Her Obsession (by Sheridan Hartin) novel Chapter 105

And So It Begins.

:

178

We fell asleep tangled up like we’d been stitched together, not just naked in the way bodies are, but naked in the quiet that followed; no plans rattling in my head, no lists crowding my chest. Her breath evened out against my collarbone; her hand found my ribs and stayed there. For a little while, the farm was nothing but the two of us and the soft creak of the old house settling around us.

Morning came too soon, sunlight cutting a pale line through the curtains. I woke first, watching her for a long second, the rise and fall of her back, the way her mouth softened when she slept and a stupid, feral kind of peace filled me. I kissed the knuckle of her thumb, then rolled off carefully so I didn’t crush her, padding to the basin to splash cold water on my face and scrub sleep from my eyes.

We dressed quickly. Sage pulled on her usual practical black boots and jacket. She moved like she always did: efficient, no fuss, but there was the ghost of a smile tugging at one corner of her mouth I’d earned last night. I caught her once before she left the room and kissed her hard, short; no words, just the promise that I’d be back. Breakfast was the noisy, chaotic mess that made this place feel like a real home. Ma was already ladling out porridge like a woman who could feed an army with a grin and a complaint. She spotted us coming in and stomped over, wagging a dishrag. “You two look like the bloody drowned, get some warmth in you before you leave!” She kissed Sage on the cheek like she’d known the kid forever, then jabbed me in the ribs. “And you, Conner O’Neill, don’t be letting your mother scald the pot waiting on you next time. Come around more, aye?”

I grinned, leaned in and kissed her forehead. “I’ll see you soon, Ma.” She scolded me for not coming around enough, as she always did, and I let her. It’s small and real, and it mattered. Pa came over afterwards. He gave me the kind of handshake that says more than words, a firm, old–fight grip. “I’ll be watching your six the whole time,” he said, voice low and steady. “Good luck, son.” The way he said it landed on me heavier than any prayer. I shoved my hands in my pockets, met his eyes, and nodded. “We’ll make it count.”

Then the rest was motion, last checks, nods, the quiet clack of boots as teams gathered. We split into pairs for flights with staggered tickets and different routings, so we didn’t travel as a single unit. Nico grinned like a kid, dragging his cases and muttering about disguise labels and packing jammers in fishing boxes. Naomi and Liam moved off with the rookies in tow, their weapons and nerves taut but under control. Sage linked her fingers through mine once, squeezed, and slipped into the flow like she belonged there more than she ever had anywhere else.

I watched her climb into the vehicle that would take her off to the airport and thought of all the things we were about to do, the quiet, the jamming, the strikes. It was ugly work, but it had to be done. We boarded commercial flights in pairs, ridiculous and mundane at once. Coffee in the airport, fake smiles at the counters, passports that didn’t belong to anyone who’d ever known us. The planes were too small to carry the weight we had, but they were perfect for blending into a crowd. Separate tickets, staggered departures, meet at the safehouse off–peak, the choreography we’d rehearsed in the office played through my head like a tape. I buckled my seatbelt, glanced at Sage one last time across a sea of strangers, and felt the old buzz: that sweet edge of being alive, of being about to put a plan into motion. We were ready. We were going to fuck some shit up, but clean, precise and surgically. It felt like more than revenge. It felt like the start of taking something back, for Sage, for the other ghosts, but for me as well. I wanted to take back the freedom to have my girl, as mine, no one else’s.

Sage

The second my boots hit the tarmac, everything in me sharpened. Gone was the sleepy quiet of the flight, the pretend normalcy of sitting shoulder to shoulder with businessmen and mothers and kids who had no idea what kind of war we were walking into. The mask slipped back over me as naturally as breathing. Ghost mode. Eyes up, scanning. Not just the crowd funnelling toward the terminal, but the lines of security cameras, the gaps between baggage carts, the pacing of airport staff. Every detail mattered, exits, choke points, the way a guard’s gaze lingered a fraction too long. It wasn’t paranoia; it was survival. Conner walked just behind me, relaxed to anyone else’s eyes, but 1 could feel him humming with the same tension I carried. His hand brushed the small of my back once, not possessive, not distracting, just grounding. A reminder he was there. Then it was gone, and we blended back into the moving crowd.

Inside the terminal, the air was heavy with recycled coffee and the shuffle of tired travellers. I kept my head down, hoodie up, but my eyes never stopped. Watching. Tracking. A couple lingered too close to the gate door? Noted. Airport cop scratching his ear while his radio hissed low? Noted. Every oddity was catalogued and filed until I had a mental map of who belonged and who might not. Nico was already out ahead, lugging his case like a tourist too tired to care, but I saw the way his eyes darted to reflective surfaces, catching shadows. Naomi and Liam had peeled off to another exit, rookies tucked between them like they were shepherding sheep. We weren’t supposed to look like a unit, and we didn’t. But I tracked them all anyway, like strings tied to my ribs. When we passed through the last sliding glass

1/2

12:02 Tue, Oct 21

And So It Begins.

จ

doors, the cool bite of outside air hit my face, and my pulse kicked faster. Out here was different. Out here was open ground, and I knew the rules: exposure is death, cover is life. I shifted my bag higher, adjusted my stride, and let the ghost settle over me entirely.

No jokes, no softness. Just razor focus.

Yakov’s world was close now, and I was back in mine.

Chapter Comments

9