The red eye flight from Chicago to Miami felt less like a journey and more like a descent into a nightmare. Every hum of the jet engine echoed the nurse’s cryptic warning: There is something about Sarah’s medical history that you need to know.

"Frank?" My voice cracked in the freezing darkness of the abandoned house. "You? You were working with Marcus?"

"Marcus was a greedy idiot," Frank sneered, stepping closer, the red laser sight of his weapon settling on the center of my chest. "He thought Project 804 was about corporate embezzlement. He didn't realize your sweet, innocent wife was an undercover asset for the Department of Justice before you even met her!"

The truth hit me like a physical blow, shattering every assumption I had held for eleven years.

"Sarah... an asset?" I breathed.

"She was sent to audit Miller & Sons four years ago because our father had built an illegal bio-chemical storage vault beneath the skyscraper," Frank revealed, his eyes glittering with manic ambition. "She fell in love with you by mistake, Charles. She tried to abandon her mission to protect you. But three years ago, her handler came to force her back into the field. She shot him right here in this house... and we buried his body beneath the foundation of Project 804."

Everything clicked into place with horrifying clarity.

The blood on the hotel sheet in Miami three years later wasn't an illness. The handler hadn't died. He had tracked Sarah to our reunion in Miami, ambushed her in our hotel room while I slept, and Sarah had fought him off, wounding him again before fleeing into the morning light to keep the assassin away from me.