Chapter 1

The office was cold, sterile. The polished metal of the table reflected the harsh fluorescent lights overhead.

Commander Davis slid a folder across the table. It made a soft, final sound.

"Ava Mitchell, this is your last chance to back out."

His voice was like gravel, hard and without emotion. It was a voice I understood.

I opened the folder. "Black Hawk Initiative." The words were stark, black ink on white paper. A new life. A new purpose.

"The program demands absolute secrecy. To the world, and to your family, you will cease to exist. We will arrange everything. An accident. A death certificate. No loose ends."

I stared at the name on the file, my name, and felt nothing. It was already a ghost.

"That's what I want," I said, my voice steady. "But I have one condition."

Davis raised an eyebrow. He wasn't used to conditions.

"Don't just make it an accident," I told him, looking him straight in the eye. "Declare me dead. Publicly. Make it official. I want them to have a body to bury."

A flicker of surprise crossed his face before his professional mask slipped back into place. "That's an unusual request."

"It's a necessary one."

He leaned back, studying me. "You understand this is irreversible. There is no coming back from this."

"I have nothing to come back to."

He nodded slowly, a silent understanding passing between us. He pushed a pen across the table. "Sign here. You'll be Agent Nightingale from this moment on."

I signed the papers. My hand didn't shake. Ava Mitchell died in that cold, sterile room.

I drove home to the house that was no longer a home. It was just a building filled with painful memories.

For six years, I had tried. I had given up my entire world, the only world I had ever excelled in, for Ben Carter. I loved him, or at least, I thought I did. But my love wasn't enough to compete with a ghost from his past.

Leah Thompson. His childhood sweetheart. The woman he believed had pulled him from the wreckage of an office fire years ago, a fire that nearly killed him. He called her his savior.

I called her the cancer that had eaten my family from the inside out.

She had woven herself into our lives, a constant, cloying presence. Ben was blind to it. He saw only the brave, selfless woman he thought he owed his life to.

Our son, Leo, saw it too. He was just a child, easily swayed by his father's adoration of Leah and Leah's sweet, manipulative words. "Auntie Leah" was his hero. I was just his mother.

I walked into the house. The air was thick with their presence even though they weren't there. Her perfume lingered in the hallway. A framed photo of Ben, Leo, and Leah sat on the console table. I wasn't in it.

My mind went back to last weekend. The breaking point.

Ben had insisted on a "family" rock-climbing trip. He knew I hated heights, a lingering consequence of an old injury I never spoke about. An injury I got long before I met him.

"It will be good for us," he'd said, his eyes not quite meeting mine. "Leo is so excited."

The trip was a performance. Ben, the successful tech CEO, with his beautiful "savior" and adoring son. I was just a prop.

He and Leah moved up the rock face with an easy grace, their bodies in sync. They laughed, their voices echoing in the open air. Leo cheered for them from below, his face lit up with excitement. "Go, Daddy! Go, Auntie Leah!"

Ben looked down, not at me, but at Leah, his expression full of a warmth I hadn't seen directed at me in years. It was a look of pure adoration.

"Ava, your turn!" Ben called down, his voice impatient. "Stop just standing there. Leo wants to see his mom climb."

"I can't, Ben," I said, my voice quiet but firm.

"What do you mean you can't? Don't be lazy. It's for Leo." His voice was sharp, cutting.

Leah, hanging from the ropes beside him, gave me a small, triumphant smile.

"I have a wrist injury, Ben. I've told you this before. I can't put weight on it." The old break ached just thinking about it. A permanent weakness.

"Excuses," he scoffed. "You're always making excuses to get out of family activities. Just try. Don't ruin this for everyone."

"Mommy, please?" Leo's small voice piped up from beside me. "Auntie Leah isn't afraid."

His words hurt more than Ben's ever could. He was just a child, parroting what he'd been taught. That I was the disappointment.

I looked from my son's pleading face to my husband's dismissive one. And I felt a profound shift inside me. The part of me that had been fighting, hoping, and hurting for years finally went quiet. It was over.

"No," I said, my voice clear and devoid of emotion.

Leah chimed in from above, her voice dripping with fake sweetness. "Oh, Ava, don't be a spoilsport. If you can't do it, I guess I'll just have to be the mom for today and show Leo how it's done."

I looked up at her, a small, cold smile touching my lips. "You're right."

I turned to my son. "Leo, your Auntie Leah is very brave. Watch her."

Then, I turned my back on them all. I unclipped the useless harness from my waist and let it fall to the ground.

"Where are you going?" Ben yelled, his voice laced with fury. "Get back here! You're making a scene!"

A family friend, Sarah, who was there with her own kids, rushed over. "Ava, are you okay? Everyone's staring."

"I'm fine, Sarah," I said, my voice calm. "I'm just leaving."

I walked away without looking back. The sound of Ben's angry shouts followed me, but they sounded distant, like they were meant for someone else.

For the first time in six years, I felt a strange sense of peace. The war was over. I had lost.

Or maybe, I had just finally won my freedom.