Page 123 of Marked to Be Mine

“Yes. And to find your brother.”

I looked at the encrypted files glowing on the screen—thousands of documents, the product of Specter’s sacrifice. Lives reduced to data points and mission parameters. The storm on the horizon grew darker, but still distant.

“We have a starting point now.” Ronan’s eyes held mine, steady and certain in a way that made my heart clench. “We can find him.”

I uncurled my fingers, turning my hand to grasp his. “What’s our next move?”

I remained in the chair across from him, unable to process everything at once. A tear slid down my cheek—not for myself but for Xavier, lost somewhere in Oblivion’s labyrinth. For Specter, who gave us a chance by sacrificing his freedom.

The breeze shifted, carrying the scent of mangoes from the trees surrounding our temporary sanctuary. The sun climbed higher, but I felt cold despite the warmth.

“You want to tell me what you’re thinking?” Ronan asked, his voice gentler than his vigilant posture would suggest.

I straightened my spine, feeling the shift inside me. The grief remained, but beneath it rose something colder, more focused. I recognized it from my years chasing stories no one wantedtold—a clarity that came only when everything was at stake.

“I’m thinking we need to expose them,” I said, my voice turning to steel. “Not just find Xavier, but burn the whole operation down. Just like you said before you wanted to send me to Istanbul. And we need to have it happen as soon as possible.”

Ronan nodded once, a sharp movement. His eyes tracked a fishing boat on the horizon, assessing it automatically for potential threats. “We can’t extract him directly. Oblivion’s too entrenched, too protected. But we can destabilize them from the outside.”

“By revealing everything they’ve tried to hide.” The realization settled into my bones. “That’s why Specter gave us that extra data. He knew exactly what I could do with it.”

“Your skills as a journalist are our best weapon now,” Ronan said, his gaze returning to me. “Critical intelligence in enemy hands is only valuable if properly utilized. You know how to decode it, contextualize it.”

I glanced at the laptop screen, mind already identifying key threads, mapping connections between Oblivion’s seemingly legitimate fronts and their black-budget operations. Planning release strategies that couldn’t be contained or controlled.

“It’s what I do,” I murmured, then looked at him. “But Specter, Xavier… the cost is already so high. What if it’s all for nothing? What if we can’t save him?”

Ronan’s jaw tightened, tendons standing out along his neck. When his eyes met mine, they contained somethingdangerous—a controlled rage that reminded me of what he was designed to be.

“It won’t be for nothing. Whatever happens, Oblivion will answer for what they’ve done. To me. To Xavier. To all of us whose lives they stole. This isn’t the end. We’re operational. Combat effective.” A rare smile transformed his face, softening the hard edges. “We need to be careful, stay together, and make them regret ever creating me.”

I rose from my chair and closed the distance between us. When I kissed him, it wasn’t gentle—it was a claim, a covenant. This beach sanctuary was temporary, but what we’d built together wasn’t.

“I love you,” I whispered against his mouth. “Not because you spared me that day in São Paulo, but because you’ve chosen me every day since—even when it broke you apart.”

His hands tightened on my waist, strong enough to bruise but carefully controlled. The contradiction that was Ronan—deadly determination with infinite tenderness.

“I was made to be a weapon,” he whispered against the hollow of my throat. “Now I’m yours.”

The ocean crashed against the shore, constant and relentless. We had the files. We had a direction. It wouldn’t be enough—not against an organization with Oblivion’s resources—but it was a start.

We’d survived gunfire, poison, and the systematic destruction of identity. Now we became ghosts ourselves, haunting the system that created us.

Somewhere in their labyrinth, Xavier waited. And we’d just found the key.

Epilogue

Specter

I allowed one eyelid to lift but barely, then closed it again. The movement was so minimal that even the high-resolution camera wouldn’t detect it. Antiseptic burned my nostrils with its artificial sterility, but I forced myself to adjust to the scent. Monitors beeped in rhythm with a heart I’d trained to maintain fifty-five beats per minute even under duress. Thunder rumbled somewhere distant. They’d put me in a room with a window—uncharacteristically sloppy for Oblivion.

But it was good. It meant I stood a chance.

Without moving my head, I cataloged my restraints. Medical-grade cuffs on wrists and ankles. Not prison-issue, not military either. Expensive. Hospital-grade, but reinforced. The left restraint had a manufacturing flaw—a slight give in the metal where it connected to the bed frame. Seven millimeters of play. Not enough to work with. Yet.

The pain in my right leg pulsed hot. Gunshot wound, through-and-through, missed the femoral artery. Not their best work. I’d had worse.

The IV inmy arm delivered a standard cocktail. Morphine. Broad-spectrum antibiotics. Nothing unexpected. No mind-altering compounds or truth serums. Another oversight. They should have known better by now.

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