The Texas sun did not just shine on Weedfield. It leaned on it. It was a heavy, physical weight that pressed the air out of lungs and turned the horizon into a shimmering, watery mirage.
Raina sat behind the wheel of her modified Jeep Wrangler, her left arm resting on the open window frame. The wind whipped her hair, which was a deep, striking shade of burnished copper, back from her face. She did not mind the heat. She had spent the last six months in Coahuila, deep in the Mexican desert, troubleshooting irrigation aquifers that had turned inexplicably acidic. Compared to the baking salt flats of Northern Mexico, the West Texas scrubland felt almost temperate.
She shifted gears, the transmission whining in protest as she slowed down for the city limits sign. Weedfield. Population: Declining.
Raina checked her mirrors out of habit. There was no one behind her. There was rarely anyone behind her these days, but old habits from her life in the intelligence community were etched into her neural pathways like scars. She adjusted her sunglasses, her eyes scanning the dilapidated buildings that lined the main drag.
She was thirty years old, but in this light, with the stress of the double-life finally shed like a dead skin, she looked younger. The hollows under her eyes that had defined her face during the Kabul operations were gone. Her skin was a healthy, light olive tone, bronzed by hours of fieldwork. She was no longer the pale ghost haunting embassy corridors. She was solid. She was real.
As the Jeep rolled over the cracked asphalt, her professional intuition began to itch at the base of her skull.
Raina was an engineer now. She looked at soil composition, water tables, and structural stress points. But before that, she had been an analyst of human terrain. She knew how to read a city the way a doctor reads a patient's chart, and Weedfield was sick.
But it was a specific kind of sickness.
It was too quiet. The decay felt curated.
She passed a hardware store that looked like it hadn't sold a hammer in a decade, yet the roof was sound. She passed a gas station with pumps from the eighties, but the pavement was free of oil slicks.
It's a containment zone, she thought, her fingers tapping a rhythm on the steering wheel.
The Army Corps of Engineers didn't just send people to nowhere towns for no reason. Her orders had been vague. Check the water table. Look for seismic anomalies. Report directly to the regional oversight committee.
That usually meant one thing. The government knew something was here. They knew something was wrong with the dirt, or the air, or the reality of the place. And they had steered Marcus here.
She smiled grimly as the thought solidified. Of course they did. They didn't let a weapon like Marcus Hale retire to flip burgers unless the burger joint was built on top of a nuclear silo or a hellmouth. They needed a custodian. They needed a Tier-1 operator to sit on the lid of the pot and make sure nothing boiled over, all while thinking it was his own idea to buy a fixer-upper.
They played you, Marcus, she whispered to the empty car. Just like I did. But at least they gave you a kitchen.
She saw the sign ahead. The Slipgate.
It was a retro-style diner, gleaming with a strange, defiant pride amidst the dust. The chrome was polished. The windows were clean. It looked like a movie set dropped into a ghost town.
Raina turned the wheel. The Jeep crunched over the gravel of the parking lot. She killed the engine. The silence that rushed in to fill the space was sudden and absolute.
She took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of hot engine oil and sagebrush. She checked herself in the rearview mirror. Her red hair was pulled back, but strands had escaped to frame her face. Her cheekbones were sharper than Marcus would remember. She was not the soft thing he had tried to protect. She was five-foot-ten of lean, functional muscle.
She opened the door and stepped out. Her combat boots hit the gravel with a solid thud. She stretched, her tight black tank top riding up slightly to reveal the flat, hard plane of her stomach before settling back over the waistband of her tactical cargo pants.
She grabbed her duffel bag from the passenger seat. She didn't lock the car. If anyone in this town wanted to steal a government-issue vehicle with a tracker in the chassis, they were welcome to try.
She turned toward the diner. And she knew, with the certainty of a sniper who feels eyes on her, that she was being watched.
Inside the Slipgate, the air conditioning was humming a low, anxious note.
Marcus stood behind the counter. He had been wiping the same spot on the Formica for five minutes. His hand stopped moving as the Jeep pulled into the lot.
"She is here," Liri said.
The Sorceress was seated at booth number one, the position that offered the best tactical view of the entrance and the parking lot. She was pretending to read a menu, though she had memorized it weeks ago. Her emerald eyes narrowed as she watched the figure emerge from the vehicle.
"The chariot is dusty," Pearl observed. The Siren was perched on a stool at the counter, spinning slowly. She was wearing a pair of denim shorts and a bikini top, her skin shimmering with very faint iridescent scales that caught the overhead lights. "And loud. It sounds like a dying beast."
"It's a Jeep," Marcus murmured. His eyes were locked on the woman outside.
He felt a jolt in his chest that had nothing to do with the tectonic vibrations in the basement. He had been expecting the Rainy he remembered. He had been expecting the woman in the pantsuit, the woman with the clipboard and the tired eyes, the woman who carried the weight of a thousand lies.
That was not the woman walking toward his door.
This woman moved with a predator's grace. She walked with her shoulders back, her spine straight, her head on a swivel. The sunlight caught the fire in her hair. Her arms, bare and bronzed, were roped with functional muscle. She looked dangerous. She looked capable.
