Your Impossible Love

FIRST SAVE HOUSE

Carter's POV

I woke to the feeling of someone pressed against my back.

For a moment, panic flared—ambush, attack, and threat—before my brain caught up. Maya. The pillow barrier had been destroyed sometime in the night, and she'd migrated to my side like a heat-seeking missile.

Her arm was draped over my waist. Her face buried against my shoulder blade. And she was making these little contented sounds that were absolutely not helping my situation.

I should move. Should put distance between us. Should remember that whatever this pull was between us, it was dangerous. We'd learned that much from Marcus's files.

But she felt right there. Like a puzzle piece clicking into place.

Christ, I was in trouble.

"I can hear you overthinking," Maya mumbled against my back. "S'too early for overthinking."

"You're cuddling me."

"M'cold."

"It's seventy degrees in here."

"Your point?" She didn't move. If anything, she pressed closer.

I was definitely in trouble.

"Maya."

"Hmm?"

"The pillow wall fell down."

"Walls are overrated." She yawned. "We've got four hours until Julian. Let me sleep."

And just like that, she was out again. Trusting me enough to sleep pressed against a man she'd met yesterday. A man who'd killed dozens of people. A man who was technically her brother.

That last thought was like cold water. I carefully extracted myself, ignoring her protest, and headed for the bathroom. The mirror showed a guy who looked like he'd gone twelve rounds with life and lost. Black eye fading to purple. Cuts healing. Bruises everywhere.

But I was alive. Thanks to the woman currently sprawled across the bed like she owned it.

I splashed water on my face, trying to get my head straight. The attraction I felt toward Maya was a problem. A massive, world-ending problem according to Marcus's intel. Bonded pairs. Convergence. Bioweapon activation through emotional and physical intimacy.

We couldn't afford to feel anything for each other.

Except I already did.

I'd known her less than twenty-four hours, and she'd already gotten under my skin in a way no one else ever had. The way she moved—lethal grace mixed with casual confidence. The way she talked—sarcastic and sharp but with moments of devastating honesty. The way she'd held my hand in the dark and said she saw herself in me.

I understood. Because I saw myself in her too.

Two people made into weapons, trying to remember how to be human.

When I came out of the bathroom, Maya was awake, checking her laptop. She'd pulled her hair into a messy bun, and she was wearing my jacket over her tank top because apparently, she'd decided my clothes were communal property now.

"We've got a problem," she said without preamble.

"Just one? I'd say we're doing pretty good."

She didn't smile. "The bombing they're pinning on us? The body count just went up. They're now saying seventy dead, including fifteen children from a daycare in the building."

My stomach dropped. "Children."

"Yeah." Her voice was tight. "And the media's eating it up. They've got us pegged as domestic terrorists with a vendetta against the government. There's a press conference scheduled for noon—FBI director, Homeland Security, the works. They're calling for a nationwide manhunt."

She turned the laptop so I could see. News footage of the bombing site. Rescue workers pulling bodies from rubble. Grieving families. And our faces plastered across every channel.

WANTED: DEAD OR ALIVE

CARTER STONE & MAYA CROSS

REWARD: $10 MILLION

"Ten million," I said. "They're really committed to making sure we don't talk."

"Every bounty hunter, mercenary, and desperate civilian in the country will be looking for us." Maya closed the laptop. "We can't go to Julian. It's too public. Too risky."

"So we call it off?"

"No." She stood, pacing. "We change the meet location. Somewhere we can control. Somewhere with multiple exits."

"You have a place in mind?"

She pulled up a map on her phone. "There's an abandoned subway station in Brooklyn. Been closed since the seventies. I used it as a dead drop when I was with NSA. Multiple tunnels, easy to secure, impossible to trap us in."

"You really don't trust our brother."

"I don't trust anyone." She looked at me. "Present company excepted. Mostly."

"I'm honored. I think."

This time she did smile. Small, but real. "Don't let it go to your head, soldier."

We packed up, leaving the motel looking exactly like we'd never been there. Paid cash, no names, no trace. Three stolen cars later—because apparently, Maya and I both had grand theft auto on our résumés—we were heading into Brooklyn.

