Page 22 of Raven

Raven’s voice came over the radio again, closer this time.

Two more incoming. Beachside.

I turned, circling behind the shed.

Then I heard it.

A voice I hadn’t heard in years.

“Still a hellcat, I see.”

Slate.

He stepped into view, pistol raised, smirking.

“You got sloppy, Bea sweetheart. You should’ve stayed underground. Instead you set off alarms and lit a fire under people who don’t forget or forgive.”

“You’re the one who should’ve stayed buried,” I said coldly.

He smiled wider. “This doesn’t have to end bloody. I don’t want you dead. You’re worth more alive. Information, leverage... a message.”

I leveled the rifle. “You always did love to talk.”

“And you always thought you could save the world. Who were you working for?”

“I don’t have time to talk.”

Behind him, Raven moved like smoke—silent, precise.

I gave the slightest nod.

Slate noticed it too late.

Raven slammed him from behind, knocking the pistol wide. They hit the ground, grappling hard.

I charged.

Slate bucked, rolling to his knees.

When he pulled his gun, Raven already had his out.

CRACK!

Gunfire tore through the night.

Slate cried out, and staggered.

“Enough.”

Slate looked up at me, blood on his shoulder, hate in his eyes.

“You think this ends with me?”

“No,” I said.

Then he died.

“One for Guatemala,” I whispered.

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