She looked free.
"She does not look like a spy," Eira noted. The Valkyrie was standing by the jukebox, her arms crossed over her chest. She had dressed for the occasion in what she considered formal diplomatic attire: leather breeches, heavy boots, and a sleeveless tunic that showed off her own considerable biceps. "She walks like a shield-maiden returning from a raid."
"She looks... healthy," Marcus said, the word feeling inadequate.
"She looks like trouble," Liri corrected. "Look at her eyes. She is scanning the perimeter. She has already identified the exits. She has already assessed the structural integrity of the porch."
"She is the Alpha," Pearl whispered, stopping her spin. "Do you feel it? The water in the air moved when she stepped out. She pushes the world away to make room for herself."
Marcus swallowed. He abandoned the rag on the counter. He walked around the end of the bar, wiping his hands on his apron. He needed to be standing on his own two feet for this. He needed to meet her on open ground.
The bell above the door chimed. It was a cheerful, innocent sound that seemed entirely inappropriate for the gravity of the moment.
Raina stepped inside.
The atmosphere in the diner shifted instantly. The cool air seemed to snap with static electricity. She didn't just walk in; she occupied the space. She stopped three feet inside the door, her boots scuffing softly on the checkerboard tile.
She didn't look at Marcus immediately.
First, her eyes snapped to the left. She took in Eira by the jukebox. She noted the stance, the muscle density, the potential for violence. Threat Level: High.
Then her eyes swept to the booth. She saw Liri. She noted the silk, the posture of regal arrogance, the energy that seemed to ripple around her fingers. Threat Level: Unknown. Variable.
Finally, she looked at the counter. She saw Pearl. She noted the faint nearly untraceable scales, the wide, unblinking eyes, the unnatural stillness. Threat Level: Environmental.
Then, and only then, did she look at Marcus.
Her face softened. The tactical calculation dropped away, revealing a raw, unguarded warmth that made Marcus's knees feel weak.
"Hello, Marine," Raina said. Her voice was huskier than he remembered, seasoned by desert air and command.
"Hello, Rainy," Marcus replied. He took a step forward.
"It's Raina now," she said, a small smile playing on her lips. "New location. New spelling. New life."
"Raina," he corrected himself. He liked the way it sounded. It sounded regal.
He closed the distance between them. The tension in the room was thick enough to choke on, a cocktail of jealousy, curiosity, and old history. But for a moment, the three supernatural women in the room ceased to exist for Marcus.
He stopped in front of her. She smelled of rain on hot asphalt, of sage, and of the unique, metallic scent of ozone that always seemed to cling to her.
"You look good," he said stupidly.
"You look like you've been eating too many pancakes," she teased, reaching out to poke his chest. Her finger was hard, the nail short and practical. "But you're still solid."
"Come here," he said.
He pulled her in.
It wasn't a tentative hug. It wasn't the polite greeting of former colleagues. It was a collision. Marcus wrapped his arms around her waist, lifting her slightly off the floor. Raina arms went around his neck, her hands tangling in the short hair at the base of his skull. She pressed her face into his neck, inhaling sharply.
They held on. It was a firm, desperate embrace that spoke of explosions and extraction zones, of nights spent waiting for a phone that never rang, of the grief of lost friends and the confusing relief of survival. It lingered. One second. Two seconds. Three seconds.
The air in the room grew heavy.
From the corner by the jukebox, a low, rumbling sound began to emanate. It was deep and guttural, like a large wolf warning a rival away from a kill.
Raina didn't pull away, but her body tensed against Marcus. She felt the vibration of the growl in the air.
Eira had seen enough.
The Valkyrie pushed off the wall. Her boots stomped heavily on the tile. To her, this was not a reunion. This was an invasion. This was a foreign combatant laying claim to her territory and her commander.
"Release him," Eira snarled.
She took two large, threatening steps toward the couple. Her hands curled into fists. She was not planning to negotiate. She was planning to physically remove the redhead from the equation.
Marcus started to turn, to intervene, but he was too slow.
Raina, however, did not flinch. She kept one arm around Marcus's waist but turned her head to look over his shoulder. Her blue eyes locked onto Eira's green ones. There was no fear in them. Only a cold, mathematical assessment.
Eira took another step, her muscles coiled to spring.
Suddenly, a blur of midnight blue silk flashed across the room.
Liri stepped directly into Eira's path. The Sorceress didn't use force. She simply placed a delicate, manicured hand on the Valkyrie's bicep.
"Halt, sister," Liri commanded. Her voice was calm, but it carried the weight of authority. "This is not the time for the axe."
"She is touching him!" Eira roared, straining against Liri's hand. "She is attempting to bond!"
"She is greeting him," Liri corrected. "If you strike her now, you look like a beast. You lose the high ground. Strategy, Eira. Use your head, not your fists."
Eira wasn't listening to strategy. She surged forward, dragging Liri with her.
Then, a small hand shot out and grabbed the back of Eira's leather tunic.
Pearl had hopped off the stool. Despite her small stature, the Siren possessed the strength of the crushing depths. She planted her bare feet on the tile and hauled back with all her might.