The subway entrance was hidden behind a chain-link fence covered in "DANGER: KEEP OUT" signs that had been there so long they were practically historical artifacts. Maya picked the lock in under thirty seconds.

"Show off," I muttered.

"You could've done it in twenty."

"Twenty-five. Let's be realistic."

We descended into darkness, flashlights cutting through dust and decay. The old station was frozen in time—vintage advertisements, rusted turnstiles, graffiti from decades past. It felt like a tomb.

Perfect for a family reunion.

Maya did a full security sweep while I set up. We positioned ourselves with clear sightlines to all entrances, escape routes mapped, weapons within easy reach. Old habits.

"He's got fifteen minutes," Maya said, checking her watch. "Then we assume compromise and bail."

"You're very paranoid."

"I'm very alive."

Fair point.

At exactly 10:00 AM, footsteps echoed through the tunnel. One person. Moving carefully but not trying to hide. Maya and I both drew weapons, training them on the entrance.

A man appeared, hands raised, empty. He was tall, maybe six-one, with dark hair and eyes that were startlingly familiar. Our mother's eyes. My eyes. Maya's eyes.

"Julian Cross," he said calmly, like he had guns pointed at him every day. Maybe he did. "Or should I say, Julian Reyes?"

"Depends," Maya called out. "You come alone?"

"As requested."

"Prove it."

Julian slowly pulled out his phone, showing the screen. Location services disabled. No active comms. He turned in a slow circle, showing he wasn't wired.

Maya nodded, and we lowered our weapons. But didn't holster them.

Julian stepped into the light, and I got my first real look at my older brother. He had our mother's bone structure, sharp and elegant. But there was something else there too—intelligence, wariness, and a kind of contained violence that I recognized. He was one of us. Zodiac Protocol.

"So," he said, looking between Maya and me. "I've got a sister and a brother I never knew existed. This is going to make Thanksgiving awkward."

Despite everything, I almost laughed.

"You believe us?" Maya asked. "About the Protocol? About Elena?"

"I've been investigating Zodiac Protocol for three years," Julian said. "Ever since I found Elena's name in a classified file I wasn't supposed to see. I've been trying to figure out what it was, why it mattered. Then you two called, said her name, and everything clicked into place."

He pulled out a tablet, showing us files. "I'm FBI, which means I've got access to databases most people don't. When you said Elena was our mother, I ran DNA comparisons. Took me all of two hours to confirm."

The tablet showed three genetic profiles: his, mine, and Maya's. All with matching mitochondrial DNA markers.

"Same mother," Julian confirmed. "Different fathers. We're siblings." He looked at us with something like wonder. "I always felt like I was missing something. Turns out it was two people."

Maya's composure cracked, just for a second. I saw the emotion flash across her face before she locked it down again.

"What do you know about the Protocol?" I asked.

"Not as much as I'd like. It's black book classified, buried under so many layers I've only scratched the surface. But I know it involved twelve children, genetic engineering, and Elena Reyes as the lead scientist. And I know she tried to stop it." He paused. "They killed her for it. Made it look like suicide, but I found inconsistencies in the investigation. Someone wanted her silenced."

"We know," Maya said quietly. "Marcus Reid—Aries—told us. She was trying to protect us."

Julian's eyes sharpened. "You've been in contact with other subjects?"

"Just Marcus and Dr. Eliza Moon. Cancer. She's the one who patched me up." I gestured at my still-healing face. "The others are scattered. We don't know if we can trust them."

"You can't trust anyone," Julian said grimly. "If the Protocol is as deep as I think it is, there are people in every agency who know about it. CIA, NSA, FBI, Homeland. This goes all the way to the top."

"Then how do we fight it?" Maya demanded.

"We expose it. We find the proof that Elena tried to hide, and we burn this whole thing to the ground." Julian looked between us. "But we need all twelve operatives. United. If we're scattered, we're vulnerable. Together, we might have a chance."

"There's a problem with that," I said. "One of the twelve is hostile. Dominic Steele. Leo. He's—"

"Obsessed with Maya," Julian finished. "I know. I've been watching him. He's Elena's handler's son, raised in the Protocol since birth. They groomed him to be the perfect operative, but something went wrong. He became fixated on his 'bonded mate.'" He looked at Maya. "That's you, apparently. The Protocol paired you two during training."

