For one second, nobody moved.

The stranger in the navy suit stood over us with one hand gripping his briefcase.

Jackson was already on his feet.

Havoc remained pressed against my legs.

“Who are you?” I asked.

The man’s smile faded.

“Khloe, you need to come with me.”

Jackson stepped between us.

“No.”

The stranger looked annoyed.

“Sir, this doesn’t concern you.”

Jackson’s voice stayed calm.

“It concerns me now.”

The man glanced at Havoc.

Then back at Jackson.

“You’re making a mistake.”

“No,” Jackson replied. “I think you already did that.”

Passengers were beginning to notice.

Heads lifted.

Phones lowered.

The stranger reached inside his jacket.

Havoc reacted instantly.

A sharp command left Jackson’s mouth.

The dog moved.

Not wildly.

Not recklessly.

With terrifying precision.

The man froze.

Jackson caught his wrist before he could pull anything free.

The briefcase fell.

A woman screamed from three rows away.

The train seemed to explode into movement.

Jackson forced the man’s arm away from his jacket.

“Transit security,” he called.

The stranger struggled.

But Havoc’s warning was enough to keep everyone around us back.

I sat frozen.

My heart was beating so hard I could barely breathe.

Then the man looked directly at me.

And laughed.

A quiet, strange laugh.

“You still don’t know, do you?”

Jackson tightened his grip.

“Don’t talk to her.”

But the man continued.

“Your father never told you anything.”

Everything inside me stopped.

“My father is dead,” I whispered.

The man’s expression changed.

For the first time, he looked genuinely surprised.

Jackson looked at me.

“Khloe?”

The train began slowing.

Security personnel were already moving through the carriage from both directions.

The man was pulled away.

But before he disappeared down the aisle, he turned toward me.

“Ask about Project Lantern.”

Then he was gone.

Silence settled around us.

Jackson returned to his seat.

But he didn’t relax.

Neither did Havoc.

I stared at him.

“What was that?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“You know more than you’re saying.”

Jackson looked toward the window.

Outside, the train had stopped at a station.

“You said your father died.”

“Yes.”

“What did he do?”

I frowned.

“He was an engineer.”

“What kind?”

“I don’t know. Industrial systems, maybe. He traveled.”

Jackson became very still.

“Where?”

I shook my head.

“He never talked about work.”

A memory surfaced.

My father leaving before sunrise.

Locked phone calls.

The way he always checked the rearview mirror when driving.

Things I had accepted as normal because I was a child.

“My mother said he worked for different contractors.”

Jackson looked down at Havoc.

The dog hadn’t moved from my side.

“Khloe,” Jackson said, “I need you to listen carefully.”

I laughed nervously.

“That sentence is becoming a problem.”

He didn’t smile.

“The man who approached you knew your full name. That means this probably wasn’t random.”

Fear crawled through me.

“What does he want?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then why did he say Project Lantern?”

Jackson’s face changed.

Barely.

But I saw it.

“You know that name.”

He looked directly at me.

“Yes.”

My throat tightened.

“What is it?”

“Something that was supposed to be buried years ago.”

The train doors opened.

Two federal agents entered the carriage.

Jackson stood.

“Stay with Havoc.”

“What?”

“Don’t leave your seat.”

“Jackson—”

“Khloe.”

Something in his voice stopped me.

He walked toward the agents.

They spoke quietly.

I couldn’t hear everything.

Only fragments.

“…wrong identity…”

“…she was a child…”

“…if they found her…”

My blood ran cold.

A few minutes later, Jackson returned.

He sat beside me again.

But this time, he looked different.

Like he had just learned something he wished he could erase.

“What?” I demanded.

He looked at my hands.

Then at my face.

“Your father wasn’t an engineer.”

I couldn’t breathe.

Jackson continued.

“He was involved in a classified military technology program.”

I stared at him.

“No.”

“Khloe—”

“No. You have the wrong person.”

“I wish I did.”

The train began moving again.

Havoc suddenly rose.

Jackson’s head snapped toward the rear door.

Someone had entered the carriage.

A woman.

Gray coat.

Dark glasses.

She wasn’t looking at me.

She was looking at Jackson.

Then she raised one hand.

In it was a small photograph.

My photograph.

Taken when I was a child.

Jackson whispered one word.

“Down.”

Havoc moved in front of me.

And the woman began walking toward us.