Caleb Rourke stood twenty yards away.
Seven years disappeared.
I remembered Sarajevo.
I remembered snow.
I remembered the radio cutting out.
I remembered searching through a burning safe house and finding enough physical evidence to convince three governments that Caleb Rourke was d/e/@/d.
I remembered his sister crying into my shoulder.
Now he walked toward me.
Older.
Thinner.
A scar ran from his left temple to his jaw.
But it was him.
“Elena.”
My throat tightened.
“Don’t.”
He stopped.
“Don’t what?”
“Say my name like you didn’t disappear for seven years.”
Behind me, Cole and the others spread across the runway.
Caleb glanced at them.
“You brought everybody.”
“You told me not to trust them.”
“I told you one of them was compromised.”
“Which one?”
Caleb looked directly at Noah Briggs.
Briggs smiled.
Then everything happened at once.
Briggs pulled a compact g/u/n from beneath his jacket.
Cole moved before I did.
He slammed Briggs’s wrist against the aircraft frame.
The g/u/n fired harmlessly into the runway.
Pike tackled Briggs from the side.
Tara dragged Reed behind the landing gear.
Caleb’s people raised their we/@/pons.
“Don’t shoot!” I shouted.