Maya's face went pale. "I remember him. Dominic. He was... intense. Possessive. When I escaped the NSA facility, he tried to stop me. Said I belonged to him." She shuddered. "I thought I'd left that behind."

"He's never stopped looking for you," Julian said. "And now that you're in the open, framed for terrorism, he's going to come for you. Hard."

"Let him try." The cold violence in my voice surprised even me. "He touches her, he dies."

Julian raised an eyebrow. "Protective of your sister, I see."

Sister. The word landed wrong. Because what I felt for Maya wasn't brotherly. Not even close.

And judging by the way she wasn't meeting my eyes, she knew it too.

"We need a plan," Maya said, changing the subject. "We can't keep running forever. Eventually, they'll corner us."

"So we go on offense," I said. "We find the other operatives, we unite them, and we figure out how to deactivate this bioweapon bullshit before they can use us."

"Agreed." Julian pulled up more files. "I've got locations on six of the twelve. Marcus you've met. Eliza you've met. That leaves Samantha Thorn—Taurus, arms dealer, operates out of Vegas. Alex Crane—Gemini, master of disguise, last seen in New Orleans. Jake Freedom—Sagittarius, nomadic, currently somewhere in the Rockies. River Song—Aquarius, tech genius, lives in Seattle. And then there are the unknowns: Grace Park, Dominic Steele, and Mira Webb."

"Grace Park," I said. "I know her. She was my partner in the CIA before..." I trailed off.

"Before you were framed for killing your team," Julian finished. "Yeah, I read about that. For what it's worth, I don't think you did it."

"I did do it." The admission tasted like ash. "I pulled the trigger. But I was following orders. They told me my team had gone rogue, that they were selling classified intel. I believed them." I looked at my hands. "I killed six people I trusted because I was a good little soldier."

Maya's hand found mine, squeezed. "They used you."

"Doesn't change what I did."

"No," Julian said. "But it changes the why. And Grace deserves to know the truth. She's been hunting you because she thinks you betrayed the team. If she knew you were following orders, that you were set up..."

"She might help us," I finished. "Or she might shoot me anyway. Fifty-fifty odds."

"I'll take those odds," Maya said. "We need all the allies we can get."

We spent the next hour going through Julian's intel, making a plan. Step one: contact the operatives we could find. Step two: convince them we weren't the enemy. Step three: figure out how to stop the people who wanted us all dead or activated as weapons.

Simple. Except for the part where it was impossible.

"We should split up," Julian said. "Cover more ground."

"No." Maya and I said it simultaneously, then looked at each other.

Julian's expression turned knowing. "Bonded pairs don't like being separated. Interesting."

"It's not that," I lied. "It's tactical. We're safer together."

"Sure." Julian didn't buy it for a second. "Well, 'safer together' or not, I'm heading to D.C. to dig through more classified files. You two should go to Chicago. I've got intel that suggests there's a Zodiac Protocol facility there—abandoned, but it might have records Elena left behind."

"Chicago," Maya said. "Where we're supposedly responsible for blowing up a federal building."

"Exactly. They won't expect you to go back there. Hide in plain sight." Julian stood, preparing to leave. "I'll contact you through encrypted channels. Don't trust anyone else. Not until we know who we're dealing with."

He paused at the tunnel entrance, looking back at us. "For what it's worth? I'm glad I'm not alone anymore. Family is... something I thought I'd never have."

"Same," Maya said quietly.

After Julian left, Maya and I stood in the abandoned station, processing.

"We have a brother," she said.

"And a sister out there somewhere. Mira Webb."

"And a psycho ex who thinks I'm his property."

"And a conspiracy that wants us dead or weaponized."

"And about fifteen minutes before someone tracks us here."

We looked at each other and smiled—the kind of smile people share right before everything goes to hell.

"Chicago it is," I said.

"Chicago it is."

We left through a different tunnel, emerging into daylight blocks away. Another stolen car. Another city. Another day of running.

But this time, we weren't running blind.

We had a brother. We had a plan. And we had each other.

That last part should've scared me more than it did