Chapter 319

Dallas rolled past them without glancing at the suitcase. His mind was already thousands of miles away, calculating logistics, flight paths, kill zones.

“I’m sleeping in the study,” Dallas announced, not looking at Eliza. “Do not disturb me.”

He rolled into the hallway. The study door slammed shut, the sound echoing through the penthouse like a gunshot.

Eliza flinched. She stood there, staring at the closed door, feeling her heart shatter into dust.

Azalea dropped her backpack. She walked over and wrapped her arms around Eliza’s waist, burying her face in Eliza’s stomach. The hug was fierce, desperate.

“Don’t cry,” Azalea mumbled into the fabric of Eliza’s dress. “Dad is just a colossal idiot. A broken, stupid idiot.”

Eliza stroked Azalea’s hair, her fingers trembling. “He wants a divorce, Azalea.”

Azalea stiffened. She pulled back, looking up at Eliza with wide, shocked eyes. “What? Is he insane?”

“He said he’s tired,” Eliza whispered. “He said it was all a game.”

A strange look crossed Azalea’s face — not just anger, but determination. A terrifying, adult kind of resolve.

“He’s not tired,” Azalea said quietly. “He’s sick. In the head. And the leg.” She squeezed Eliza’s hands. “Eliza, listen to me. No matter what happens — you are the best thing that ever happened to this family. Okay? Don’t let him make you forget that.”

“Where are you going?” Eliza asked, sensing the finality in the girl’s tone.

“To bed,” Azalea lied. She grabbed her backpack. “I’m just really tired. Goodnight, Eliza.”

She grabbed the handle of the suitcase and dragged it toward her bedroom.

Eliza watched her go, too emotionally drained to question the suitcase. She walked into the guest room — the room she used to stay in before they were them — and collapsed onto the bed. She didn’t take off her shoes. She just curled into a ball and stared at the wall, waiting for the tears to stop.

They didn’t.

Inside the study, Dallas sat in the dark.

The only light came from the glowing screen of a satellite phone. He held it to his ear, his hand shaking slightly.

“Simmons,” he said, his voice a low rasp. “Is the team ready?”

“Assets are in place, Boss,” a voice crackled over the line. “But the zone is hot. Estevan Norton has moved up the timeline. If you come back, they will be waiting.”

“Good,” Dallas said. He coughed, tasting copper. He grabbed a tissue and pressed it to his mouth. It came away red. “I have some debts to settle.”

He hung up. He looked at the map of the Syrian border spread out on his desk.

This was a one-way trip. He knew it.

Silence settled over the penthouse. Hours passed.

The digital clock on the guest room nightstand read 3:14 AM.

Eliza heard a noise. A soft click. The sound of the front door closing.

She sat up. Hope flared in her chest — painful and bright. Dallas? Is he coming to apologize? Is he leaving?

She ran barefoot into the living room.

It was empty. The lights were off.