The night air in Brooklyn was unusually still.
I stepped out of the matte-black SUV, boots crunching on gravel as the wind whispered through broken fences and graffiti-stained walls. The warehouse district looked like a war zone from a forgotten era, but there was something about this one building, something that had my gut twisting.
I didn't come on a hunch.
After the MI6 director had ended the call, i had gone through the files, filtering surveillance feeds, cross-referencing energy spikes, unusual movement reports, and the R&R algorithm's flagged anomalies. One alert stood out: heat signatures registered at an old safehouse location Creed's Risk and Recovery hadn't used in years, right in the warehouse district.
It was too perfect.
I didn't send a full team. Just three of my most discreet field operatives were stationed two blocks away. I'd told them to keep eyes open, no engagement.
I moved like a shadow between the crumbling buildings. As i reached the south side of the warehouse, a sound stopped me cold gunfire. Two sharp pops, answered by another burst. Then a low explosion rattled the ground beneath me.
I didn't hesitate.
"Abort," i barked into my comm. "Stand down. I repeat, hold your fire. Do not engage."
"Sir, we have visuals on a target. Female. Agile. Escaping through rooftop access,"
I froze. The description alone was enough. The timing. The instincts flaring to life inside my chest.
"I said stand down," i growled. "No one lays a hand on her."
There was silence on the line.
Then, "Copy that, sir."
My pulse thundered in my ears. She was here.
I hadn't seen her face, but the way she moved, the precision, the defiance, the fire, was unmistakable. She was always small, but never soft. Only one woman carried that kind of fury in such a contained form.
Naomi.
She was alive.
And she had no idea i was watching.
I didn't follow. Not tonight. I stood there, breathing in the city air tainted with ash and memory, my heart pounding with something dangerously close to relief.
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Back in my penthouse on the 20th floor of Creed's Tower, i let the glass of whiskey rest against my lips, untouched. The city lights below flickered like stars. But my eyes weren't on them.
They were lost in time.
"The Cybersecurity Academy's end-of-year party in California. Naomi had worn a red silk dress. Her lips glossy, eyes bright, laughter like a melody i didn't know i'd memorized until it was gone. We'd danced once that night."
Just once.
But it stayed with me. The feel of her pressed against me, the way her cheek had rested on my shoulder, warm and trusting. The way my hand had lingered a second too long at her waist. She'd looked up at me like i was her entire sky.
Then she vanished weeks later. No goodbye. No warning.
And now, all these years later, she was moving through my city like a ghost with a purpose.
I downed the whiskey, jaw clenched.
You're not slipping through my fingers this time, Firefox.