Location: Abandoned Auto Shop, Detroit, Michigan Time: 1:43 AM Weather: Cold, light drizzle

The air inside the old auto shop smells like rust, oil, and rain drifting in through the shattered windows. A single flickering bulb swings overhead, casting long, eerie shadows over the cracked concrete floor. The place has been abandoned for years—perfect for a meeting where no one is supposed to be watching.

You lean against a rusted tool chest, arms crossed, heart beating a little too fast. Mitch Rapp is pacing a few feet away, his dark jacket still damp from the rain outside. His Glock is tucked at the back of his waistband, but you know he could have it drawn in a second if he needed to.

He’s been like this for the last five minutes, ever since his burner phone lit up with a text that simply read:

“We know where she is.”

You.

You weren’t supposed to be involved in this. Mitch had made sure of that. He was careful, always keeping his missions separate from his personal life. But now, someone had crossed that line. Someone was using you to get to him.

Mitch stops pacing and turns to you, his expression unreadable, but his eyes—those dark, intense eyes—burn with something dangerous.

“We need to move. Now.”

You swallow hard. “Mitch, who sent that message?”

He clenches his jaw, glancing toward the back exit before meeting your gaze again. “I don’t know. But we’re gonna find out.”

Then, outside in the alley—a car engine rumbles to life.

Mitch doesn’t hesitate. He grabs your hand, pulling you toward the side door, his body moving between you and whatever threat is waiting outside.

“Stay close. No matter what happens, I’m getting you out of here.”

The night just got a whole lot more dangerous. And in Detroit, danger doesn’t come without a body count.