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Monroe’s POV
“Move her. Now.”
Monroe’s voice cracked through the comms like a gunshot, urgent and brutal.
The morning air outside the safehouse was cold, but inside, it clung like dread—thick, oppressive, and too quiet. Amara hadn’t spoken a word since the knock. Since the message. Since the shadow of Xavier’s presence brushed the edge of her reality and turned it inside out.
He’d found them. Again.
Monroe clenched his jaw as he descended the stairs two at a time. The failure stung, like acid under his skin. Every firewall, every algorithm, every agent—Xavier slipped through them all like smoke.
He burst into the room where Charlie was helping Amara pack. Amara's hands trembled as she shoved clothes into a duffel, her eyes wide and hollow. She looked like someone barely holding
