Undertow
I stared at the empty shelf, willing the book to reappear. Behind me, Raven came into the room, his boots careful on the old wooden floor.
“We need to tell Dru,” he said, his voice low enough that only I could hear it.
I nodded mechanically, still processing. We’d been walking the grounds for a while. Less than thirty minutes had passed since our last check, but the book had vanished. Someone had been watching, waiting, moving with the kind of precision that takes training. Not an amateur.
This was the first part of Dru’s trap, the one meant for Sierra. She’d received the version of the mission briefing that said the book would be here, in the reading room. She wasn’t supposed to retrieve it herself—just make quiet arrangements if she was the mole. And if she’d passed that intel to the wrong person? Then the disappearance of the book meant one thing: she’d taken the bait. Or someone had, on her behalf.
But the second trap—the cave—was still untouched. As far as we knew, anyway.
I thought again of the sandy-haired man from the boat tour—the one who’d set off every alarm in my system. If he wasn’t the one who took the book, then either my instincts were off…or something else was still in motion. Maybe both.
We weren’t expecting company. Or counterintelligence. Otherwise, I’d have done a sweep and a sigil. This was supposed to be a straightforward stakeout, not deep tradecraft. Just watch, observe, report back. No reason to assume we’d need full operational security just to babysit a fake book.
Apparently, we’d assumed wrong.
“Let’s go somewhere more private,” I said.
We found a quiet alcove off the main hallway, half-sheltered behind a massive potted fern. I tapped my smartwatch, and a few seconds later, Dru’s face appeared on the screen.
“Book’s gone,” I said without preamble.
Her expression remained neutral, but I caught the subtle narrowing of her eyes. “How recently?”
“It was there during our last sweep,” Raven said. “We walked the grounds for most of the afternoon. When we got back—it was gone.”
“Any visual on who took it?”
I shook my head. “Not yet. But—” I hesitated. “Sierra had access. She set up the placement. The timing fits.”
“Let’s not be hasty,” Dru said. Her voice stayed neutral, but there was steel underneath. “Charlie still had access to the overall mission parameters, even if he didn’t handle the details. You’ve still got nearly eighteen hours before your scheduled pickup. Stay sharp.”
“You think we missed something?” The question landed harder than I wanted it to.
“I’m saying Sierra, Charlie—it could be both. That’s why I structured the trap this way.” Her tone didn’t waver. Cool. Practical. “Sometimes it’s not either/or. Sometimes it’s both.”
I hadn’t considered that. Two moles. Separate agendas or shared ones. It would explain how Rune kept staying a step ahead. Maybe that’s why she was so confident.
“At any rate,” Dru continued, “remember—this is a hot mission. Cold missions can flare up, but hot missions don’t cool down. If anything, they burn hotter. Stay vigilant.”
I nodded, understanding her subtext. Hot meant dangerous. Hot meant irreversible. The trap was set, but who would step into it remained to be seen.
“Report any sightings.” Dru ended the call.
I glanced at Raven, who had been silently absorbing the exchange. “What now?”
“Dinner! We continue as planned. Two tourists enjoying a historic inn.” He met my eyes, steady and unreadable. “Let’s act like it.”
The suggestion surprised me.
Back in our room, I caught myself eyeing the dress I’d almost left behind—a deep plum wrap, more suited to formal dinners than fieldwork. But something about tonight made me want to feel like more than just another operative running another mission.
When I stepped out of the bathroom, Raven was already dressed—black slacks, charcoal shirt, his hair pulled back in a low ponytail instead of the usual priest’s knot. The change made him look less austere. More like someone you’d trust with secrets.
He looked up, and the professional edge he usually wore loosened for just long enough to let me see it, then settled back into place.
“Ready?” he asked, his voice betraying nothing.
I nodded, suddenly self-conscious. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
The dining room was steeped in golden light when we arrived. Sunset poured through tall windows with a panoramic view of the springs. Tables were dressed in crisp white linens, antique silver gleaming in the candlelight. The glow was warm, intimate—almost romantic, if you weren’t on a surveillance op.
Our server—a young woman with a name tag reading Amy—led us to a table by the window.
“We can still work while we eat,” Raven said, unfolding his napkin. “Watch for anything unusual.”
“Multitasking,” I said. “One of my many talents.”
“Along with sarcasm,” he added, the corner of his mouth lifting just enough to count.
Dining with Raven was easy—comfortable in a way I hadn’t expected. We ordered, and as we waited for our food, I found myself watching how the candlelight played on his face. There was a stillness to him I’d always admired, a quiet certainty that made the chaos around us feel manageable.
Outside, the sun dipped lower, tinting the spring basin in shades of orange and pink. A few tourists lingered on the lawn, phones raised, capturing the reflection of the sky on glassy water.
Raven reached across the table and took my hand. His touch startled me. His palm was warm against mine, his touch steady. Gentle, but deliberate.
