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Mike Lowrey adjusted his jacket as he stood in front of the slightly rusted, graffiti-splattered door of an old house nestled deep in Miami's Little Havana. He glanced over at Marcus, who was nervously shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

"This is it?" Marcus asked, eyeing the run-down exterior. "You sure we got the right place? Looks like the kind of spot where people go missing, not where they host team meetings."

Mike smirked. "Oh, we've got the right place. She's in there. Question is... are we ready for her?"

Marcus gave him a flat look. "Why are you saying that like she's some kind of wild animal?"

Mike raised an eyebrow. "Because she is. Trust me, this woman's got a rep. Fast, smart, and lethal when cornered. You remember that cartel bust in Colombia a few years back? She ran point on it."

Marcus winced. "The one where half the team ended up in the hospital?"

"Exactly." Mike's smirk widened as he knocked firmly on the door. "So, yeah. Let's tread lightly."

No response.

Mike knocked again, louder this time. "Cataleya! Open up! It's Mike Lowrey and Marcus Burnett. Miami PD."

Still nothing.

"Great." Marcus muttered. "She's not even home. Let's leave a note and—"

The door creaked open a crack.

"See?" Mike said, grinning. "I told you—"

Before he could finish, the door swung open fully, and there she was.

Cataleya.

She stood there in black joggers and a loose tank top, her hair tied up but with strands falling loose around her sharp, angular face. Her piercing brown eyes locked onto Mike like a heat-seeking missile.

"I don't take visitors." She said flatly, her voice low and icy.

"Well, lucky for you, we're not here for tea." Mike shot back, stepping forward. "We need to talk."

The next thing he knew, she moved.

Fast.

Cataleya grabbed his arm, twisted it behind his back, and slammed him against the doorframe before he could react. Marcus, wide-eyed, took a quick step back.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Marcus raised his hands, his voice shooting up an octave. "We come in peace!"

Mike grunted, pinned against the frame. "Really, Marcus? You're just gonna let her—"

Cataleya tightened her grip on Mike's arm. "You've got five seconds to tell me why you're here before I throw you both off my property."

"Five seconds?" Marcus scoffed nervously. "Lady, that's—"

She cut him a glare so sharp he immediately shut up.

"Cataleya, come on." Mike said, trying to twist free but failing. "We're not here to fight you. We're here because we need you."

She hesitated for a fraction of a second, her grip loosening just enough for Mike to pull free. He turned to face her, rubbing his arm with a grimace.

"You're quick," he admitted, "but you didn't have to do that. We're on your side."

"Yeah, sure." She said skeptically. "Last time cops showed up at my door, I ended up cleaning their mess."

Marcus cleared his throat from a safe distance. "Look, ma'am, we're not here to give you grief. We've got a situation brewing—a big one. And your name came up as someone who could help."

Cataleya crossed her arms, her expression hard. "Not interested."

"Not yet." Mike corrected, stepping closer. "But you will be when you hear what we've got. Since you also used to work with someone combined to me. You've been off the radar for a while, but we know you're still sharp. We're building a team, and trust me—you're exactly what we're missing."

Her gaze flicked between the two of them, wary but intrigued despite herself. "Building a team for what?"

Mike exchanged a look with Marcus, then turned back to her. "We'll explain everything. But first, can we come in? Or are you gonna keep throwing me around all day?"

Cataleya smirked faintly. "Depends. You planning on saying something worth my time?"

Marcus groaned. "Lady, just let us in before I have another heart attack."

After a long moment of silence, she stepped back, leaving the door open behind her.

"Fine," she said. "But I'm not promising anything."

As the two men stepped inside, Mike glanced back at Marcus with a triumphant grin.

"Told you she'd listen." He muttered.

Marcus rolled his eyes. "Yeah, after she almost dislocated your arm. Real smooth, Mike."

Cataleya's voice cut through their bickering as she turned to face them. "You've got five minutes. Make it count."

And with that, they knew the hard part wasn't getting through the door. It was getting her to trust them.

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Cataleya stepped out of the car with Mike and Marcus, but as they walked past a cage, she stopped dead in her tracks.

Noticing her frozen stare, Mike smirked and said, "Relax. It's not like you haven't seen the inside of a cell before."

Marcus scoffed. "I wonder why. She just keeps impressing me." He said to Mike before turning to the cold Latina. "Someone else is going to step in and make you see what's really going on."

It was no surprise that three cars with sirens on top were parked nearby the entrance of the plane. The person was likely in one of them—excluding the one they had clearly just exited.

They walked calmly toward the plane's entry, her steps light but deliberate, as if she were simply walking through her own apartment. Mike and Marcus followed her, trying to keep their cool despite the tension that hung in the air. They had hoped for an easy boarding, but of course, nothing ever went according to plan with her.

As they reached the door, two police guards stood before them, a small, open case in their hands. The metallic click of the case snapping open sounded loud in the otherwise quiet space. Cataleya didn't flinch, but Mike could see the slight narrowing of her eyes.

"Please, surrender your firearms. They will be returned to you upon touchdown." One of the officers said curtly, gesturing toward the case he held open to them as they motioned for their weapons.

Mike exchanged a quick glance with Marcus. He'd seen Cataleya work, but never like this. She was always prepared, but this... this was different.

The two men had already placed their only weapon in there & now the young woman was left to consider.

Without missing a beat, Cataleya sighed, her breath barely audible as she slid her hand to the back of her grey jeans, effortlessly pulling out a sleek, black pistol. She placed it gently in the case, the cold metal gleaming under the fluorescent light. But she wasn't done.

With a swift motion, her fingers reached under her tight black shirt, and without even looking, she retrieved a second gun, a compact, silenced model that fit snugly in her palm. It landed in the case with a soft thud, neatly beside the first.

