Mason noticed.
“You expect trouble.”
“I always expect trouble.”
“That sounds exhausting.”
“It is.”
For the first time all day, she sounded tired.
Not physically.
Deeply.
Humanly.
Mason looked at the black ring.
“How old were you?”
“When?”
“Black Harbor.”
She stared forward.
“Twenty-nine.”
“And the girl?”
“Nine.”
“What was her name?”
Lena’s jaw tightened.
“Amara.”
The vehicle stopped.
Lena stood.
“Stay close.”
Mason almost smiled.
“Now you’re giving me orders?”
“Yes.”
“What if I don’t listen?”
She looked at him.
“Then today taught you nothing.”
The storage facility sat behind two layers of fencing near an industrial stretch of Long Beach.
They entered through a side gate.
The night smelled of salt, diesel, and concrete cooling after a hot day.
Victor led them through a narrow corridor to Unit 314.
The lock was intact.
Lena stopped.
“That’s wrong.”
Mason frowned.
“What?”
“If they knew where this was, the lock wouldn’t still be here.”
Victor crouched.
“Could be reset.”
Lena shook her head.
“No.”
She stepped back.
“Mason.”
“Yes?”
“Do not open that door.”
He froze.
Victor looked at her.
“You see something?”
“No.”
“That’s the problem.”
She scanned the corridor.
“Too clean.”
Mason felt the hairs rise on his arms.
A sound clicked behind them.
Tiny.
Metal.
Lena moved instantly.
“Down!”
The overhead lights died.
A deafening crack hit the far wall.
Mason dropped.
Victor pulled him behind a concrete pillar.
Another impact sparked against steel.
Suppressor, Mason realized.
Someone was firing from the opposite corridor.
Lena disappeared into darkness.
Mason whispered, “Where did she go?”
Victor answered, “Doing what she does.”
Three seconds later came a grunt.
Then a body hit the floor.
The lights flickered back on.
Lena stood ten yards away behind a man dressed in dark civilian clothes.
His weapon lay on the ground.
Her arm locked around his elbow.
Blood ran from a shallow cut near her temple.
“Victor.”
He moved.
The attacker looked at Lena.
Then smiled.
Not nervously.
Knowingly.
“Ghost Seven.”
Mason saw Lena’s face change.
Victor did too.
“Who are you?” Lena demanded.
The man’s smile widened.
“You really don’t recognize me?”
Lena stared.
Then all color left her face.
“No.”
He began to laugh.
Victor stepped closer.
“Name.”
The man ignored him.
His eyes stayed on Lena.
“You left us.”
Lena’s grip loosened by a fraction.
Enough for Mason to notice.
“Who are you?”
The man whispered:
“Amara had a brother.”
The corridor went silent.
Lena’s face became blank.
Mason looked between them.
“What?”
The man continued.
“She was nine.”
Lena did not breathe.
“I was twelve.”
Victor’s eyes widened.
“No.”
The man smiled at him.
“You remember me too.”
Lena’s voice cracked.
“Samir?”
The man closed his eyes.
“There she is.”
Lena stepped back.
For the first time that day, she looked fragile.
“You died.”
Samir laughed softly.
“No.”
“You were on the manifest.”
“I was on the wrong manifest.”
Victor stared at him.
“How?”
Samir looked at Lena.
“Ask her.”
Mason turned.
Lena seemed stunned.
“I don’t know.”
Samir’s expression twisted.
“Of course you don’t.”
Security teams arrived moments later.
Samir did not resist.
As they restrained him, he kept watching Lena.
“You took Amara.”
Lena whispered, “I tried to save her.”
“You took her and left me.”
“I never saw you.”
“That’s what they told you.”
He smiled.
“Open the unit.”
Victor went rigid.
“Why?”
“Because you’re fifteen years late.”
Inside Unit 314 was not stolen evidence.
It was a room.
A table.
A chair.
And one metal case.
Lena stared.
“This isn’t ours.”
Victor opened the case.
Inside were photographs.
Dozens.
Black Harbor.
Helicopters.
Rescued civilians.
Bodies wrapped in blankets.
Children being carried toward medical tents.
Mason watched Lena’s face as she saw the past laid out in front of her.
Then Victor found an envelope.
On it were two handwritten words.
FOR LENA.
She opened it.
Inside was a photograph.
A little girl.
Nine years old.
Thin.
Dark eyes.
Standing beside an older boy.
Amara and Samir.
Lena’s hands shook.
Behind the photograph was another image.
The same girl.
Older.
Maybe fourteen.
Lena stopped breathing.
“No.”
Mason leaned forward.
“What is it?”
She turned the picture over.
A date was written on the back.
Five years after Black Harbor.
Victor whispered:
“That’s impossible.”
Lena looked at him.
“I watched her die.”
Victor took the photo.
The girl was unmistakable.
Same eyes.
Same small scar near the eyebrow.
Mason felt cold.
“Then who died in your arms?”
Lena sat down hard in the chair.
“I don’t know.”
Samir’s words echoed.
You took Amara.
You left me.
Mason looked at Victor.
“Someone falsified the rescue records.”
Victor said nothing.
Lena suddenly stood.
“The archive.”
“What?”
“The stolen archive wasn’t about destroying evidence.”
She grabbed the photographs.
“They wanted us to follow.”
Victor understood.
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