Page 12 of Damian
“The same.” My jaw locked. J. Hemsley wasn’t just ink on a manifest — he was here, flesh and blood, pulling strings for Luthor.
Cyclone’s voice came through the comm, low and even. “We can tag the truck. Let it roll, follow the signal.”
“Do it,” I ordered. “We don’t spook them until we know where the road ends.”
We slipped back before the guards could sweep the lot. My pulse hammered, but my stride stayed measured. The van swallowed us again, doors shutting out the hum of the dock.
River exhaled, long and sharp. “Morgan’s got instincts. I’ll give her that.”
I stared out at the fog curling over the water, Hemsley’s face burned into my mind. Morgan wasn’t just circling names anymore. She was circling predators.
“Instincts are good,” I said grimly. “But instincts get people killed if we don’t move fast enough.”
Because if Hemsley was here, Ruby could be closer than we thought. Or already slipping further away.
11
Morgan
The safehouse was too quiet without them.
I sat cross-legged at the kitchen table, pen tapping against my notes, the hum of the fridge my only company. Damian, River, and Cyclone had slipped out hours ago, leaving me with instructions:Stay. Work. Don’t move.
Easy words to say. Impossible to follow when every cell in my body screamed to go after Ruby.
So I drowned the panic in paperwork.
Cyclone had left me access to a secure feed — manifests, invoices, scanned receipts. I scrolled until my eyes blurred, whispering into my recorder the way I always did.
“Hub 9. Caldwell Logistics. J. Hemsley. Not sloppy. Not coincidence.”
The words steadied me. They turned fear into narrative, and narrative into control.
Then I saw it — a line in the donor list that snagged like barbed wire.
Benefactor: Raine and Carter.
Donation: Private transfer.
Charity: Bright Shores Foundation.
My heart stumbled. Raine Carter — I knew that name. Damian had mentioned her once in passing, low-voiced, like the words were fragile glass. She was one of theirs, a soldier.
And according to this file, she’d donated to a charity Caldwell had funneled through Hub 9.
I grabbed the folder, flipping back three pages, four, cross-checking. The Bright Shores Foundation wasn’t just a shell. It was a front directly tied to shipments rerouted through Luthor’s hub.
And Raine’s name was on their books.
I pressed the recorder close, whispering, “Raine Carter. Tied to Bright Shores. Not willingly — forged? Stolen? Or worse?” My throat closed.If Luthor knew who she was, he’d go after her. He’d go after Carter, too.
Panic threatened to drown me. Carter and Raine were already in hiding — Damian had said as much. If this trail touched them, it wasn’t a coincidence. It was a trap designed to flush them out.
I shoved back from the table, nearly spilling coffee across the files. My hands shook as I grabbed the sat phone Damian had left for emergencies.
One number was programmed. His.
I pressed the button, held the phone to my ear. One ring. Two. The line clicked, his voice a whisper through static.
