The rain had just started to fall as Emily Harper stepped out of Lindenbrook Medical Center, a fine mist that moistened without soaking, leaving the pavement sticky beneath her shoes and the air thick with the sharp scent of tar and cedar. She pulled her cardigan up around her neck and crossed the employee parking lot, exhaustion settling deep in her bones but softened by a sense of relief. It had been a long shift, too many charts, too little sleep—but her mind was already elsewhere.

  Hunter Kade was finally returning home.

  She could still hear his voice in her head—warm, unguarded, the way it dropped when he said her name like it was something worth protecting. She imagined him stepping through the door, duffel bag hitting the floor, his arms wrapping around her as if he was anchoring himself to something real. One more mission, he’d said. One last assignment, and I’m done. For real this time.

  Emily smiled faintly as she unlocked her car, the electronic chirp breaking the quiet. “What are we even going to do when you’re finally home?” she murmured to no one. “Actually, live like normal people?”

  She almost burst into laughter.

  Then she heard footsteps behind her.

  They weren’t rushed, not aggressive—just close.

  Emily turned around.

  A man stood a few steps away, hands at his sides: plain clothes, dark jacket, dark slacks. No badge. No uniform. His face was calm in a way that made her skin prickle—a practiced neutrality that didn’t belong in a hospital parking lot after dark.

  “Excuse me,” he said casually. “Are you Emily Harper?”

  Her smile disappeared. “Yes… Do I know you?”

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  “Not yet,” he replied, lips curling too easily. “But you know Hunter Kade.”

  Her heart sank so suddenly that she felt she couldn't breathe.

  “Hunter?” she asked quickly. "Do you know him? Is he okay?”

  The man took a step closer, leisurely, as if he had all the time in the world. “I just wanted to talk to you about him.”

  Something sharp and instinctive knotted in her gut.

  “What about him?” she asked, already pulling back.

  He tilted his head, studying her as if a variable had finally been confirmed. “So you are Emily Harper.”

  The warning inside her snapped—sudden and absolute.

  “Sir,” she said, voice tight, “I don’t know who you are. Please back up.”

  He didn’t.

  Emily ran.

  She rushed to her car, trembling as she yanked the door open and slumped into the driver’s seat. The door shut loudly behind her. She locked it. The engine sputtered briefly before roaring to life under her trembling fingers. In her peripheral vision, the man moved closer—calmly, without rushing or panicking—simply advancing, as if escape no longer mattered.

  She threw the car into reverse, tires screeching against wet pavement, and glanced in the mirror.

  He wasn’t pursuing her.

  He was smiling.

  Terror flooded her veins. She slammed the car into drive and sped onto the road, windshield wipers thrashing rain aside as her pulse pounded so hard it made her dizzy. With one hand, she grabbed her phone from the passenger seat and typed unthinkingly.

  Hunter—please give me a call. Something’s not right.

  Headlights burst in her rearview mirror.

  Too close. Closing in quickly.

  “No, no, no—” she whispered.

  The impact hit without mercy.

  Metal screeched. Her car lurched violently as something slammed into her rear quarter panel, snapping her head back and turning the world into fractured light and sound. She fought the wheel, breath tearing from her lungs, but the road slipped away beneath her tires. The guardrail rushed up to meet her.

  The glass broke apart.

  Cold air tore through the cabin.

  Then everything turned black.

  Across the street, an SUV idled, its engine humming steadily. The man sat behind the wheel, hands relaxed, eyes fixed on the wreckage as if watching the weather pass. He tapped his earpiece once.

  “It’s done,” he said evenly. “She’ll survive the crash. Proceed to Phase Two at the hospital.”

  A pause.

  “Yes,” he added. “Make it look natural.”

  The SUV shifted into gear and drove off, its taillights fading into the rain.