The rain hit the compound like a warning.
Not soft, not cleansing—just hard, cold, and impatient. It made everything feel slower. The air smelled like metal and mud, and tension rose through the hallways long before Elena heard the first whisper.
She was in the observation room, looking through a new folder Damian had handed her that morning. It was full of codes—doors, backup access, passwords she didn’t recognize yet. She was trying to memorize them when the door slammed open.
Damian.
He was soaked, shirt clinging to him, eyes sharp and dark like a storm had entered with him.
“We need to go. Now.”
Elena stood up fast. “What’s wrong?”
“They found you.”
The words punched the air from her lungs.
“Who?”
“The cartel,” he said, already crossing the room to the wall. He pulled open a
