Page 40 of Damian
“Dammit!” Cyclone’s sudden curse snapped my head up. His fingers hammered the keys, his eyes narrowing. “It’s her again.”
River stopped pacing. “Are you sure?”
Cyclone spun the laptop so we could see the code streaming across the screen. “Same pattern. Same breadcrumb. Only this time… it’s bigger. She’s not just giving me coordinates—she’s pointing us at the whole damn pipeline.”
Roger’s head came up, sharp. “Pipeline?”
Cyclone nodded, jaw tight. “I’ve seen chatter, but it neverlined up. She’s stitched it together—warehouses, shipping manifests, shell companies. Luthor’s using it all as cover. She’s mapping the chain, piece by piece.”
My stomach clenched. I could almost see her sitting at that desk, eyes tired but fierce, whispering into her recorder as she uncovered the trail.
“She’s doing this alone,” I said, voice low. “With Ruby in the house. No backup. No one to watch her six.”
River let out a low whistle. “Ballsy.”
“Reckless,” I snapped. The word came out sharp, but beneath the anger was fear. A kind that cut deep. Because every breadcrumb she sent us meant she was deeper in this than I ever wanted her to be.
Cyclone pointed at the screen again. “The newest coordinates land outside the city. Old farmland. If she’s right—and I’m betting she is—that’s where Luthor’s stashing his shipments.”
Roger’s eyes met mine. “We move tonight.”
I nodded, jaw tight. But my mind was already back at the cottage, on Morgan, her promise, the way she’d whisperedplease.She was pulling us closer to Luthor, yes. But she was also pulling herself further into danger.
And I wasn’t sure I could keep that promise to her if she kept fighting like one of us.
51
Morgan
Ithought Ruby was asleep.
The cottage was quiet, the only sound the soft hum of my laptop and the scratch of my pen as I scribbled notes in the margins of old manifests. My recorder sat close by, its little red light blinking like a heartbeat.
I was so deep in the pattern on the screen—numbers that weren’t just numbers, dates that tied to movements too clean to be a coincidence—that I didn’t hear her until she spoke.
“You’re doing something you don’t want Damian to know about.”
I jumped, nearly knocking the coffee cup off the desk. Ruby stood in the doorway, hair tangled from sleep, one of my old hoodies swallowing her small frame. Her eyes, though—clear and sharp, way too old for sixteen.
“Ruby, you scared me half to death.” I pressed a hand to my chest, trying to slow my racing heart.
She crossed her arms, leaning against the doorframe. “You’re not just writing anymore, Morgan. You’re… helping them, aren’t you? Damian told you not to do this anymore.”
I froze, words tangling on my tongue.
She tilted her head, her gaze flicking to the recorder, then to the screen. “I hear you, you know. Talking into that thing. I thought it was just… weird writer stuff. But now? Now I think you’re talking tothem.”
I swallowed hard, fighting the urge to deny it. She deserved more than lies.
“Ruby…” I stood slowly, meeting her eyes. “You’re right. I am helping. I can see things the guys can’t, connect pieces they miss. And if I don’t—” My voice cracked. “If I don’t, girls like you disappear. Forever.”
Her lips trembled, but her chin stayed high. “But it’s dangerous, isn’t it? That’s why Damian didn’t want you involved.”
I stepped closer, brushing her hair back from her face. “It is dangerous. And I’m careful. But I can’t sit here and do nothing, Ruby. Not when I know how to help.”
She searched my face for a long moment. Finally, she whispered, “Promise me one thing.”
“Anything.”
