Chapter 4

I thought this was death.

Then—

"Babe, here's your pick-me-up."

My eyes snapped open.

Sunlight blinded me, AC blew cool against my skin. I was in a moving car, passenger seat, seatbelt across my chest.

Most importantly, Ryan was smiling at me, offering Starbucks coffee.

Iced Americano.

I stared at the cup, mind blank. Three seconds later, memories flooded back—the warehouse, the assault, the media circus, Ryan's betrayal, Sophia's Porsche, the bloodstained bathwater.

I died.

I fucking died.

Yet here was Ryan, very much alive, wearing that light blue shirt, holding that coffee, smiling so tenderly it made me sick.

"What's wrong?" Ryan asked, noticing my stare. He shook the cup playfully. "Don't want it? I added caramel, just how you like it."

My fingers trembled as I took the coffee, checking my phone.

3:42 PM.

Fifty-eight minutes before the warehouse.

I'd gone back.

Holy shit.

I'd actually gone back in time.

"Ella? You look pale." Ryan reached for my forehead. "Did lunch upset your stomach?"

I jerked away, nearly spilling the coffee. Ryan paused, and I realized my reaction was too strong.

Deep breath. Stay calm.

If I acted strange now, he'd get suspicious. I needed to perform, just like he had for two years.

"I'm fine," I forced a smile. "Just nervous. Three escaped convicts—that's serious."

Ryan smiled, taking my free hand. His palm was warm, just like before.

Before? Christ, I'm thinking in terms of past lives now.

"Don't be scared. I'm here," Ryan said, gaze intensely sincere. "I promise I won't let anything happen to you."

I looked into those green eyes that once made my heart race, now only making me nauseous. But I nodded, even leaning against his shoulder.

"Thank you, Ryan," I said softly. "I'm so lucky to have you."

He smiled with satisfaction, kissing my forehead.

I swallowed bile.

While he drove, I secretly poured the coffee into the drainage hole beneath my seat. It trickled slowly, releasing that sweet caramel scent.

Last time, I drank that coffee. This time? Hell no.

As we drove, my mind raced.

I remembered everything.

Most importantly, I remembered the emergency sedative in my FBI kit.

Standard issue for subduing violent suspects. Once injected, it caused hallucinations and muscle weakness for three to four hours.

I never used it before.

This time, Ryan would get the full experience.

"Almost there," Ryan said as we entered the East District, scenery turning to shit. "If you're nervous, we can just observe from outside."

"No," I said firmly. "We've come this far. We can't leave empty-handed. Besides, you're right—this is our chance."

Ryan's eyes lit up, like a hunter watching prey take bait.

"I knew you'd understand," he said. "After this, we can put that down payment on the oceanview place."

The oceanview apartment. He'd said that before too.

I smiled sweetly: "I can't wait."

We stopped two hundred yards from the warehouse. Ryan killed the engine and looked at me.

"Remember, we're just scouting," he said. "The moment we see anything, we retreat."

Retreat? You mean to Sophia's Porsche, right?

"I know," I said, checking my gear. Gun, cuffs, radio, and—the emergency kit.

I opened it, pretending to organize while actually finding the sedative. There—three syringes in a shock-proof bag.

While Ryan got flashlights from the trunk, I palmed one syringe and slipped it into my jacket.

Then I pulled out my backup phone—a cheap burner all FBI agents carry.

I powered it up, fingers flying. As a profiler, I'd received basic cyber training. The dark web wasn't mysterious; it just needed specific software and nodes.

Three minutes later, I'd accessed the chat room from before—Marcus and his crew's contact point.

I sent a message to Marcus's partner, mimicking Marcus's style:

"Change of plans. That ADA and his bitch are planning to silence us at Warehouse 7. Bring hardware, take them out."

Send.

The message showed "Read," good.

Last time, Ryan delivered me to criminals.

This time, I'd deliver Ryan to them.

Fair trade.