and Honor was able to take strength from that to continue on. Nealon would find her. She knew that too. Somehow, he would.
Hours passed and still she walked, not seeing or hearing anything but rodents scurrying around her and the sound of dripping water, her feet wading through inches of liquid she was thinking she probably didn’t want to know the details of. Periodically, light filtered down on her from an unknown source.
She turned a corner and paused, straining her ears. Three pairs of footsteps came from the left, a good distance away yet. Honor caught certain words, such as “Ryder” and “UDs”. His name was like a punch to her chest and her breath left her in a painful gasp.
Honor shoved the last image she remembered of him and his grief-stricken eyes from her mind. She had to think, to stay focused. Calm again, she determined it had to be UDKs.
Instinctively knowing she would not receive a welcome reception from them, she hurried her pace, intent on putting as much space between her and them as quickly as she could. It didn’t matter that she used to be one; what mattered that whatever she was, Honor knew it was no longer a UDK. At least, that wasn’t all she was.
She heard him, felt him, before she saw him. The air around her crackled with awareness, with the faint scent of cinnamon.
Honor whirled around. It took a minute for her to realize who was staring at her so intently. He looked the same, but different in a way. His face was harder, his stance edgy. Ryder’s dark blond hair was shorter than she remembered him having it, his green eyes shining in the pale light. He seemed bulkier, his muscles carved and toned with more definition.
Shock froze her in place and her stomach rolled over and over. Hatred should have been boiling through her veins and Honor couldn’t comprehend why it wasn’t. Maybe because the last time she’d seen his face, it had been filled with devastation, the pain in his eyes unbearable to look at.
He inhaled sharply and whispered in a ragged, choked voice, “Are you a ghost?”
The building was brown, large , and abandoned. None of the Hilltop businesses had deemed it worthy to occupy once the furniture store went out of business a few years back. Rumors boasted of ghosts, flickering lights, and strange noises surrounding the place. No one wanted to touch the property. It was perfect to run an undercover organization out of.
Isaac parked his car two blocks down, careful to keep it on a back street, and walked briskly toward the rundown structure. Hilltop, Wisconsin was about a ten minute drive from Anderson Junction. It was a small farming community with a population somewhere around five thousand and a low crime rate.
He made a cursory glance of the buildings and trees around him, spotted nothing amiss, and released the steel door. He wasn’t naïve enough to think no one was spying on him, but as long as he wasn’t approached or attacked, he considered it a winning situation. The heavy door creaked upon opening, alerting those within that they were no longer alone. He didn’t see the guns trained on him, but he felt them. It was instinctual, the knowledge imbedded into his pores; he was being watched. The air crackled with tension as he slowly made his way into the grimy, empty room. Torn sheets covered the windows the length of the wall, broken furniture all that remained of the prior business. Though the sun shone outside, it was dark and gray inside the warehouse, dust flittering through the air in streams of soot.
The open area gave the appearance of disuse and of being uninhabited. It was a ruse, of course. There were two stories to the building, the upper used for housing, the lower, in a back room not seen from the front, for mostly unknown operations. Isaac headed for the back, brushing cobwebs away as he walked. His footsteps echoed and uneasiness lodged itself between his shoulder blades like two ominous eyes.
“Don’t come any
Hours passed and still she walked, not seeing or hearing anything but rodents scurrying around her and the sound of dripping water, her feet wading through inches of liquid she was thinking she probably didn’t want to know the details of. Periodically, light filtered down on her from an unknown source.
She turned a corner and paused, straining her ears. Three pairs of footsteps came from the left, a good distance away yet. Honor caught certain words, such as “Ryder” and “UDs”. His name was like a punch to her chest and her breath left her in a painful gasp.
Honor shoved the last image she remembered of him and his grief-stricken eyes from her mind. She had to think, to stay focused. Calm again, she determined it had to be UDKs.
Instinctively knowing she would not receive a welcome reception from them, she hurried her pace, intent on putting as much space between her and them as quickly as she could. It didn’t matter that she used to be one; what mattered that whatever she was, Honor knew it was no longer a UDK. At least, that wasn’t all she was.
She heard him, felt him, before she saw him. The air around her crackled with awareness, with the faint scent of cinnamon.
Honor whirled around. It took a minute for her to realize who was staring at her so intently. He looked the same, but different in a way. His face was harder, his stance edgy. Ryder’s dark blond hair was shorter than she remembered him having it, his green eyes shining in the pale light. He seemed bulkier, his muscles carved and toned with more definition.
Shock froze her in place and her stomach rolled over and over. Hatred should have been boiling through her veins and Honor couldn’t comprehend why it wasn’t. Maybe because the last time she’d seen his face, it had been filled with devastation, the pain in his eyes unbearable to look at.
He inhaled sharply and whispered in a ragged, choked voice, “Are you a ghost?”
The building was brown, large , and abandoned. None of the Hilltop businesses had deemed it worthy to occupy once the furniture store went out of business a few years back. Rumors boasted of ghosts, flickering lights, and strange noises surrounding the place. No one wanted to touch the property. It was perfect to run an undercover organization out of.
Isaac parked his car two blocks down, careful to keep it on a back street, and walked briskly toward the rundown structure. Hilltop, Wisconsin was about a ten minute drive from Anderson Junction. It was a small farming community with a population somewhere around five thousand and a low crime rate.
He made a cursory glance of the buildings and trees around him, spotted nothing amiss, and released the steel door. He wasn’t naïve enough to think no one was spying on him, but as long as he wasn’t approached or attacked, he considered it a winning situation. The heavy door creaked upon opening, alerting those within that they were no longer alone. He didn’t see the guns trained on him, but he felt them. It was instinctual, the knowledge imbedded into his pores; he was being watched. The air crackled with tension as he slowly made his way into the grimy, empty room. Torn sheets covered the windows the length of the wall, broken furniture all that remained of the prior business. Though the sun shone outside, it was dark and gray inside the warehouse, dust flittering through the air in streams of soot.
The open area gave the appearance of disuse and of being uninhabited. It was a ruse, of course. There were two stories to the building, the upper used for housing, the lower, in a back room not seen from the front, for mostly unknown operations. Isaac headed for the back, brushing cobwebs away as he walked. His footsteps echoed and uneasiness lodged itself between his shoulder blades like two ominous eyes.
“Don’t come any
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