Mission : US [ MOVING TO GALATEA]

POV: Mike

I stepped off the jet with my suitcase in hand, the warm evening air brushing against my skin as the sun dipped low on the horizon, setting the sky on fire with hues of orange and red. Johnny was right behind me, dragging his feet, muttering something about losing the coin toss.

My Jeep was parked at the airport, just where I left it. I popped the trunk and helped Johnny load the suitcase into his car. That damn case was the result of our last mission—a grueling two weeks in Korea that had tested our patience and our bodies. Johnny lost the bet, which meant he had the privilege of delivering it to the agency before heading home.

“See you Monday,” he said, shutting the trunk with a heavy sigh.

“If they don’t call us in before then,” I muttered, rubbing the back of my neck.

Johnny scoffed. “We just got back. They wouldn’t dare.”

I smirked, knowing better.

The moment I got home, I poured myself a whiskey, took a long, scalding shower, and collapsed into bed. The plan? A weekend of doing absolutely nothing—junk food, TV, and silence. No missions. No gunfire. No adrenaline spikes. Just me and my shitty choice of action movies.

But, of course, that plan was dead before it even started.

The shrill ring of my phone cut through my sleep. Groggy, I reached for it and squinted at the screen. Johana.

Shit.

I debated ignoring it, but I knew better.

“Hello, boss,” I grumbled, voice thick with exhaustion.

“Mike. Emergency. Code 3. Agency. Now.”

Her voice was clipped, sharper than usual. Johana never wasted words, but this was different. It wasn’t just urgent—it was bad.

I sat up, rubbing a hand over my face. “On my way.”

The agency rarely pulled us in so soon after a mission. We usually got at least two weeks between jobs—one at the very least. The fact that they were calling us in now meant something serious had gone down.

By the time I pulled into the agency parking lot, the uneasy feeling had settled deep in my gut.

Inside, I strode past Cindy, the receptionist, who barely met my gaze. She looked... tense.

“Rough morning?” I asked.

She forced a weak smile. “Something like that.”

Yeah, this was bad.

When I entered Johana’s office, Johnny was already there, arms crossed, mirroring my concern.

“The agency short on teams?” I joked, sprawling into an armchair, trying to mask my unease. “Could’ve given us a full night’s sleep.”

Johnny, sitting across from me, nodded. “Seriously, boss. What’s the rush?”

Johana didn’t answer right away. Instead, she ran a hand over her neck—a nervous tick I’d seen maybe twice in all the years I’d known her.

That was my second red flag.

Johana was a rock, steady even under fire. I’d seen her talk down a terrorist with a gun to her head without so much as flinching. But now? She was hesitating.

Before I could push, the door swung open behind us.

“Sorry, I’m late.”

Danna, our hacker, strolled in, adjusting her oversized glasses. She flopped onto the couch, barely noticing the tension in the room.

“Right on time,” Johana muttered, then took a slow breath, as if choosing her next words carefully.

“Ten hours ago,” she started, turning on the large screen behind her, “one of our undercover agents stopped responding to communications. She was working as a reporter, infiltrating a high-risk operation—”

I sat up. “Wait. Ten hours? Protocol says we wait twenty-four before classifying it as a disappearance.”

Silence.

Then, a voice—deep, rough, and painfully familiar—cut through the room.

“Not when that agent has standing orders to send proof of life every six hours.”

My stomach dropped.

I turned slowly, dread curling in my chest before my brain even processed why.

Colonel Gordon MacDawson stood in the doorway, every bit the authoritative figure I remembered. His square jaw was set, his thick brows furrowed, the strands of gray in his dark hair more prominent than the last time I saw him. He was still the same hard-ass, dressed in a sharp suit, his presence commanding the room without effort. And the same intense green eyes.

I shot to my feet. “Sir.”

Johnny followed suit, saluting. So did Johana. Only Danna remained seated, wide-eyed, looking between us like we’d all lost our minds.

“Dismissed,” Gordon said, waving off the formalities as he walked toward Johana’s desk.

My pulse pounded. No. No, this couldn’t be—

“Wait,” I said, my voice almost hoarse. “This agent isn’t... Amanda, is it?”

The room fell deathly silent.

Johana exhaled sharply, avoiding my eyes. Johnny stiffened.

I took a step back, the air suddenly too thick, my chest tightening like a goddamn vice.

“Wait—Amanda?” Johnny echoed, eyes flicking between us. “Your Amanda?”

Johana sighed, and that was my answer.

Amanda.

The name alone sent a shockwave through me, years of buried emotions breaking free like a dam bursting. My hands clenched into fists at my sides.

“Where is she?” I turned to Gordon, my voice bordering on desperation.

“She never stopped looking for Horatio,” he said.

The words hit like a gut punch.

She never stopped, Gordon, the one who took me out of Horatio’s trail, telling me she never stopped.

I swallowed hard, my head spinning. I didn’t know what was worse—the fact that she had never stopped hunting him, or the fact that I had convinced myself she had moved on.

Gordon continued, but I barely heard him.

“Last contact was in Germany. Ten hours ago.”

I forced myself to look at the screen.

And there she was.

Amanda McDawson.

The photo was recent. Her blonde hair was tied back, green eyes were sharp as ever. But there was something else there—something hardened.

Fuck.

“She’s never missed a check-in before,” I muttered, running a hand through my hair.

“That’s why you’re going to Germany,” Johana said, her voice firm. “We’ll send more intel on the way.”

I shook my head, my pulse hammering. “I can’t. I—”

“Lancaster, you’re the best agent we have, you know her,” Gordon interrupted. “You know the case. And if Horatio already has her, it doesn’t matter if you’re in the same place or not.”

His words should’ve been reassuring. They weren’t.

My team left, but Gordon stayed.

“Mike,” he called, using my first name. He only did that when he was speaking like family, not as my superior.

“Yes, Gordon?”

“Bring her back,” he said, his voice carrying a plea.

“I will,” I promised—both for him and for myself.

I barely remembered what happened after that. Everything blurred as reality sank in.

Amanda was missing.

And I was the only one who could bring her back.

The next thing I knew, we were on our jet, cutting through the sky on our way to Germany. Johnny, my best friend and someone who knew me better than most, sat a few rows back, giving me space. He knew Amanda’s story. He knew Gordon. He knew when to push and when to let me be. So I sat alone, staring out the window, my thoughts an endless spiral of memories, what-ifs, and the gnawing dread in my gut.

“Mike?”

The voice was distant, almost drowned out by the hum of the engines.

“Mike?”

This time, it was clearer, followed by a gentle touch on my arm. I turned and saw Danna standing beside me. She hesitated for a moment before finally sitting down next to me, her hands fidgeting in her lap.

She let out a small sigh before speaking softly. “Do you mind telling me who Amanda was?”

Her eyes were wide, filled with curiosity and maybe even a hint of concern. I couldn’t blame her. She’d just witnessed the scene back at the agency, and watched as I nearly lost my composure. She had questions.

I looked down, resting my arms on my legs, inhaling deeply. Talking about Amanda hurt—hurt in a way that felt like reopening an old wound that never quite healed. But at the same time, there was something about our story that I loved, something that still felt so raw and alive inside me.

“Okay,” I murmured, offering a weak smile. “You remember that I served in the army, right?”

Danna nodded.

“I was finishing my training as a long-range sniper when the agency recruited me. I accepted, and everything changed overnight. At the agency, in addition to all the ballistic training, I had to improve my combat and hand-to-hand fighting skills. And on my first day of training…”

The memory hit me like a tidal wave, dragging me back to that moment as if it had just happened yesterday.