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The wind howled like it was mourning something. Maybe someone. Inside the trailer, the air was still, suffocating with silence. Hayamei sat in the kitchenette, cleaning the barrel of her Glock like it was a prayer. Her thoughts were spinning—plans, backup plans, consequences she hadn't yet named.
Ghost hadn't spoken in hours.
He was outside again, watching the tree line. She'd locked the door behind him—not because she didn't trust him, but because she couldn't afford to.
Trust was a luxury for people who weren't hunted.
Na'Nami stirred in the back room, murmuring in her sleep. Hayamei's hands paused over the weapon. It was never just about her anymore. Never had been.
Her daughter's life was the only thing keeping her from putting a bullet through Ghost's heart.
⸻
The door creaked open just before dawn.
Ghost stepped inside, drenched in fog and dirt. His shirt was stained with old blood. Not his, she hoped. He dropped a bag on the table—supplies, food, more burner phones, and a folder wrapped in plastic.
She stared at it.
He didn't say a word.
"What is it?" she asked.
He pulled up a chair. "Everything."
Hayamei hesitated. Then peeled open the folder.
Inside: surveillance images. Names. Flight logs. Bank statements.
And a list.
Her name was on it.
Na'Nami's too.
So was Aiyana's—crossed out.
At the top, in her father's handwriting: "Loose Ends to Tie."
Hayamei's fingers trembled. "How did you get this?"
"Your father's network isn't as secure as he thinks," Ghost said. "There are still cracks. People willing to sell for the right price."
"You bribed one of his men?"
He shook his head. "No. I scared the hell out of one of them."
She believed him.
Ghost leaned forward. "Hayamei, he's got your face on contracts. You and Na'Nami are open targets to anyone who wants a payday."
