The rain hadn't stopped.
It poured against the cracked asphalt like the sky itself was trying to drown the city. Inside San's black SUV, the world was a wash of shadows and streaked lights.
Jenny sat frustrated on the passenger seat. Her apartment was gone. Her cover was slipping through her fingers. And somewhere out there, Rose was moving pieces Jenny didn't even know were on the board.
Beside her, San drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting near the gun at his hip.
Neither spoke.
Until the burner phone in Jenny's pocket vibrated once. Twice.
She fished it out with shaking fingers.
UNKNOWN NUMBER: Warehouse 17B. Come alone. 30 minutes. Or the truth dies with me.
She inhaled sharply.
San's eyes flicked to her. "Who?"
"A message," she said tightly. "I need to go."
"Not alone," he said immediately.
"I have to."
"No you don't!"
Jenny stared at him, something breaking loose inside her chest. Part fear. Part fury. Part something she didn't dare name.
"San," she said quietly, "you don't even know if you can trust me."
"No," he agreed. "But I know I can't bear to let you go there alone."
She felt her heart drop into her stomach.
Warehouse 17B was right ahead. No guards. It was an obvious trap.
Which only made it worse.
San parked two blocks away. They moved in silence, blending into the storm, San's hand brushing lightly against the small of her back — not guiding, not controlling. Just there.
It should've felt like a leash.
It didn't.
It felt like armor.
Inside, the warehouse was cold and abandoned. Metal creaked overhead. Water dripped in the distance.
And standing in the center of the open floor—
"Detective Colhart," Jenny whispered.
Her handler. Her contact inside the Bureau. The man who had recruited her for this mission a year ago.
He looked different now. Leaner. Harder. And scared.
"Jenny," . "You shouldn't be here."
San stepped forward before she could answer. "Who the hell is this?"
Colhart's eyes darted between them. "You brought him?"
"Start talking," San said coldly. "Or I start shooting."
Colhart swallowed hard. "There's not much time. They're already coming."
"Who?" Jenny demanded.
Colhart's hands trembled as he pulled a flash drive from his coat pocket and tossed it onto the ground between them.
"That has everything. The real Project Siren files. The parts they didn't want you to see."
Jenny didn't move to pick it up.
Colhart ran a shaking hand over his face. "Jenny, you were never supposed to make it this far. You were supposed to disappear six months ago. An 'accident.' A blown cover. We had orders."
"What do you even mean?" she whispered.
San was a statue at her side, gun still raised.
Colhart's gaze flickered to him. "Your bosses at the Bureau weren't after Moretti's empire. They were after him. San. They didn't care about shutting down the organization. They wanted him dead. Quietly. Conveniently."
Jenny shook her head. "No. They told me—"
"They lied."
He took a step closer. San's gun cocked audibly.
Colhart froze, hands up.
"You were bait," Colhart said brokenly. "We sent you in to get close to him. To find vulnerabilities. And when the time was right—someone else was supposed to take the shot."
Jenny's knees almost buckled.
San didn't move, didn't blink. His silence was worse than anger.
"Then why am I still alive?" San asked flatly.
Colhart laughed bitterly. "Because she didn't follow the plan. Jenny went off-script."
Jenny's nails dug into her palms.
"You caught feelings," Colhart said, voice almost pitying. "Didn't you?"
Thunder cracked overhead.
Jenny opened her mouth. Nothing came out.
San finally spoke, voice low and sharp enough to cut steel. "You expect me to believe this?"
"No," Colhart said. "I expect you to survive it. Because they're still coming for both of you. And when they find you, they won't ask questions."
San shifted slightly, positioning himself between Jenny and the door without thinking.
Jenny forced herself to focus. "Why now? Why tell me this?"
Colhart's face twisted. "Because I'm not on their payroll anymore. I'm on someone else's. And the people who hired me don't want you dead — they want you delivered."
Jenny felt her Soul leave her body. "Delivered where?"
Colhart smiled grimly. "To Moretti's enemies."
A sharp noise outside—boots splashing through puddles.
Colhart flinched. "It's too late."
He tossed one last glance at Jenny — almost regretful.
"Fighting, Parker," he said.
Then he turned and ran toward the back of the warehouse.
San caught Jenny's wrist. "Move."
They ran.
Gunfire erupted behind them. Bullets slammed into metal beams and shattered glass. San pushed Jenny to his front where he could see her, and controlled how they ran.
They went down the alley just as the van made a halt at the front of the warehouse.
More agents. Not Bureau-issued. Mercenaries.
As fast as he could, San grabbed Jenny's hand and sent her into the shadows.
They ran into an abandoned diner across the street .
For a long moment, they just stood there.
Silent.
Alive.
Broken.
Jenny leaned on the wall trying to catch her breath.
San faced her, face unreadable.
"You want to tell me," he said finally, "why were you supposed to kill me?"
Her throat closed.
"That wasn't the plan ," she whispered
"Did you even care?" he asked, voice deep and raw.
Tears blurred her vision. "I didn't mean i-tttt. I didn't want to."
He stared at her.
And then—so quietly she almost missed it—he said, "But you did."
A statement. Not a question.
Jenny wiped her face roughly. "I'm sorry, San."
"Sorry's not going to save either of us now."
The flash drive burned a hole in her pocket.
The truth was inside it.
But so was the end of everything.
San turned away from her, running a hand through his soaked hair.
"We're not done," he said. "Not even close."
Jenny wanted to reach for him. To explain. To fix it.
Instead, she stayed where she was. Frozen.
Outside, more vans rolled through the streets, headlights cutting th
rough the rain like knives.
They were being hunted.
Together.
And the worst part?
The real enemy wasn't just out there.
It might be hiding inside that flash drive.
And inside her own heart.