Chapter 66

The next morning after the incident at the study, Blackthorn felt deceptively normal. Kaitlyn knew better. Silence here was never innocent.

She sat at the kitchen cabinet, the weight of yesterday’s arguments still on her mind, while nursing a mug of coffee that had long gone lukewarm. The estate’s peace felt staged.

The soft buzz of her phone cut the stillness. One word glowed on the screen: “Breach.” No context. No detail. Moore never wasted characters unless the walls themselves had ears.

Kaitlyn slid from the stool, heart picking up speed, and headed out the side door. She found Moore by the garage, positioned where cameras couldn’t catch their lips. His face was the same unreadable mask, but his eyes darted over the grounds.

“Tell me,” she demanded.

“Reagen just fed a story into our own channels,” Moore said, his voice a low rasp. “A doctored transfer log, puts suspicion on Keller.”

Kaitlyn froze. Keller was Callum’s shadow, a man who had taken bullets for him twice and never once flinched. “She is framing him to stir distrust.”

“She wants Callum paranoid,” Moore agreed. “Paranoia makes men sloppy.”

Kaitlyn folded her arms, breath clouding faintly in the morning air. “We give her something bigger to chase. Make her think her plant worked… then crush her.”

Footsteps approached. Callum strode up, hair damp from a rushed shower, the faint scent of soap clinging to him.

“Moore says Reagen’s seeded fake proof,” he said, no greeting, no pleasantries. “She is fishing for a reaction.”

“She is not just fishing,” Kaitlyn corrected. “She is waiting for you to start gutting your own men. If you purge Keller, morale will crack. She wins before a shot is fired.”

Callum paced once, twice, like a caged panther, then stopped. “So we bait her back. A shipment she can’t ignore.”

“Not public,” Kaitlyn warned. “Something Keller would handle quietly. It needs to feel intimate and risky.”

Moore’s mouth twitched—his version of a nod. “She is watching closely. She will bite fast.”

Callum’s eyes hardened. “Then we will catch her teeth-first.”

By nightfall, Blackthorn had transformed. Security lights flashed brighter, throwing sharp white pools across the lawn. The east service road became a stage… two SUVs idled, their cargo bays stacked with decoy crates wrapped in tarps. Moore took the lead vehicle with Vincent. Keller manned the rear. The communications crackled softly in Kaitlyn’s headphones as she monitored from the control room, her fingers ghosting over the feeds.

Hours of nothing; only the sound of tires on gravel. Kaitlyn’s eyelids ached from staring. Then, there was movement. A flicker of metal on camera nine, gone before she could blink.

“Two o’clock, perimeter,” she murmured into the mic.

“Copy,” Callum’s low voice came back.

The SUVs rolled through the gate. For a moment, everything held their breath. Then static—camera three blinked out, then six.

“Cameras three and six are dead,” Kaitlyn whispered.

Callum’s voice sharpened. “Vincent, abort. Pull ba—”

Gunfire ripped the night. Sparks flared across SUV two’s hood. Keller’s vehicle slewed sideways, tires screeching.

“Ambush!” Moore barked.

Kaitlyn was already moving, the ledger-weight memory of her father’s warning pounding in her skull. She sprinted down the east hall, shoved through a side door, and burst onto the lawn.

A shadow detached from the hedgerow—a man in Blackthorn’s own security uniform, rifle up, sighting Keller.

“Stop!” Kaitlyn yelled, breath tearing her throat.

The gunman swung toward her. A shot cracked, smashing stone inches from her head. She dove behind a planter, grit biting her palms.

Callum appeared behind the shooter like a ghost, silent and fast. He grabbed the rifle barrel, twisted. Metal clattered on flagstone. In the same movement, he wrenched the man’s arm up behind his back and drove him to the ground.

Kaitlyn scrambled up. Her gaze snagged on the traitor’s face—Ellis, a junior guard who had shared cigarettes with Keller two nights ago.

“One of ours,” she breathed, horror turning her stomach.

Ellis spat blood and glared. “You don’t know anything. You are already too late.”

Callum clenched his jaw hard. “Secure him,” he ordered.

Vincent hauled Ellis up, zip-tied his wrists, and dragged him off toward the holding room. Callum crouched by Keller’s SUV, checking the man himself. He was alive, shaken, but not bleeding.

Kaitlyn brushed dirt from her coat with trembling hands. The adrenaline crash made her knees weak.

“She turned our own man,” she whispered. “Inside Blackthorn.”

Callum stood, the night wind tugging his coat. He scanned the dark tree line as if Reagen herself might materialize. “This wasn’t her endgame,” he said grimly. “It was her warning.”

Kaitlyn stepped closer, her voice low but fierce. “Then we give her one back.”

Callum’s eyes met hers. “We will,” he promised.

Later, the manor’s great hall glowed dimly. Keller sat nursing a bruised shoulder while Vincent and Moore questioned Ellis in the basement. Kaitlyn watched Callum by the fire, the flames etching harsh lines into his face.

“Reagen knows our patterns,” Kaitlyn said quietly. “She is in deeper than we suspected.”

Callum didn’t look up. “We have to take out the roots.”