Page 50 of Code Name: Reaper
You knew better.
I did. Every instinct had warned me to keep my walls up, to maintain my distance, to never let him—or anyone—close enough to hurt me. But somewhere between Montenegro and here, I’d forgotten the most important lessons my life had taught me. People leave. They lie. And they disappoint you when you need them most.
The tears came without warning—hot, angry, and unstoppable. I sank into the chair by the window and let them fall, mourning the loss of Reaper along with my own stupidity for believing in something that was never real.
He thinks you betrayed him.
That he hadn’t given me the benefit of the doubt hurt the most. I knew he had no proof, since I hadn’t done what he accused me of.
Earlier, I’d almost told him I was glad we hadn’t had sex. Then, I wouldn’t have meant it. Now, I did.
After everything I’d shared with him, everything I’d risked, the way he’d looked at me—as if he did hate me—made something inside me burn.Fury.
How could he believe I’d so quickly betray his confidence? How? I wasn’t the liar. I wasn’t the one who’d hid who I really was from everyone around me. Mercury was, not me.
The comparison stopped my tears cold. She’d lied to me for years, built our entire relationship on deception, let me believe she was someone she wasn’t. But I was still here, still searching for her, still willing to risk everything to find her.
Why?
I wiped my face with my hand and forced myself to think through the question I’d been avoiding. Why was I stillhunting for a woman who’d systematically deceived me about everything, including her own name?
The answer came reluctantly—because no matter how many lies she told, they didn’t erase years of genuine care. Because the woman who’d held me while I sobbed over my grandfather’s death, who’d convinced me not to quit the academy, who’d pushed protein bars across her desk when I forgot to eat—that woman had been real, even if her name wasn’t.
Deep down, I knew her actions couldn’t lie. I meant something to her. The love had been real, even if everything else was false.
But Reaper? He’d looked at me like I was a stranger. Like everything we’d shared, every moment of connection, had been an illusion he’d finally seen through.
That was the difference. Mercury had lied to protect me, or protect herself, or protect some mission I didn’t understand. Reaper had simply decided I wasn’t worth trusting when things got complicated.
I pulled out my cell and stared at the screen. I could call Wren, explain what had happened, and see if Nemesis could facilitate the Briggs meeting without Reaper’s involvement. Or I could disappear tonight.
Both options meant Reaper would be out of my life forever. Telling Wren what had happened meant truly betraying him, since I’d have to divulge who Dagger was and that his cover had been blown. And if I left, I knew he wouldn’t look for me. Not again.
I set the phone aside and leaned against the chair. Tomorrow or the next day, I’d face Briggs and get the answers I needed about Mercury and Prism. After that, I’d figure out my next move.
Tonight, I’d let myself grieve the future I’d been foolish enough to imagine—one where I didn’t have to carry everythingalone, where someone fought beside me instead of against me, where trust was something I could afford to give.
Tomorrow, I’d return to what I knew best—surviving on my own.
12
REAPER
Ididn’t sleep. Didn’t even sit down. I paced. I could hear her across the hall. Sobbing. As much as I wanted to stalk over there, break down the door I’d heard her lock, and tell her I was sorry, I couldn’t.
No one knew about Dagger. No one other than Amaryllis and me. And since I hadn’t divulged his cover to anyone else, it had to mean she had.
I forced myself to think it through methodically. What did I actually know?
Amaryllis had been evasive about her contacts since Montenegro. Beacon had reached out, saying she wanted to meet alone, but what ever came of it? She’d pushed to contact Edmonds herself, then suggested meeting with Briggs solo too.
Whenever we received time-sensitive intelligence, she announced she preferred to work alone.
And the connections kept piling up. Mercury, Prism, Beacon—everyone in Amaryllis’s orbit seemed to be playing multiple sides.
Maybe that wasn’t a coincidence. Maybe it was a pattern.
Earlier, I’d thought about how she didn’t want to go to England. I’d blamed it on her insecurity. Maybe that wasn’t it at all. Maybe she had a damn good reason not to want “oversight,” as she’d called it.
