Page 57 of Shadows Relived
Callen worked his hand on the steering wheel, his jaw growing tighter. “I’ll take the hit. Just get me the senator.”
Tex exhaled hard. “Fine. But if you die before I get to say ‘I told you so,’ I’m gonna be very pissed.”
The line clicked, and a text came through a few seconds later. Location: Savannah, GA. Private estate. Top security.
“Appreciate it,” Callen muttered.. “Do me a favor, tell Dane if I don’t check in bytonight?—”
Tex cut him off from saying more. “You’ll check in. Or I come hunting.”
Callen almost smiled. “Copy that.”
He ended the call, tossing the phone on the passenger seat as he started the SUV. Outside, the woods held steady and dark as he pressed on the gas, turning onto the winding dirt road that would spit him out onto a back highway. The SUV rolled out slowly, tires crunching gravel and pine needles, until the shadows swallowed the safe house behind him, leaving him with the echo of everything he wasn’t saying.
This wasn’t just a mission anymore.
This was personal, and this time, he wasn’t running from something.
He was running toward it.
The asphalt hummed beneath the tires as the SUV chewed up the miles. Pines blurred past on either side, tall and lean like sentries, silent witnesses to the ghosts he carried.
Callen gripped the wheel tighter, fighting the disgust and anger that ripped through him right then.
It wasn’t just adrenaline or strategy fueling him now. It was a memory. Pain with a jagged edge. A conversation he’d buried under years of missions and silence.
He’d been Twenty when Roger Harrington called him in, asking to “have a word” after Sunday service. Their families had known each other for years, his father and the senator having served together in the Guard back in their twenties. Callen had grown up hearing stories about how Roger had ambition, while his father had heart. Henever expected the day would come when those differences would matter.
The senator poured two cups of coffee, set one on the edge of the desk, but didn’t motion for Callen to sit. His tone wasn’t angry; it was worse—measured.
“You’re a good kid, Callen. Your father raised you right. You’ve got drive, discipline… potential.” Roger paused, turning the mug in his hand. “But you need to understand something about my daughter. She’s young. Naïve. She believes life is a storybook, and right now, you’re the hero in her tale.”
Callen had opened his mouth to respond, but Roger had continued, soft and deliberate.
“She needs someone who can stand beside her in this world, not someone who’ll be crushed by it. You think you can survive the weight of politics? Reporters? Scandal? They’ll drag you both through hell, and when it’s done, she’ll hate you for it.”
Callen had felt his pulse climb. “With respect, sir, that’s her choice.”
Roger smiled faintly, like he pitied him. “You remind me of your father. Always thinking loyalty can change the world.” He leaned forward. “And it’s not her choice. It’s mine. I won’t let my daughter sacrifice her future for a boy who hasn’t built his own yet.”
He slid a folder across the desk. Inside Callen glanced over military placement forms, pre-signed recommendations, even a training fast-track Callen hadn’t asked for.
“You want to make something of yourself? Be someone she can be proud of? Prove it. You’ll thank mesomeday.”
Callen had left that house hollowed out. He’d told himself it was temporary. That he’d come back stronger. But deep down, he’d known it wasn’t a challenge; it was exile dressed as opportunity.
And somewhere along the line, between firefights and deployments, he stopped trying to come back at all.
That’s how Wraith was born—out of a cowardly silence and a father’s manipulation.
CHAPTER 21
THE FIRST THINGSHE noticed when she woke up was that the warmth beside her was gone. She stirred slowly, her senses easing into consciousness before her eyes did, a lazy smile curving her lips before her fingers stretched across the mattress and found only cool sheets. Her smile faltered as she opened her eyes to an empty space where Callen should’ve been.
Still, she didn’t panic, assuming he was merely awake and getting coffee, and didn’t want to wake her.
She lay there for a moment, letting the remnants of sleep slip away as she remembered the feel of his arms wrapped tight around her during the night. The safety she’d felt. The way his breath had slowed only after hers did, like he couldn’t rest unless she did first. The weight of his arm slung protectively over her waist, as if even in sleep, he was guarding her. For the first time in days, she’d slept without one eye open, without dread sitting like a boulder on her chest. Her heart ached in a way that wasboth new and familiar, perhaps even something that felt close to home.
She rolled to her side, pressing her cheek into the pillow that still carried his scent: wood smoke, leather, and something uniquely Callen. A quiet strength, a man trying to bear the weight of the world without complaint. She hated how well he did it, but counted on it as well.
