Page 99 of Brass
“You did well,” he says, voice softer than his usual operational tone.
“Had a good teacher,” I manage through still-chattering teeth.
His smile is barely visible in the darkness, but I feel it more than see it—a momentary softening of his perpetual vigilance.
“Package secured,” Ghost announces into his headset, then grins at us through his beard. “Welcome to the afterlife.”
By morning, the Coast Guard will recover debris from our boat. News outlets will report the tragic accident. Officials will document our deaths. Phoenix will receive confirmation from multiple sources that its targets have been eliminated.
And we’ll be ghosts.
We did it. First phase complete. Now comes the hard part: disappearing completely.
The helicopter touches down in a small clearing surrounded by dense forest—a location so remote it doesn’t appear on any standard maps. A rugged off-road vehicle waits nearby.
“Final transport,” Ghost explains as we exit the helicopter. “Take it to the safehouse, where you’ll remain for seventy-two hours while Phoenix’s verification protocols run their course. Then we’ll move you to Montana.”
“Any news on Torque?” Ryan asks.
“Torque’s status remains unknown.”
The helicopter lifts off almost immediately after we disembark, disappearing into the night sky.
Ryan checks the map left with the UTV, then we’re back on the go, just the two of us.
The drive passes in a blur of forest roads.
Ryan’s hand finds mine in the darkness, his touch anchoring me to the present.
“Almost there,” he announces as we turn onto an even narrower road that barely qualifies as more than a trail. “Safe house is just ahead. Solar powered, no external connections, completely off grid.”
The safe house turns out to be a small, modern cabin nestled so perfectly into the surrounding forest that it’s nearly invisible until we’re right upon it. Inside, it’s surprisingly comfortable—minimal but thoughtfully furnished, with a well-stocked kitchen, comfortable sleeping area, and advanced security systems that appear disconnected from any outside network.
“Home sweet home,” Ryan says. “For seventy-two hours, at least. The pantry should be stocked, and the security perimeter should be active. I’m going to check, if you want to settle in.”
“And after the seventy-two hours?” I ask.
“They’ll confirm our official deaths. Then we move to Montana.” Ryan’s expression grows more serious. “After that, we’re Mr. and Mrs. Davis, relocating for a more peaceful lifestyle.”
The reality of it settles over me with new weight. Three days from now, we begin new lives. No turning back, no safety net, no connection to who we were before.
Ryan secures the cabin—checking locks, confirming security systems, establishing sight lines, and defensive positions. Always the operator, even now.
I stand before the large windows overlooking the forest, watching moonlight filter through the trees. In the reflection,Ryan moves behind me, his presence both comforting and surreal in equal measure.
“What are you thinking?” he asks, appearing at my shoulder.
“That Celeste Hart died tonight,” I answer honestly. “That whatever comes next…I’m someone new.”
“Not entirely new,” he says, his reflection meeting my eyes in the glass. “The core of who you are didn’t burn up in that boat. Just the external markers. The documentation. The digital footprint.”
“Is that what you tell yourself?” I turn to face him directly. “That Ryan Ellis isn’t really gone?”
He considers this carefully. “I’ve reinvented myself before. The externals change. The essence remains.”
“And what’s myessence, according to you?” I ask, genuinely curious about his assessment.
“Stubborn,” he says immediately, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Determined. Fiercely intelligent. Unwilling to back down when you believe you’re right.” His expression softens. “Brave in ways most people never have to be. Adaptable beyond what anyone could reasonably expect.”