“I want to tell you something.” His voice dropped to a register I hadn’t heard from him before—quiet, deliberate, aimed only at me.
I held still, afraid any movement might fracture the moment. “Okay.”
“I’m proud of you,” he said. “Of how far you’ve come since I met you that day on the Hill of Tara. Not just as an agent, but as a person.”
We didn’t do this. We didn’t share feelings, didn’t mark growth out loud. We were professionals. Colleagues. Friends.
But this felt like something else.
I adored Raven, but when it came to romance, he wasn’t my type. My type was…psychopaths, narcissists, liars. Raven was…was nothing like any man I’d spent time with before.
“I didn’t change that much,” I said, deflecting automatically.
“You’ve changed in all the ways that matter,” he countered. “Not into someone else—just more of yourself.”
His thumb traced a small circle on the back of my hand, and I found myself holding my breath.
“Sometimes,” he continued, his voice even softer, “I wonder if I’d be allowed to care about you more than I already do.”
He’d left the sentence open on purpose. I felt him waiting.
I didn’t pull my hand away. But I didn’t move closer either.
Friendship was safe. Partnership was clear.
This…this undefined space—full of possibility and danger—terrified me more than any mission ever had.
Before I could formulate a response, the candle flickered—
And something behind Raven caught my eye.
Red hair. Unmistakable.
Moving at the far end of the dining room.
I stiffened, my grip on Raven’s hand tightening.
“They’re here,” I whispered. I kept my tone even, my gaze fixed just past his shoulder. “Lovey and Rafe.”
He didn’t turn. Didn’t flinch. But I felt his energy shift—quiet, focused, coiled.
“Where?” he asked, lifting his water glass with the calm of someone trained not to react.
“Back corner,” I murmured. “She’s wearing green. He’s grown stubble since Savannah. They don’t expect us yet,” I said under my breath. “Dru told Charlie we’d arrive tomorrow.”
“Then we don’t exist,” Raven replied. “Not tonight.”
Without lifting his hands from the table, he slipped his hair tie free, letting his long dark hair fall around his shoulders instead of the style that marked him as a priest. A small change, but enough to alter his silhouette.
“We’re just another couple having dinner,” he said quietly, leaning forward. The candlelight caught his features, casting shadows that made him look softer somehow. Less like an agent, more like a man on a date. “Act the part.”
I understood immediately. Our table by the window, the intimate lighting, the way we were already leaning toward each other—we could hide in plain sight. Just two tourists enjoying a romantic evening at a historic inn.
I let myself relax into the role, angling my body toward his, resting my chin on my hand as if captivated by whatever he was saying. It wasn’t hard to do. From across the room, we’d pass as any other couple wrapped in sweet nothings.
“Better,” Raven murmured. His voice carried just enough warmth to sell the performance.
To anyone watching, we were two people deep in their own private conversation. Remembering it was a performance was the hard part.
I kept my head angled toward Raven, studying Lovey and Rafe in the reflection of the darkened window behind him. They looked relaxed, absorbed in conversation—but their posture gave them away. Too alert. Too aware. They weren’t here for the scenic views or the historic charm.
When our food arrived, I shifted slightly to adjust my vantage point, using the moment to study them more directly. I took a bite of my dinner, though I barely tasted it as I processed what their presence meant and how to stay in character with Raven.
This performance felt natural. Too natural. The line between acting like lovers and actually feeling something was getting dangerously thin.
“Anything?” Raven asked. He didn’t dare glance at Lovey and Rafe.
I shook my head.
If the book had vanished and Rune’s agents had shown up this fast, it could only mean one thing: Sierra was the mole. She had the access. She had the opportunity. She’d been given the version of the mission that placed the book in the reading room.
And someone had acted on that information—fast.
For half a heartbeat, I let myself hope.
Maybe Charlie was innocent after all.
Maybe he hadn’t screwed me—us—over again.
But then I saw him.
A third person at their table, partially obscured by other diners. Military posture. Tense, alert. The sandy-haired man—the diver, as I mentally tagged him now. Same squared features. Same ridiculous caterpillar eyebrows.
“Raven,” I whispered. “There’s a third.”
His hand tightened slightly on mine—the only sign he’d heard me.
“It’s him,” I said quietly. “The one who asked about the caves.”
Raven lifted his water glass and took a slow sip, using the motion to glance in the direction I’d indicated. “Interesting company,” he mouthed.
The trio continued their meal, seemingly unaware of our scrutiny.
I watched them through the reflection, noting how the diver leaned in when Rafe spoke, how Lovey’s gaze swept the room again and again.
They were planning something—something that involved the underwater cave system and a man willing to risk his life for it.
But why? Why would he take that risk, even after Captain Mike’s warning about how dangerous the caves were?
Money. Had to be.
That’s what it was for Rune. For Lovey and Rafe. Not the history. Not the magic. Just the market.
