In privacy, Zay stood motionless in the doorway of his suite, the fireplace flickering low, casting long shadows across the polished floor. The room was silent, but his mind roared with memory. He thought of the last time Sabrina had stood beside him—eyes wide with unspoken fear, her voice trembling when she said she felt watched. He had dismissed it, told her she was overreacting, and assured her that no one could touch her under his protection. Now, the weight of what he'd failed to see pressed on his chest like a boulder. She had been pregnant. Alone. And running. He stared out the window into the black mountains, jaw clenched so tight it ached. He had loved her fiercely, but love without action was just another betrayal. He poured a drink and let it burn.
Malik lay on the covers, boots still on, staring at the ceiling as if it held the answers he couldn't voice. His mind raced through every call, every whispered conversation, every missed clue. He prided himself on seeing the angles, reading between the lines—but somehow, he had missed the one thing that mattered most. Twins. She had been carrying life inside her when she vanished, and he hadn't even known. That stung more than pride. It dug into the place where guilt slept. He remembered her laugh, how she used to mock his endless planning and caution. Had he ever really known what she needed? He rubbed his eyes and sat up slowly. He hadn't contributed much tonight. There is no hard evidence. No clues. But he would not be the one who failed her again.
Dante stood by the small balcony, letting the mountain wind sting his face as punishment. The woman he saw in Sydney has haunted him ever since. Sabrina, but not. Hair dyed, shoulders squared like armor, gaze wary like a fugitive with everything to lose. And now he knew why. She had children. Two. And a man at her side. That last part was carved into him like glass. He didn't know if he was the father—maybe none of them did. But he knew one thing with brutal certainty: he would protect them. Her. The children. Regardless of blood. He pulled the black velvet pouch from his coat, the one with the old photo she once gave him — the one she never knew he kept. Looking at it now, the past bled into the present, sharp and unfinished. He didn't sleep that night. He just kept watch.
Morning came slowly to the mountain estate, filtered through thick clouds and fog clinging stubbornly to the peaks. As was his habit, Zay had risen before dawn, but this time not for training. He stood in the kitchen, hands curled around a cup of cold coffee, staring blankly through the tall windows. The others trickled in one by one. No one had slept well.
Dante was the last to enter, his face pale beneath olive skin, jaw shadowed with a sleepless night. He didn't speak until everyone gathered around the long table.
"I owe you the rest," he said, voice gravelly.
Zay raised a brow. "Then give it."
Dante's gaze flickered to each of them before settling on the untouched whiskey bottle from the night before. He didn't pour. "I found her at the airport."
Silence fell like a curtain.
"Which airport?" Malik asked sharply.
"Sydney. It was three months ago. I wasn't looking for her. I was coming back from a dead-end in Egypt. I thought I was hallucinating at first."
"And?" Malik prompted.
"She looked different. She'd cut her hair short—really short. Dyed it black. Wore these tight fitting clothes that accentuated her frame. But it was her. Her eyes... you don't forget eyes like that."
Zay leaned forward. "Did she see you?"
Dante nodded his head. "I believe she did because when I moved towards puff, she just vanished. Oooh, she is good. Getting her would not be as easy as we thought, not unless she wants to get caught.
"There was a woman with her, and if I am not wrong, she was probably her assistant from the way they stood."
"Exactly."
Zay pushed a sketchpad toward him. "Draw her."
"What?"
"Draw her. You're a sniper. Your memory is a weapon. Use it."
Dante didn't argue. He took the pencil with a steady hand and began sketching. The room remained quiet, the scratch of lead against paper the only sound.
Meanwhile, Malik leaned back with a sigh. "I have nothing tangible. Every trail I've followed led to ashes. She made sure of it. Sabrina's always been good at covering her tracks when she wants to disappear."
Zay scoffed. "That's what she learned from me."
Leo's tone was dry. "No, what she learned from you was how to weaponize paranoia. Disappearing was all her."
Malik shrugged. "I followed up on some chatter in Istanbul. There was a woman matching her description in a tech hub there, fluent in Turkish, working under another name. But the lead died fast. Either it wasn't her, or she knew I was looking."
I want to believe that would still be her. "Sab speaks 6 languages. Where do you think she can't fit?"
"So Zay what are your findings?" Dante asks.