Page 280 of Let Me In

Each one slides into place like it belongs to my skin.

Because it does.

Because for one last night, I am this man again.

The shadow that slips beneath defenses.

The silence that walks through fire.

I close the truck quietly. Tuck the compass into the hidden inner pocket of my chest plate, just beneath the suit.

Not for luck, but because she held it last. And tonight, I need her steady hand on my heart.

The water is colder than it looks—always is—but it doesn’t slow me down. I move with the tide, not against it. Breathing even. Movements smooth. Every inch of the surface was memorized before I ever stepped into it.

The yacht rises ahead like a silhouette, bloated and blind. No alarms. No patrol. Just the quiet arrogance of wealth. He thinks he’s safe. Thinks I’m still afraid.

I reach the hull. Press a palm to the steel, cold and slick with condensation. It hums faintly beneath my skin, same as every vessel I’ve ever infiltrated. Same as every mission where I became nothing but breath and shadow. But this one feels different. This time, it’s not duty. It’s not revenge.

It’s protection. It’s her.

I close my eyes.

And feel the blood in my body slow.

Not from fear.

But from focus.

This is what I was built for.

And this time—it’s for me.

For her.

The hull curves under my palm.

Steel. Cold. Familiar.

This close, you can hear it breathe.

Soft groan of shifting pressure. Pumps. Pipes. Footsteps two levels up.

I wait. Three breaths.

Then move.

There’s a maintenance grate just below the waterline.

I marked it on satellite weeks ago.

It’s not locked.

They don’t expect anyone to get this close without being seen.

They don’t expect me.

The latch gives with a soft click.

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