Page 71 of The Sentinel

I barely survived telling them over the phone.

Hearing María Gil’s sobs crack through the line, listening to the devastation in her voice as she begged me to tell her it wasn’t true—it had nearly broken me.

And now, I’d have to look them in the eye.

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to move. I couldn’t think about that right now. Not when I knew, deep in my gut, that Marcus was doing something I wouldn’t be able to ignore.

I forced myself up, pushing tangled hair out of my face. I reached for my phone, squinting at the screen. No messages.

I slid out of bed, grabbed my clothes from the floor and dressed quickly, then padded barefoot toward the door. The hallway was quiet, the whole house still, but something felt off.

Like Dominion Hall was holding its breath.

I checked the op room first. Empty. The kitchen, the gym—nothing.

The ache in my stomach sharpened.

I found Ryker in the armory, cleaning a rifle. He glanced up when I stepped inside, dark eyes unreadable.

“Where’s Marcus?” I asked.

Ryker didn’t answer right away. Just set the rifle down and leaned back against the counter, arms crossing over his chest.

It was subtle, the shift in his expression. But I caught it. He knew where Marcus was. And he wasn’t telling me.

The unease hardened into something heavier.

“Ryker,” I pressed, stepping closer. “Where is he?”

A long pause.

Then, finally, Ryker sighed. “You should stay out of this one, Claire.”

My pulse skipped. This one.

That meant something was happening. Right now.

I took another step forward. “Where. Is. Marcus.”

Ryker studied me, his jaw ticking. Then, with another sigh, he reached for his phone, tapped something, and turned the screen toward me.

A grainy security feed flickered to life.

Concrete walls. A single steel chair. And in it—the kid from the city complex.

The same guy who had been at The Palmetto Rose, watching Diego that night. The one who had answered Hart’s call, stammering, shaking, hiding something.

Now?

Now, he was strapped to a chair, his face already bloody, his body trembling.

And Marcus—my Marcus—was crouched in front of him, fingers digging into his jaw, voice low, controlled, deadly.

My breath caught in my throat.

“Where is this?” My voice barely worked.

Ryker shut off the screen, sliding the phone back into his pocket. “You don’t want to know.”

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