No reverence. Just resale value in cryptocurrency.
Either they already had what they came for… or they were about to make their move.
By the time we finished our meal, it was close to eight. The dining room had begun to empty, night deepening beyond the windows.
Lovey signaled for their check, and the three of them began to gather their things.
I tracked every movement. If they left now, we had a choice to make—follow and risk getting caught… or hold position and risk missing whatever came next.
“Let’s give them a head start,” Raven said as they rose. He watched them in the window’s reflection, now sharpened by the darkness outside. “No point risking a hallway encounter.”
I nodded, feigning interest in my half-finished dessert. I didn’t need to stare—they made themselves easy to follow. The trio moved through the dining room and into the lobby, heading for the stairs. The diver followed slightly behind—not deferential, but alert. Like hired muscle. Or insurance.
We waited a full two minutes, sipping our drinks and maintaining our casual posture. Between lulls in conversation, I caught the metallic rattle of the elevator gate—the sound of old machinery hauling someone upstairs.
Meanwhile, I sent a quick message to Dru via my smartwatch:
Rafe and Lovey confirmed. Diver with them. Likely proxy. Cave interest noted.
Dru’s reply came almost instantly. I saw it before the haptics notified me of the incoming message.
Two traps in play. Only one has sprung.
Chilling. Accurate. And just vague enough to ruin my appetite for the last bite of dessert.
I pressed the thumbs-up emoji to let her know I’d actually read her response before running off half-cocked, as she sometimes accused me of doing.
“Ready?” Raven asked, and I nodded.
As Raven and I meandered from the dining room, something caught my attention across the lobby. An elderly woman sat in a comfortable armchair near the massive stone fireplace, her white hair arranged in a neat twist, thick reading glasses perched on her nose. She was holding a familiar book in her lap, flipping through the pages with arthritic fingers and a slight frown of confusion.
Uh-oh.
Dru’s Historical Society contact had placed the forgery in the reading room after lunch—tucked just subtly enough to avoid notice unless you were actively searching. But with only two sparse bookcases, it wasn’t exactly a needle in a haystack. Clearly, Dru had underestimated how much actual reading was available in the reading room.
A bored guest looking for something to read would naturally gravitate toward whatever stood out. Especially if it looked old.
I stopped abruptly. “Raven—”
He followed my gaze. “Is that—?”
Without waiting for him to finish, I hurried across the lobby toward the fireplace.
The woman looked up as I approached. Maybe I was wrong to doubt that she could be an international book thief, but I gave her a big, toothy smile.
She smiled back.
I let my empathic senses brush against her energy—utterly calm, radiating mild puzzlement and the early-onset boredom of someone who’d already finished every crossword she could find. Nothing but genuine innocence.
“That’s an interesting book you have,” I said, keeping the smile warm. “I was hoping to read it while I’m here. Is it any good?”
Hopefully, she hadn’t tried to pronounce any of the names in it and accidentally summoned…something.
“Oh, this?” She held it up as high as her bony arms would allow, revealing the title page: Liber Umbrae Nominium. “I found it upstairs in that little library. Slim pickings! Thought it might be about the local history, but I can’t make heads or tails of it. Lots of strange drawings and words I don’t recognize.”
I tried to keep my expression neutral despite my heart doing gymnastics. “May I?” I asked, holding out my hand. “I’ll be happy to return it for you.”
“Of course, dear.” Her husky voice shook with each syllable. “I was about to put it back anyway. Running out of things to read here, but this is definitely not my cup of tea.”
She handed me the book and began gathering her shawl. “I’m turning in. Past my bedtime.”
Finding the book should have felt like a win. It lasted about two seconds—because I already knew what it meant.
“Where exactly did you find it?” I asked. “So I can return it when I’m done.”
“It was shelved with some books on the Civil War, if you can believe it. Someone must have misplaced it. I just saw the binding and thought it looked historical.”
I nodded, clutching the book. “Thank you. Have a good night.”
“You too, dear. Hope you enjoy it more than I did.”
As she walked away—straight-legged, never bending her heels, probably dealing with Achilles tendonitis that had crept in with age—Raven joined me by the fireplace.
I stared down at the fake Liber Umbrae Nominium in my hands.
“It wasn’t stolen,” I said quietly. “Just borrowed.”
Raven looked from the book to me and grimaced.
“Sierra had nothing to do with it,” I went on. “The book wasn’t taken by Rune’s network.”
“But they’re here anyway,” Raven finished my thought.
“Because someone told them to come.” My voice felt thin, brittle. “Someone who knew about the mission but didn’t handle the book directly.”
I turned to find Raven already watching me with a grim expression.
“It’s Charlie,” I said—to the fake book, because it was easier than to Raven. “The mole. The…traitor. It’s always been Charlie.”
Some part of me had always known. From the moment he chose Rune. From the moment I let him explain it away like it was somehow my fault, for not being enough.
For letting me believe it.
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