He swore under his breath as she slid into a harness that fit snugly under her shoulder and strapped a knife to her thigh and shoved another into her boot. She was readying herself for a fight. She stuck something in her hair and added more weapons to her belt. He was particularly impressed with the way she moved, the efficiency. He remembered her as a fragile creature he needed to protect. Rose was built small, like a little pixie. It was strange to see how she handled weapons with such smooth familiarity. He had to be careful of underestimating her. She was a GhostWalker—the same as he was. That meant enhanced psychic ability. She’d grown up with military training. She was probably every bit as lethal as he was or—he conceded—more.

I have to be the one, Mack. She knows me. I helped her escape Whitney’s breeding program. Even thinking about the vile place enraged him. Thinking about what he was forced to do to Rose sickened him. She’s my responsibility, Mack. I have to do this.

Mack swore under his breath, but each of them, as connected telepathically as they were, heard it. We’re on a fucking mission here, Kane. Don’t blow this.

Ethan moved as if he’d been a racehorse waiting at the starting gate, flowing across the expanse of sand, all fluid muscle, sprinting in silence for the alley. Give me a minute to get into position to cover you.

Kane stepped back to give Ethan room to move past him. Ethan flashed him a grin and moved out into the street, a blurring shadow sliding away from the lights. One guard turned his head toward Ethan, and Kane switched his knife to a throwing position, but the guard turned away, obviously not able to track the shadow as it went up the side of the building across from the alley. Ethan was nearly impossible to see without night vision, blending into the side of the building, clinging like a spider as he went up the impossible angle without climbing gear.