Page 66 of Rogue Hope
“I’ve got some anti-inflammatories left,” she admitted. “Enough for forty-eight hours or so.”
Finn nodded once, the information simply one more factor in their survival equation. No judgment. No pity.
“Then we work with forty-eight hours,” he said, checking his weapon.
He glanced toward the temple entrance, where twilight was rapidly fading into darkness. “We need to get off the grid completely. Somewhere to regroup, assess what we learned from Shen.”
Zara mentally scanned Singapore’s layout, weighing options against risks. “I’ve got a place. Old safehouse established way before digital record-keeping. Off-network.”
“How far?”
“Malaysian Coast.” She pushed away from the wall, muscles protesting. “If we time it right, we can use the Deepavali festival crowds for cover.”
Finn ejected his magazine, checked the remaining rounds. “Good. We secure position, analyze the Winterfell intel, plot our next move.”
As they prepared to venture back into Singapore’s labyrinthine streets, Zara realized what had changed since Paris.
Trust wasn’t about believing someone would never hurt you.
It was about knowing exactly how they could hurt you—and moving forward anyway.
35
Sea breeze rippledthrough the Malaysian villa’s open-air living room, stirring papers across the bamboo coffee table. Zara shifted position on the floor cushion, grateful her legs had downgraded from screaming to merely complaining. The South China Sea stretched before her, azure surface glittering under midday sun—a view that belied their desperate situation.
Two days since their narrow escape from Singapore. Two days holed up in yet another safe house, connected to neither Knight Tactical nor any intelligence agency.
Two days trying to untangle the web that had trapped Harrison.
Or that Harrison had created.
“Tea?” Finn appeared from the kitchen, mugs in hand.
“Thanks.” Their fingers brushed during the exchange. She didn’t flinch away—a development that would have shocked her just days ago.
Finn settled across from her, returning to his notebook filled with operational notes. “Three priorities,” he said. “Decode Winterfell Protocol. Verify Harrison’s digital footprint—legitimate or fabricated. Establish secure contact with your team.”
“We split responsibilities.” She sipped the tea. “I’ll analyze the evidence against Harrison. You work on Winterfell. We both build secure comms with Knight.”
“Agreed.” Finn tapped his pen against the notebook. “The old SHADOW protocol might work—outdated enough that Cipher won’t monitor for it, but your team would recognize it.”
“Good thinking. Kenji might not recognize it, but Star and Ethan Hernandez will. They cut their teeth on legacy systems.”
They fell into operational planning, the rhythm establishing itself with disturbing ease.
Too easy. That’s what unsettled her—how readily she slipped back into trusting him. The Finn before her now—thoughtful, principled, forthright—seemed worlds apart from the calculating operative who’d used her seven years ago.
“I’ll work in the office,” she said, needing distance. “Better concentration.”
The small office overlooked mangrove trees screening the villa from the main road. She booted her secure laptop and began methodically examining the digital evidence Finn had uncovered implicating Harrison.
Lord, give me wisdom and discernment, she prayed silently.I don’t know what to believe anymore. Or who.
The prayer came naturally, a habit formed during those dark days after her diagnosis when prayer had been her only anchor. Her relationship with God had deepened during those months of uncertainty, providing strength when her body failed her.
She needed that strength now as she faced an uncomfortable truth. She was beginning to care for Finn again. Not romantically—she wouldn’t allow that vulnerability—but his presence mattered.
The realization terrified her. Her judgment had proven catastrophically flawed before. Now, with her future alreadyso uncertain due to her condition, she couldn’t afford another miscalculation.
