Cassian’s POV

The war room was lit like a crime scene. Maps spread across the long oak table, red string tethering photographs of men who had once been my allies, pins stabbing paper until the walls themselves looked wounded.

Smoke curled in the air, sharp from too many cigarettes. The men around me spoke in low voices, but all I heard was silence, Naomi’s absence ringing louder than any words.

I hadn’t slept. I hadn’t eaten. The only thing steady in my hands was her pistol, which I kept beside me on the table as if the steel might speak her name back to me.

“Three safehouses already checked,” Rubio...