MIKE
Today was Dereck’s funeral.
Three days had passed since his death, but the weight of it hadn’t lifted—it clung to me, heavy and relentless. What unsettled me the most was how and when they retrieved his body. I knew for a fact it had sunk into that lake. There was no way it could have just surfaced on its own. Yet, here we were, about to bury him.
The memorial was private. Quiet. Only a handful of agents were allowed to attend, keeping Dereck’s status a secret from the rest of the agency. Maybe it was to protect his name. Maybe it was because, even in death, they weren’t sure what side he had truly been on.
I arrived at the cemetery entrance, adjusting my black tie, though it felt suffocating against my throat. The sky was overcast, the kind of gray that felt too fitting for the occasion.
Patrick and Freya were already waiting for me. Freya’s eyes were red, and Patrick, for once, didn’t have a single sarcastic remark.
"Ready?" Patrick asked, though we all knew there was no such thing as being ready for something like this.
I gave a slight nod, and together, we stepped inside.
The funeral was held in a small chapel. The scent of fresh lilies mixed with the crisp air, and the atmosphere was thick with unspoken grief. As we walked further in, my eyes immediately landed on the one person I thought was impossible to meet—President Cyrus “Bobby” Ford.
Dressed in an immaculate black suit, he stood at the front near Dereck’s casket, his expression unreadable. The moment he noticed us, his sharp gaze locked onto mine.
Patrick tensed beside me.
Freya’s breath hitched.
But none of us spoke. Not yet.
The funeral proceeded with an unsettling stillness. The kind that made the air feel heavy, pressing against my chest like a weight I couldn’t shake.
Dereck’s casket lay at the front of the small chapel, draped with the agency’s flag. A reminder that, no matter what secrets surrounded him, he had died as one of us. The scent of lilies filled the space, their stark white petals a cruel contrast to the dark suits and dresses of the attendees.
Patrick, Freya, and I took our seats near the back. I didn’t want to be any closer than necessary.
President Ford sat in the front row, surrounded by his personal guards. His expression was unreadable, a mask of grief—or maybe something else. I wasn’t sure. But I knew better than to trust a man like him.
The officiant spoke about Dereck’s life—his service, his loyalty, his sacrifices. Words that should have meant something, but instead, they felt hollow. Because the truth was, Dereck had died without knowing where he truly stood. He had been a soldier, a friend, and yet, in the end, he had been lost.
Freya’s hands clenched into fists in her lap, her body trembling beside me. Patrick sat rigid, his jaw locked, staring straight ahead as if he were trying not to fall apart.
When it was time for people to speak, a few agents stepped up. They talked about Dereck’s bravery, his determination, his skill in the field. All the things that made him an exceptional agent.
But no one talked about the things that mattered.
No one talked about how he had been tortured. How he had warned me to get out. How he had been shot in the head, his life taken in an instant before we could even process what was happening.
No one spoke about how he had cried before he died.
And maybe that was for the best. Maybe this was how he would have wanted to be remembered.
When the time came, President Ford stood. The room tensed, all eyes on him.
He walked slowly to the podium, adjusting his tie, exhaling as if to compose himself.
"My son," he began, his voice even, practiced, "was a man of honor. A man of strength. A man who believed in his duty above all else."
A pause. A calculated moment of silence.
"His loss is not just mine, but a loss to this country. To those who serve. To those who fight to protect what is right."
I narrowed my eyes.
"Dereck Ford will be remembered as a hero," he continued, "and those responsible for his death will answer for their crimes."
I stiffened.
That was a threat.
And I knew exactly who it was meant for.
Freya inhaled sharply beside me. Patrick shifted in his seat.
President Ford stepped down from the podium, walking past us without a glance.
The ceremony ended shortly after. People filtered out, murmuring condolences, some casting cautious glances at me and my team.
“Did you hear that?”
Patrick exhaled, shaking his head.
Freya swallowed. “He’s going after Siren.”
President Ford really declared war.
My fingers curled into fists as I scanned the room, my gaze landing on a group in the corner—the Elites.
Leo. Rock. Tiger. Dark. And Ice.
My eyes locked onto Agent Rock, and all I could feel was hatred. Pure, burning anger.
They killed Dereck.
Dereck, who had been a damn good agent. Dereck, who had been my best friend. Dereck, who didn’t deserve to die the way he did—tortured, broken, shot in the head like he was nothing.
I barely heard the final words spoken at the funeral. I barely noticed the people leaving, their murmured condolences nothing but distant noise in my ears.
Because all I saw was them.
The Elite Agents started to leave, but I stepped forward, stopping Agent Rock in his tracks.
"We need to talk."
He halted, his expression unreadable. The rest of his team followed suit, their stances shifting subtly, ready to react if necessary.
Rock glanced at them and gave a slight nod.
“I’ll handle it. Wait for me at the base.”
There was hesitation from his team, but one by one, they obeyed, walking away.
Leaving us alone.
I clenched my jaw, stepping closer.
“You killed him.”
Rock didn’t flinch. “We did what had to be done.”
My fist swung before I could think.
Rock staggered back slightly, his jaw tightening as he wiped the blood from the corner of his lip. But he didn’t fight back. He just looked at me, as if waiting for more.
"You think this is over?" I growled. "You think you can just walk away after what you did?"
"Dereck made his choice."Rock exhaled slowly.
"Bullshit!" My voice rose. "You executed him like he was nothing!"
His gaze darkened. "And you think you know the whole story?"
I froze.
Rock stepped forward, his voice lowering.
"There are things bigger than you, Mike. Bigger than Dereck. You want answers? You're not gonna like them."
I grabbed Agent Rock’s arm before he could turn away, my grip tightening as frustration clawed at my chest.
“You’re not walking away from this,” I growled. “Not without giving me an answer.”
Rock looked down at my hand, then back up at me. His expression didn’t change, but his eyes—there was something there. A flicker of something unreadable.
"You really want the truth, Mike?" His voice was steady, almost too calm. "Even if it costs you your life?"
My fingers twitched, but I didn’t let go. My mind screamed at me to demand more, to force him to talk, to make him tell me why Dereck had to die—why everything was turning into this twisted mess.
But Rock just stared at me, waiting.
Daring me.
The weight of his words settled in my chest like lead.
Even if it costs you your life?
What the hell did he mean by that?
With that, he turned and walked away, disappearing into the fading light.
I stood there, my fists clenched, my mind racing.
A firm tap on my shoulder snapped me out of my thoughts. I turned to see Patrick standing beside me, his brows furrowed in concern.
"What the hell are you doing just standing there?" he asked. "You've been staring off into space for minutes now. You good?"
I blinked, realizing that I had been lost in my own head—replaying Rock’s words over and over, dissecting every possible meaning behind them.
"Yeah… yeah, I’m fine," I muttered
Patrick didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t push it. Instead, he sighed and ran a hand through his hair before saying, "We need to head back to headquarters. Director Leo has news for the Alphas."
I gave one last glance in the direction Rock had disappeared before exhaling sharply.
"Alright, let’s go."
Patrick and I started toward the exit, where Freya was already waiting.