Emily knelt beside her bed, the small silver cross of her rosary cool against her fingers. The dorm was quiet except for the hum of the heater, her roommates all out for the evening.
She took a slow breath, trying to steady her thoughts.
"Lord," she whispered, "You brought me here for a reason. I don't know what it is yet, but… please give me the wisdom to walk in the right path. Show me where to go, what to do. And if there are people around me I should avoid, make it clear. Keep me from stepping into danger I can't see."
Her voice caught slightly. She'd been feeling… pulled lately. Not just by the endless list of new experiences, but by him.
Ethan.
She pressed her lips together. It didn't make sense — she hardly knew him. And yet, when he was near, the world seemed to tilt slightly out of place.
"Guide me, Lord," she added softly, "even when I don't understand. Especially then."
Somewhere across town, Ethan was standing in the shadows of an abandoned warehouse.
The air smelled faintly of motor oil and damp concrete. Two black SUVs were parked outside, their headlights throwing long beams into the night.
Inside, three men stood waiting. One leaned casually against a table, cleaning his nails with a knife.
"You're late, Monaco," the tallest one said in accented English.
Ethan didn't flinch. "I'm here now."
The deal was simple — on paper. Swap information, exchange payment, leave. But in his world, simple usually meant someone isn't telling you the whole truth.
And tonight, he could feel it — the shift in the air, the way the man with the knife was watching him too closely.
America was supposed to be my safe zone, Ethan thought grimly.
But as the warehouse door clanged shut behind him, he knew safety had been a lie from the start.
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