Page 37 of Raven

Tomorrow, I’d come in early again. But not to review notes. I needed to check the system logs—Katherine’s login times, her file access. The station had digital backups. Even if she deleted something, there might still be a trace.

If I was wrong, I’d owe her an apology. A big one.

But if I was right…

I didn’t finish the thought.

Instead, I whispered into the wind, “Please, Raven. Come home soon.”

19

Raven

I was halfwayacross the world, but I couldn’t stop thinking about Beatrice.

We were deep in the outskirts of northern Iran, the kind of place where nothing grew except suspicion and ghosts. The mission was simple on paper—extract four Navy SEALs held captive in a rogue militia compound. But nothing was ever simple in terrain like this. Sand got in your lungs. Sweat clung to your skin like a second shirt. Every shadow looked like a sniper.

But it wasn’t the mission that had me on edge. It was Beatrice.

We hadn’t talked in over a week. Radio silence. That is not unusual, considering my communication has been spotty since landing. But still… Ifelther.

And something was wrong.

“You good?” Tag’s voice broke through my thoughts, low and steady beside me as we crouched in the hills overlooking the compound. He always knew when I drifted.

“Yeah,” I lied. “Eyes on target?”

“Three hostiles on the north gate, four more patrolling. SEALs are being held in the rear structure on the second level. We’ve got a ten-minute window.” He paused. “You sure your head’s in this?”

I tightened my grip on the scope. “I’m sure.”

But even as I said it, I saw her face—Beatrice, looking up at me with those wide, smart eyes. The last time we talked, she sounded... off. Like she wanted to say more but couldn’t with others around, she joked about the firehouse being “crowded with strange energy.” I brushed it off. But now?

Now I couldn’t shake the pit in my stomach.

And I knew that feeling.

It was the same one I got right before an op went sideways.

After the takedown, once the SEALs were safe and we were exfiltrating under moonlight, I tapped my satellite phone the second I had a signal. It was shaky, cutting in and out, but I didn’t care. I scrolled to her name and hit call.

Nothing.

Voicemail.

I tried again. Same.

I sent a message:

You good? Talk to me.

Then another:

Bea, if you’re in trouble, call me.

No response.

I stared at the screen like I could will it to light up.

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