She met his gaze. I never stopped. The words hit him harder than the storm outside. They pushed through the narrow hall, water dripping from the ceiling. Eddie followed, muttering prayers under his breath.
As they reached the end, Jack glanced back. At the bar, the empty glasses, the ghosts that would never quite leave him. For a second, he almost turned back, but then the ceiling shook. The window shattered. A red beam cut across the floor where he'd been seconds earlier.
Grace yelled. "Move! " Jack gritted his teeth as the tunnel door swung open. "Where does this lead? " she shouted over the noise.
"Somewhere they can't follow," he said. They slipped inside, closing the hatch just as another explosion rattled the walls. Darkness swallowed them. The sound of rain faded, replaced by the drip of underground water and the echo of boots in a narrow tunnel. Grace caught her breath, her voice barely a whisper.
"What now? " Jack looked ahead into the dark. "Now," he said quietly, "we remind them why they were afraid of ghosts in the first place. From far above, through the cracks of the storm came the sound of approaching helicopters. And in the shadows below, the old Marine's eyes burned with the same fire he'd left on that battlefield decades ago.
" Grace turned to him, her voice unsteady. Jack, what's down there? He didn't answer. He just smiled faintly. Something we left behind, he said.
And as the tunnel lights flickered back to life, the glow illuminated a row of old metal cases, each stamped with a single word. Reaper. The storm had slowed to a drizzle when Jack Reynolds rolled out of O'Malley's pub. The street glistened beneath the amber street lights, puddles reflecting the faint red glow of traffic lights changing at the corner. The wheels of his chair hissed against wet asphalt.
He didn't hurry. Men like him stopped running years ago. Behind him, Grace jogged to catch up. Rain matting her hair to her forehead. "Jack, where are you going?
" "Nowhere special," he said softly. Just tired of hiding in plain sight. The low rumble of engines broke through the quiet. Black SUVs moved slowly down the block, headlights cutting through the mist like search lights. They didn't need sirens, their presence alone said everything.
Grace glanced at him, panic flickering in her eyes. They found us. Jack gave a faint, tired smile. Took them long enough. She stepped in front of him.
You can't just sit there. I've been sitting for years, kid, he said. Doesn't mean I'm powerless. The SUVs stopped 30 ft away. Doors opened in perfect unison.
Six men stepped out. Dark suits, hard eyes, no insignia. They didn't have to announce who they were. Jack knew that look. Government cleanup crew.
One of them called out, "Jack Reynolds, United States Marine Corps. Call sign. Reaper One. " The title hung in the air like thunder. "You broke operational silence," or the man continued.
Command wants you to come quietly. Jack chuckled under his breath. Funny thing, son. Quiet's how they erased me in the first place. The lead agents jaw tightened.
You know what'll happen if you resist. I'm not resisting, Jack said. I'm remembering. Grace moved closer to his side. You're not doing this alone.
He looked up at her, eyes soft despite the steel in his voice. Grace, this isn't your fight. Yes, it is, she said. You taught me what honor looks like. I'm not letting them take you like this.
Before either could speak again, the agents advanced. Grace drew her sidearm instinctively. Jack reached over, pressing his hand gently over hers. No guns, he whispered. Not tonight.