Something flared behind his eyes. A buried memory: smoke, fire, a downed Blackhawk, and an extraction gone horribly wrong. Codename: Emberwatch. One survivor, they’d said. But no one ever confirmed it. His voice dropped. “Where were you in 2014?” For the first time, she paused. “Flying into the fire,” she whispered. “Trying to bring them home.”

Ramsey stares at her, his breath held in his throat. The name “Emberwatch” had been locked away in the back of his mind, somewhere between guilt and nightmares. Now it rushes forward like a detonation, cracking open wounds that never healed.

“Flying into the fire,” she says again, softer now, like it costs her something to repeat it.

“You weren’t on the roster,” he says, voice low, accusatory, but uncertain. “I knew every pilot assigned to that op. You weren’t there.”

“I wasn’t supposed to be,” she answers. “I shouldn’t have made it.”

Ramsey takes a shaky step back, the weight of years pressing against his chest. She’s real. She’s standing in front of him. And that means…

“You were the shadow bird,” he says slowly. “The one we weren’t told about. The unauthorized extraction run.”

Her silence is confirmation.

“I watched the footage,” he whispers. “Thermal scan caught a second bird going in after the call to abort. We assumed it was a glitch. You went in anyway.”

“I had to,” she says. Her eyes are calm, but something burns behind them. “They left them to die. I couldn’t.”

He drags a hand down his face. “You disobeyed orders. You risked everything.”

“I lost everything,” she snaps. “And no one even put my name on the damn wall.”

They stare at each other in the rising heat of the desert morning. Jets scream overhead. Somewhere nearby, a sergeant calls roll. But for a moment, the world shrinks to the crackling space between them.

Finally, Ramsey breaks the silence. “Why now? Why come back?”

Madison straightens. Her voice is steel. “Because someone’s been reactivating old codenames. I tracked two already. Both dead under suspicious circumstances. One was a systems analyst from Emberwatch. The other—combat logistics.”

He stiffens. “Both part of the op.”

She nods. “And both scrubbed after the fact. Like me.”

Ramsey’s hands curl into fists. “You think someone’s tying off loose ends.”

“I know they are. And I’m next.”

He glances around, lowering his voice. “Why come here? Why not disappear?”

“Because this base is next,” she says. “I intercepted chatter—encrypted comms, staggered pings from a ghost server. This place is a staging ground for something bigger. I don’t know what yet. But it’s connected to Emberwatch. To whoever buried us.”

Ramsey exhales sharply. “This is a military base. Locked down tighter than a banker’s vault. No one’s staging anything without clearance.”

“Unless they already have it,” she says grimly. “Sir, whoever’s behind this—they’re already inside.”

A chill moves through him. He doesn’t want to believe it. But Reyes isn’t guessing. She’s remembering. He can see it.

“Alright,” he says after a pause. “You’ve got access to simulation bays, logistics logs, and secure channel 9Z. Use them. Quietly.”

She nods.

“And Reyes,” he adds, “you so much as breathe wrong, and I’ll have you on the first drone back to Langley.”

“Understood,” she says.

But she doesn’t breathe wrong.

Over the next few days, Phantom Seven works in silence. Files shift, access logs blink in and out. She leaves no trace, but things begin to emerge—like bones under shifting sand.

She finds a pattern. Back-channel authorizations stamped with clearance levels that don’t exist. Fuel requisitions for unlogged flights. A hangar—Hangar 42—flagged repeatedly for “special cargo,” but never listed in official inventory.

Then, she disappears.

Ramsey gets the call at 0300.

“Sir, we’ve got a problem. Reyes didn’t report to her quarters last night. Her badge pinged near Hangar 42, but no visual. Cameras cut out.”

He drives across the base in a fury, heart hammering. When he reaches the hangar, the guards posted outside are new—too new. Fresh uniforms, no patches. No paperwork to explain their presence.

“Open it,” he commands.

They don’t move.

“I said open the goddamn door!”

