Chapter 188
Raven
Twenty minutes later, the beach was significantly emptier.
Connor had been airlifted off the island after Ethan's physics lesson, muttering something about "fucking nerds" and "unnatural tree catapults." Han departed on a stretcher, still unconscious from where I'd shut down his nervous system. Jade left voluntarily, her new hundred-grand richer but walking like someone who'd just sold a piece of their soul.
Which, technically, she had.
The remaining candidates—all the ones who'd failed their matches—were being herded toward a waiting boat. I watched them go, their silhouettes shrinking against the afternoon sun.
Three of us remained.
Me. Ethan. Katya.
"This way." Reeves gestured toward a large tent set back from the beach. Military-issue, canvas sides, the kind that screamed temporary command center.
We followed him inside.
The interior was sparse—a folding table, some camp chairs, a couple of locked equipment cases against the far wall. A portable generator hummed somewhere outside, powering the single overhead light that cast harsh shadows across Reeves' weathered face.
"Sit." He pointed at the chairs.
We sat.
"You three," he began, arms crossed, "just survived something that ninety percent of Special Forces candidates wash out of." His eyes moved between us. "Ethan—your tactical analysis is exemplary. Ivanov—your negotiation instincts are sharper than most career diplomats. And Martinez..."
He paused, studying me.
"You're a goddamn enigma wrapped in a question mark, but that stunt with Han was textbook pressure-point manipulation." He shook his head slowly. "I've seen Delta operators with less precision."
If only you knew, I thought, keeping my expression neutral.
"Tomorrow," Reeves continued, "you'll face your final evaluation. But tonight?" He gestured expansively. "Tonight, you've earned some downtime. The island's yours. Supplies are being brought in. Food, water, some recreational items." His mouth quirked. "Try not to kill each other before sunrise."
Ethan raised a tentative hand. "Sir, what exactly is the final evaluation—"
"Need-to-know basis, Ethan. And right now?" Reeves checked his watch. "You don't need to know."
Cryptic. How original.
"However—" Reeves moved toward the table, where several files lay stacked. He began sorting through them with deliberate casualness. "—there is one small matter I need to attend to before—"
BEEEEEP. BEEEEEP. BEEEEEP.
Red lights began flashing along the tent's support poles. The harsh alarm cut through the air like a knife.
Reeves' hand went to the encrypted phone on his belt before the second beep finished. He pressed it to his ear, his entire posture shifting from relaxed to coiled tension in a heartbeat.
"Reeves." Pause. "What?" Another pause, longer this time. His face went pale. "Are you certain?"
The voice on the other end was tinny, indistinct. I couldn't make out words, but the tone—
Panic. That's panic.
"How many names?" Reeves demanded. His free hand gripped the table edge hard enough to make his knuckles white. "Christ. And the activation codes?"
Another pause.
"No, I can't return to the Pentagon right now—I'm in the middle of a classified evaluation on a remote island—" His voice rose. "Yes, I understand the severity! Get Admiral Harrison on the line and tell him—" He stopped, jaw working. "Fine. Fine. I'll secure the local communications and coordinate from here."
He hung up.
For a long moment, he just stood there, staring at the phone like it had personally betrayed him.
"Sir?" Ethan ventured. "Is everything—"
"'Project Silence' has been compromised." Reeves' voice was flat. Dead. "Someone leaked the names."
The temperature in the tent seemed to drop ten degrees.
Project Silence. Even I hadn't heard that particular codename before. But the way Reeves said it—the weight behind those two words—
Shit.
"Leaked?" Katya leaned forward. "You mean—"
"I mean," Reeves cut her off, "that a list containing the identities of deep-cover operatives across seventeen countries is now in the wind." He ran a hand over his face. "Along with... other sensitive information."
The way he said other made my instincts prickle.
"I need to establish a secure uplink." He moved toward the tent flap, then stopped. Turned back. His gaze fell on the table, where—
Oh, you sneaky motherfucker.
—where a red folder now sat.
I hadn't seen him place it there. Which meant he'd been holding it the entire time, waiting for exactly this moment.
The folder was unmarked except for the stamped text across its face:
TOP SECRET: EYES ONLY
Reeves looked at it. Looked at us. And for just a fraction of a second, I saw the calculation in his eyes.
Then it vanished behind a mask of distraction.
"Listen to me." His voice was sharp. "I need to handle the communications blackout issue. You three—stay in this tent. Rest. Eat. Do whatever." He pointed directly at the folder. "But under no circumstances do you open that file. Am I clear?"