Prologue

PROLOGUE

The room is cloaked in dim lighting. A single bulb. The air here is thick with tension, secrets, and the aroma of day-old cold coffee—rich, bitter, hinting at countless hours of intense scrutiny and high-stakes decisions.

I'm seated at a sterile metal table, perched on an uncomfortable steel chair. Shadows dance across the folder in front of me that my captain Jason Park—whom we call Cap—has just slammed against the table.

"Take a good look at that, Dallas," the man says, voice low and serious. "Burn this into your memory. Because this information can't leave the FBI building."

He's holding on to another folder as well, but that one doesn't leave his grasp yet.

As I meet his determined gaze briefly, I recognize the gravity of the situation. Then I drop my eyes to the file in question. It's thick. Whoever that is, he must have a very long rap sheet.

Taking a deep breath, I open the folder, the crisp pages revealing the image of a man, probably no older than twenty-seven. Good-looking. Dark brown eyes. Sharp facial features. Neat chin. Decent haircut.

"Isaac Thoreau," Jason supplies. "A rising star in the criminal underworld of Sin City," he adds sarcastically, "and our team's latest target."

"They get younger and younger, huh?" I chuckle darkly, surprised at my own reaction but that's perhaps because most of my targets up until this point were much older. And uglier. "What did he do? Rob a kindergarten?" But deep down I know that looks can be very deceiving. I have seen children wearing suicide bombs while in Afghanistan, willing to die for something they probably didn't even fully understand. I'm well aware the world can be cruel. Evil can take any form. Sometimes, the form of a man who looks like your average Ivy League graduate.

"Don't let these pictures fool you, Agent Bradley," Cap says. "His nickname is Blade for a reason." My boss makes a meaningful pause. "He was seventeen when he killed his own father. Stabbed him thirty-three times."

Thirty-three times?

I start flipping through the details, absorbing whatever information my eyes catch.

"Memorize every damn thing in there," Jason commands. "This kid's got a penchant for dark magic, and he's stirring up trouble we can't ignore anymore. The Bureau wants him gone."

I tear my gaze from the pages, my mind working the numbers already, calculating. "How much time did he serve? Isn't he supposed to be doing twenty to life?"

"Nine years. The only reason he got a lighter sentence is because he was seventeen at the time. He had a damn good lawyer too. Claimed the kid was not in his right mind. It was all over the media."

"How come I don't remember?"

"You were still serving overseas. You joined the Bureau a couple of years later."

I nod, my focus shifting to the task at hand. The room seems to close in as the weight of the mission settles on my shoulders.

"His guys got their hands in everything from smuggling to extortion," Cap goes on, his voice losing its cool, becoming volatile. "Now, there's a turf war brewing. Innocent people will die in the crossfire. We need to know his next big move before he makes it. Your job is to get close to Blade and get us intel that would land him where he's always belonged—back behind bars for the rest of his life."

The words hang in the air, a heavy cloak of responsibility settling over me. I meet Jason's stare, determined.

"My cover?" I ask.

Cap hands me the second folder he's been keeping to himself. Sometimes, the man likes to be a bit dramatic. "You're Cody 'Hawk' Smith now. One of the security guards at his nightclub had been arrested the other day and you're the type Thoreau's team would recruit. Make it happen while there's an opening."

I flip the folder that has my cover identity open and take it all in, the transformation that awaits me. I've been through this before, but each mission is a unique dance on the razor's edge. And this one despite its simplicity screams danger. "How much time do we have?" Sometimes, rushing undercover work is impossible and sometimes there's a clock ticking. It's stressful no matter what. You either need to rush or become someone else for far too long. And when that happens you are risking forgetting who you are altogether, risking getting sucked into the very world you're fighting. And there's nothing worse than a compromised agent.

"Six months to complete the entire operation."

"You sure that's enough time?" During my last assignment, it took me nearly a year to get my target to trust me.

"It's all we get, Special Agent Bradley. Higher-ups want it done quickly."

I realize it's possibly one of the last times in a while I'm hearing my real name spoken out loud.

"Get reading," Cap says before leaving the room.

My eyes drift to the mirror on the wall. The man staring back at me is no longer familiar. He is Cody Smith, so far just a stranger. An illusion carefully crafted for this mission. His hair hangs just past my shoulders in long black strands, a far cry from the military buzz cut he wore a decade ago. Three silver earrings loop through the shell of his left ear.

Steady as stone, my breathing slows. I return my attention to both folders on the table and start leafing through the pages, this time my focus solely on the end goal.

Find a way to get close to Isaac Thoreau.

Make sure he goes back to prison.

For good.