One of them finally lifts a hand to his radio. The moment stretches.

Then—an explosion.

The blast doesn’t come from the hangar. It comes from the northeast quadrant. The fireball lights up the night sky, and the ground shakes beneath his feet.

“Control tower’s hit!” a voice screams through the comms. “We’ve got multiple systems offline! Possible cyber-intrusion—radio frequencies jammed!”

Ramsey spins. “Reyes…”

She’s running toward him through the chaos. Her left arm is bleeding, her side scorched, but her eyes are locked onto him.

“They triggered it,” she gasps. “They were prepping a stealth drone—autonomous strike model—loaded with an internal kill list. Emberwatch survivors were just the start. The next targets are live. Political, military, even civilian.”

“Who?” he demands.

“I couldn’t get the full list,” she says. “But the drone is programmed to disappear after the strike. No trace. A perfect ghost.”

Ramsey’s voice drops to a growl. “Who gave the order?”

She hesitates. “I think it’s someone inside the Pentagon. A general. Or higher. Someone who needs the past erased before they announce something big.”

Another explosion rocks the base—this time closer. The guards near the hangar draw weapons. Ramsey responds instantly, dropping both with precise shots.

He grabs Reyes by the vest and drags her behind a stack of crates.

“You said the drone hasn’t launched yet,” he says.

“It’s minutes away. Controlled by an AI protocol seeded through base systems. We can’t stop it from here.”

He curses. “Then we fly.”

They sprint across the tarmac. Emergency lights pulse. Sirens wail. Fuel trucks explode in the distance. The base is in chaos.

But they reach a Hornet on standby—unarmed but fast.

Reyes climbs into the back, plugging into the flight systems. “I can track the drone if I can sync to its signature.”

Ramsey powers up the jet. “Then do it.”

They lift off into the burning sky, cutting through smoke and debris. Over comms, he hears fragments of desperate chatter: “Unknown aircraft… rogue signals… EMPs triggered in sector 5…”

“Got it!” she shouts. “Drone’s ten klicks west—below radar, headed for Phoenix.”

Ramsey’s stomach turns. “Population center. High-value conference today. Cabinet members.”

“They want it to look like a terrorist attack,” she says. “Then they step in with new military policy. Global enforcement.”

He narrows his eyes. “No.”

He dives the jet. Below them, the drone glides—sleek, black, nearly invisible against the sky.

“I can force a handshake,” Reyes says, fingers flying. “But I’ll need to be closer.”

He drops altitude, chasing the target. The drone shifts—aware of them now.

“Evasive protocol initiated,” she mutters. “It’s locking out override.”

Ramsey scowls. “We don’t need an override.”

He hits the throttle, pushing the Hornet into a steep dive. The jet groans. Reyes grips the console, one eye on the code.

“Closer… closer…”

She slams her palm onto the release.

A soft ping.

“Manual sync established,” she breathes.

But then—the drone jerks violently, dives toward a civilian area.

“No!” she screams. “It’s initiating fallback. Total wipe. Full payload.”

Ramsey’s hands fly over controls. “I can ram it. Blow it before it hits the target.”

“You won’t survive,” she says.

He meets her eyes in the mirror.

“Neither will they.”

She stares at him for half a second. Then reaches forward—and ejects his seat.

He rockets skyward with a roar of fury and disbelief.

“I told you I volunteered,” she says into the comm. “You’ve done enough.”

Then she drives the jet straight into the drone.

The explosion lights up the early dawn.

Ramsey lands hard in the desert, his chute dragging across the rocks. Smoke billows in the distance. His knees buckle when he hits the ground. He scrambles to his feet, screaming her name into the radio.

Nothing.

Two days later, they declare her KIA.

But then—he receives a package. No return address.

Inside: a thumb drive.

Encrypted.

He plugs it in.

Files. Thousands. Hidden logs. Communications. Surveillance data.

And a single message:

“We all have ghosts, Jack. Time to burn the house down.” — P7

Ramsey exhales.

And begins to read.