The command center had never felt so cold. Rook stood frozen, his phone still in his hand, Wick's three words burning into his brain like a brand.
It's not Amara.
If it wasn't Amara, then who? Who had been orchestrating everything from the shadows? Who had been using everyone as pawns in a game that had been running for decades?
The answer had been there all along, hiding in plain sight. The one person who'd been with him from the beginning. The one person who'd helped him survive, who'd been his anchor in the chaos. The one person he'd trusted more than anyone.
Irina.
Rook turned slowly, his eyes finding her across the command center. She was watching him, her expression unreadable, her hand resting casually on the grip of her weapon.
"Irina," he said, his voice flat and unreadable.
