Shadows of Loyalty

Chapter 8

The descent into Germany was smooth, uneventful, and strangely quiet—save for the barely suppressed bickering that always seemed to follow Sasha like a perfume. The team flew in under the guise of a private medical research delegation, using falsified documents courtesy of Calvin’s vast black-market connections. Quinn remained alert the entire flight, eyes flicking to the cabin door every time it clicked.

Gary sat two rows ahead, headphones in, clearly attempting to tune out the world. But Sasha wasn’t having it. She leaned forward from her seat, a mischievous smile pulling at her lips.

"You’re sweating, Gary," she whispered, her Russian accent slicing through the cabin hum. "Is it the turbulence or me?"

Gary flinched, pulling one headphone off. "God, you’re like a cat that finds a laser pointer and never lets go."

"You wound me," she said with mock sincerity. "But I like seeing you twitch. It’s like watching a dog try to understand algebra."

"She’s relentless," Gary muttered, shooting a look to Quinn.

Quinn sighed. "Can you stop messing with him for five minutes?"

Sasha only smiled wider. "Oh, Agent Reeds. I didn’t realize you were his bodyguard. Adorable."

Quinn gritted his teeth and turned back to his window. Every word out of Sasha’s mouth felt like it was dipped in gasoline, just waiting for a spark. And she knew it.

They touched down in Dresden under cover of night. Mason led the team as they disembarked at a small, private airfield. A nondescript black SUV awaited them at the edge of the tarmac.

"No chatter. Keep your faces down," Mason ordered. "We’re ghosts."

It took them about thirty minutes to reach the outskirts of the industrial district. The abandoned textile factory loomed ahead—grey, crumbling, surrounded by rusting fences and darkened alleyways.

"That’s it," Mason said. "The satellite showed activity here two days ago. Intel says it’s a front. Underground floors. Servers, possible cache."

They moved in through a side entrance Calvin had unlocked remotely with a signal from his tablet.

But the moment they stepped inside, the truth hit them like a slap.

Empty.

The interior was gutted—desks overturned, files shredded, servers dismantled and gone. Even the air felt scrubbed clean.

"Well, isn’t that a shame," Calvin muttered, stepping over an overturned chair. "Guess we can call it a day. Head back, start at square one."

Mason’s face was stone. "Someone beat us to it."

"Or someone warned them," Quinn said coldly.

Calvin raised an eyebrow. "Are you implying what I think you’re implying, Agent Reeds?"

"Just thinking out loud," Quinn replied tightly.

As Calvin wandered deeper into the empty space, tapping away at his tablet, Quinn pulled Mason and Gary aside.

"We were the only ones who knew," Quinn said in a hushed tone. "You, me, Gary. No one else had access to the location data."

Gary frowned. "So you’re saying... Calvin or Sasha tipped them off?"

"It’s the only thing that makes sense. We’ve been compromised."

Mason shook her head, her expression unreadable. "I’ll look deeper into it. But I don’t think either of them would."

"You don’t know them like I do."

"Exactly," Mason said. "You don’t either. Not yet."

From across the room, Sasha watched them with her arms crossed, expression unreadable. Her eyes flicked to Quinn, and a knowing smirk ghosted across her face.

The hunt had only just begun.

The flight home was quiet, the tension from the failed mission still weighing heavily in the air. Quinn sat stiffly in his seat, his eyes starring out the window as they took off.

Calvin and Sasha had opted to stay behind in Germany. When Mason asked why, Calvin simply said, “Oh, I’ve always wanted to sightsee. Berlin has a rich history.”

Sasha had smirked and chimed in, “Besides, you never know what one might find when they dig a little deeper.”

Quinn didn’t like it. Not one bit.

He watched them as the team parted ways at the small, private airfield. Sasha gave a sarcastic two-finger salute, and Calvin just winked with a lazy smile. It churned Quinn’s gut.

By the time Quinn got home, the sun had already dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in dark purples and oranges. He parked in the driveway and sat for a long moment in his car, the silence almost suffocating. Finally, he grabbed his bag and headed inside.

The familiar scent of home greeted him—a mix of citrus cleaning spray and Alicia’s perfume lingering faintly in the air. He stepped through the door and saw Alicia in the kitchen, wearing one of his old t-shirts and yoga pants, barefoot, a glass of wine in her hand.

She turned when she heard the door. “You’re back,” she said softly, a smile forming on her lips.

He dropped his bag by the door and gave her a tired look. “Yeah… I’m back.”

She walked over and wrapped her arms around him, holding him tightly. “How was your trip?”

He exhaled, burying his face in her shoulder for a second. “Could’ve been better.”

“Dangerous?” she asked, pulling back slightly to study his face.

He hesitated. “Not exactly. Just… frustrating. I wish I could tell you more.”

