Somewhere in Langley, a dusty file was reopened. Across the top, in red ink, someone had written: ACTIVE. DO NOT DISTURB. SHE’S EXACTLY WHERE SHE NEEDS TO BE.
“Rough day?” he asked.
She didn’t disarm the bomb. She reprogrammed it. The detonator was wired to a GPS signal—the Serpent’s failsafe. She reversed the polarity, swapped two chips with her tweezers, and set the target to the Serpent’s own safe house, coordinates she’d memorized from his file.
“Good.” Ellie watched Leo and Mia climb onto the school bus, safe and oblivious. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a casserole to return.”
Mrs. Eleanor Undercover—yes, that was her real married name, a cosmic joke she’d long since accepted—was living proof.
Her husband, Dave, a pleasant but profoundly unobservant accountant, kissed her forehead. “Big day at work, honey. Budget meeting.”
By 2:15 PM, Ellie was inside the school’s boiler room, dressed in her PTA-appropriate cardigan and sensible slacks. The Serpent’s bomb was beautiful—a work of art nestled inside a stolen custodial cart. But Ellie wasn’t looking for wires or timers.