trees like a string of low stars. Salem eased her foot off the gas, eyes sharp again, mission-focused.

“Let’s go tell Rhea,” she said. “And hope she doesn’t start throwing things when she hears who’s back.”

River glanced her way once more before they turned into the long gravel drive. “Something tells me Pryce’s about to regret ever setting foot in Louisiana.”

Salem’s voice dropped low, calm and certain. “If he’s smart, he already does.”