She nodded, brushing a hand down his cheek. “I know. It kills me sometimes, Quinn. Not knowing what you’re really doing. What you’re going through.”

He looked into her eyes. “It kills me too. You think I like lying to you? Keeping secrets?”

“No,” she said. “But you do it anyway.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but she beat him to it. “You’re back now. And just in time. We’ve got a barbecue tomorrow—one of my coworkers from the daycare. Starts around noon. You think you can survive burgers and awkward small talk?”

A half-smile cracked on Quinn’s face. “I think I’ve been through worse.”

She grinned and took his hand. “Come on. I poured you a glass of wine. You need to unwind.”

He let her lead him into the living room, trying to push aside the gnawing paranoia in his gut. For now, he was home. But for how long, he wasn’t sure.

It was around 1 a.m.

The room was dim, bathed in the faint golden hue of the streetlight outside the bedroom window. The curtains shifted slightly from the breeze of the central air. Quinn lay fast asleep, his breathing heavy and even, chest rising and falling in a slow rhythm. The sheets were tangled around his legs, his bare skin warm against the cool cotton. Alicia lay beside him, her body curved to his, nude, their limbs entwined from the fevered passion that had consumed them only moments earlier.

But while Quinn rested in the deep, satisfied sleep of a man who believed he was safe, Alicia was wide awake—her eyes open, sharp, calculating.

She stared at him.

Not with adoration, not with guilt—just observation. Cold, silent, thoughtful.

Slowly, she untangled herself from his arms with an unnatural fluidity, trained to move like a ghost. The mattress barely shifted beneath her weight as she slid out from under the sheets. She reached for the oversized T-shirt and shorts she’d discarded earlier and slipped them on with practiced precision. Every movement was silent, controlled.

She moved to the door, pausing at the threshold to glance back.

Quinn was still. Out cold.

She knew exactly how to put him to sleep like that—what rhythm, what intensity, what touch. It wasn’t just love. It was a weapon.

Downstairs, the house was quiet. Alicia’s bare feet padded silently against the hardwood floor as she slipped into the laundry room. She reached behind the tall shelf of detergent and linens, pressing against a small panel that revealed a hidden compartment.

Inside was Quinn’s biometric keypad—his secret.

Alicia retrieved a slim, black glove from a folded towel and slipped it over her hand. The glove was lined with a polymer capable of reading and replicating recent fingerprints. With a gentle press, it simulated Quinn’s last touch. The scanner flashed green.

Access granted.

The shelf clicked and slowly swung inward with a hiss, revealing the entrance to the basement.

She descended the stairs, her expression emotionless, movements calm and methodical. The dim light illuminated Quinn’s hidden office—his inner sanctum. The room was minimalist, high-tech, walls lined with digital files, a map board with red threads and locations, a weapons locker, and a sleek black laptop on the desk. Everything was meticulously organized.

She didn’t touch anything but the laptop.

Flipping it open, Alicia placed her gloved hand on the biometric pad again, mimicking Quinn’s credentials. The system accepted the clearance without hesitation. The main dashboard appeared with Quinn’s usual CIA-level access—but Alicia wasn’t here for that.

She inserted a small encrypted drive into the side port. It ran a silent algorithm—one of her own design—embedding a series of stealth bypasses. The system remained blind to her intrusion, unaware it had just been breached from within.

Lines of code danced across the screen as she tunneled deeper, bypassing standard CIA clearance levels. She moved beyond what Quinn was allowed to access. Beyond black ops. Beyond sanctioned protocols.

She was hunting for one thing.

And she found it.

A folder buried beneath the data vault—redacted and sealed, marked with Omega-Black classification.

Alicia’s eyes scanned the contents: Names. Dates. Transactions. Assassination orders. False flag operations. Top-tier officials connected to war crimes, embezzlement, political sabotage.

The core data file.

The information the Hand of Justice was after.

She copied it—fast, efficient, silent. The contents were immediately routed to a secure, untraceable drop point, encrypted beyond government capabilities.

Once done, she closed the laptop. Not a file misplaced. Not a fingerprint left behind.

She stood and surveyed the room, her eyes pausing on a small framed photo on the desk—her and Quinn, smiling at the beach. The sunlight in the picture didn’t reach her expression now. She stared at it with the cold, detached gaze of someone who had already made peace with betrayal.

Then she turned.

The secret door sealed quietly behind her. She made her way back upstairs, discarded the clothes, and slipped back into bed beside Quinn, pressing her naked body against his again like nothing ever happened.

In his sleep, Quinn instinctively pulled her close, his arms wrapping tightly around her waist, a soft sigh escaping his lips as he nuzzled into her neck.

Alicia closed her eyes. Not because she was tired.

But because the mission was still far from over.