"Heel, Eira!" Pearl chirped. "Bad dog! No biting the guests!"
The combination of the Sorceress blocking her path and the Siren anchoring her from behind brought Eira to a stumbling halt. She stood there, chest heaving, teeth bared, vibrating with unspent aggression.
Marcus finally disentangled himself from Raina. He stepped back, positioning himself between the two groups. He held his hands up, palms out.
"Easy," Marcus said, his voice dropping into his command tone. "Stand down. Everyone."
He looked at Eira. "Eira, this is Raina. She is a friend. She is here to help us keep the building from falling down."
He turned to Raina. He expected to see fear. He expected to see her reaching for her phone to call the police, or perhaps reaching for the gun he knew she had tucked in her waistband.
Instead, Raina was calm. She smoothed the front of her tank top. She looked at the three women—the snarling warrior, the diplomatic witch, and the girl with scales who was currently using Eira's tunic as a leash.
Raina nodded. It was a cool, unimpressed nod.
"Assets," Raina said. It wasn't a question. It was a statement.
She looked at Marcus. "You didn't mention on the phone that your support team was non-standard."
"I... didn't know how to explain it," Marcus admitted, rubbing the back of his neck.
Raina stepped around Marcus. She walked straight toward Eira. Liri stiffened, preparing a defensive spell, but Raina stopped just outside of striking range. She looked Eira up and down, inspecting her like a piece of heavy machinery.
"Nordic phenotype," Raina observed clinically. "High muscle density. Elevated aggression levels. You're the security detail."
Eira blinked. The clinical description confused her. Her growl died in her throat. "I am a Valkyrie. I am the chooser of the slain."
"Right," Raina said. "Security."
She turned her gaze to Liri. "And you. You moved fast. Calculated interception. You're the strategist. Intelligence and logistics?"
Liri stood a little straighter. She smoothed her hair. "I am Liri. Sorceress of the Third Circle. I command the elements."
"Atmospheric control," Raina translated. "Useful."
Finally, she looked at Pearl, who was still holding onto Eira's shirt. Pearl grinned, revealing too many teeth.
"And you," Raina said, crouching down slightly to be eye-level with the Siren. "You smell like the ocean, but we're five hundred miles from the coast. Amphibious unit? Sonar capabilities?"
"I sing," Pearl said happily. "And I can drown people with my mind."
"Psy-ops," Raina nodded, straightening up. "Got it."
The dynamic in the room shifted instantly. The girls had been ready for a fight. They had been ready for a crying, emotional ex-girlfriend who would beg for Marcus's attention. They had been ready to bully her.
All the while Nix the Glimmuck, remained out of sight yet at the ready if required.
But you couldn't bully a woman who looked at a Valkyrie and saw a security guard. You couldn't intimidate a woman who categorized a Siren as a psychological operations unit.
Raina spoke their language. She spoke the language of power, of hierarchy, of utility. She didn't see them as women competing for a man; she saw them as resources.
Liri let out a small breath she had been holding. She looked at Raina with a dawning expression of respect.
"You are... very direct," Liri noted.
"I'm an engineer," Raina said, putting her hands on her hips. "I deal with facts. The fact is, the soil composition in this valley is wrong. The water table is acidic. And this building is vibrating at a frequency that shouldn't exist."
She turned back to Marcus. Her eyes were sparkling, not with romance, but with the thrill of the puzzle.
"You really fell into it this time, didn't you, Marcus?" she asked.
"I just wanted to serve coffee," Marcus sighed.
Raina laughed. It was a dry, hearty sound. She walked over to the nearest booth and dropped her heavy duffel bag onto the seat. It landed with a metallic clank that suggested it contained more than just clothes.
"Coffee," she repeated, shaking her head. She looked around the diner, her gaze penetrating the walls, seeing the invisible strings that connected this place to the shadow organizations she worked for.
"The government certainly gave you an interesting support squad," Raina said, looking back at the trio of supernatural women. "Which confirms my theory."
"What theory?" Eira asked, finally shaking off Pearl's grip.
Raina leaned against the counter, crossing her ankles. She looked at Marcus, her expression serious.
"That you didn't find this place, Marcus," she said softly. "They steered you here. They needed a Tier-1 operator to sit on the lid of this pot. They knew you were too stubborn to leave, and too dangerous to die."
She gestured to the girls.
"And it looks like the local wildlife has decided to help you hold the lid down."
Marcus looked at Raina, then at the girls. The pieces fell into place. The cheap price of the diner. The fast approval of his permits. The blind eye the local authorities turned to the strange events.
"It's an Op," Marcus whispered.
"It's always an Op," Raina said, unzipping her bag. She pulled out a complex-looking device with antennas and a digital display. "But don't worry. I'm here now."
She switched the device on. It began to beep rapidly.
"And," Raina added, looking at Eira with a challenging smirk, "I brought my own toys."
Eira looked at her devices, then at Raina's arms, then at the confidence radiating off her. The Valkyrie grunted. It was a sound of begrudging approval.
"She is arrogant," Eira declared to the room. "I like her."
"Of course you do," Marcus muttered, reaching for the aspirin bottle under the counter. "She's just like you, only with better clearance."