The officers exchanged glances, clearly not prepared for what was coming next.

Cataleya seemed to take her time, her calm demeanor betraying nothing of the storm brewing beneath. She pulled a small blade from a hidden sheath down her leg, the knife almost too quick to see, and placed it inside there. The officers were quiet, their eyes widening ever so slightly, but they didn't speak.

She was done, or so it seemed. The case was packed, a small arsenal stashed safely inside. But Cataleya, ever the wild card, held up a finger to pause them.

Before anyone could react, she slipped a sleek, silver device from her right shoe—a bombshell. The soft clink of metal against the case echoed, and she dropped it into the pile of weapons like it was just another tool in her kit.

The guards stood frozen, their jaws slack, unsure of what to make of the woman who had just unloaded more than they ever expected. Marcus, ever the one to voice his suspicions, was the first to break the silence.

"You sure we're supposed to trust her with that?" He hissed to Mike under his breath, gesturing subtly toward the bombshell, still inside the case. "I mean, what the hell was that?!"

Mike shot him a sharp look, trying to keep his voice low. "I told you, man, she's different. Just let it play out."

Marcus's eyes widened in disbelief. "Different? You think that's normal? The woman's got a bomb tucked in her damn shoe!"

Mike smirked, keeping his cool despite Marcus's growing paranoia. "What did you expect? You don't make it this far without a little... extra gear."

As Cataleya closed the case, the officers blinked at each other, clearly speechless, and moved aside to let her through. The tension in the air was thick enough to cut with a knife.

The guards couldn't do anything. They had seen it, processed it, and now they just had to accept it. But Marcus, still wide-eyed, couldn't shake the feeling that they were all about to get in way over their heads.

As Cataleya settled into her seat, a cool detachment settled over her, but she didn't quite relax. Mike and Marcus were in their seats across from her, exchanging quiet words, but her focus was elsewhere. The hum of the plane's engines filled the cabin, but something in the air shifted—too quiet, too tense.

Then, without warning, a metal cage was slid inside the plane, its wheels clicking as it rolled to a stop. Inside the cage, there was nothing but shadows, but those shadows shifted, and Cataleya's eyes locked onto the movement instantly.

A figure inside the cage—tall, imposing, but cloaked in darkness. The subtle shift of a hand, the faintest movement of fabric, and Cataleya's body stiffened. Her pulse quickened, and her breath caught in her throat.

The calm, controlled woman was gone in an instant. Her eyes flickered between the cage and the men across from her, but she didn't speak—she couldn't. All her training, all the layers of composure she'd built over the years, were slipping away, piece by piece.

The figure inside the cage shifted again. And it was enough to crack the cold exterior she'd worked so hard to maintain.

Her jaw tightened. The walls she'd built around herself were crumbling, and Cataleya knew she couldn't hide it much longer. Paranoia seeped into her veins, and the question burned in her mind—was this a coincidence, or had someone been one step ahead of her all along?

Cataleya wasn't the type to let her guard down, but as soon as she saw who Mike and Marcus had already brought onto the team, her heart stopped for a fraction of a second. Of all the people they could've chosen, it had to be him. Armando Aretas.

She stiffened, a thousand memories rushing back all at once. The long nights of chaos, the close calls, the tension that had always lingered between them like an unspoken truth. They had survived hell together, fought alongside and sometimes against each other, until fate pulled them in opposite directions. She thought she'd left that chapter behind. Apparently, the universe had other plans.

"You good?" Mike asked, his voice steady but with a hint of curiosity.

Armando gave a small nod, his features remaining cool and composed. "Never been better."

"It's about forty-five minutes." He said, casually taking his seat next to Marcus, who had already started up a conversation.

Armando was leaning against a nearby cellar, his arms crossed and his posture deceptively casual. He looked calm, almost too calm. His dark eyes glinted with a familiarity that made Cataleya's skin prickle, like he was enjoying the fact that she was clearly uncomfortable.

"I wasn't sure you'd show up. Thought you were done with people like us." He said, his voice low and smooth as he finally broke the silence.

Cataleya's jaw tightened when she stood up. "I am."

Marcus, standing between them—since she was about to get close to the cage & raised an eyebrow at the tension. "Whoa, hold up. Y'all know each other?"

Mike's gaze darted between the two. "Oh, this is getting interesting."

Armando pushed off the cellar and took a step closer, keeping his movements slow, like he didn't want to startle her even though he couldn't get out. His eyes stayed locked on hers, unreadable yet strangely warm, as if he was enjoying this little game too much.

"We've... worked together," Cataleya said finally, her tone clipped as she shot Armando a glare. She wasn't about to give him the satisfaction of elaborating.

"Worked is one way to put it." Armando added with a smirk, his voice laced with a slight playful teasing.

Cataleya's eyes narrowed. "And what's that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, nothing," Armando said innocently, though the glimmer in his eyes betrayed him. "I'm just saying, you had a way of keeping things... interesting back then. And, well, I've missed that."

"Missed it, huh?" She snapped, crossing her arms. "Or missed having someone around to clean up your messes?"

Mike let out a low whistle. "Okay, this is starting to feel like therapy. Should we step out?"

"Hell no," Marcus muttered. "I need popcorn for this."

Armando chuckled, although his eyes showed no emotions, clearly unfazed by Cataleya's sharpness. "Same old Cataleya." He said softly, his tone shifting slightly, almost nostalgic. "Still sharp as ever."

For a moment, she hesitated. His voice had softened, enough to make her chest tighten. It wasn't the same Armando she remembered—not exactly. There was something different now, something quieter, steadier. He wasn't the reckless force of chaos she'd known before. And that made her more uneasy than she cared to admit.

But she wasn't about to let him see that. "Don't get comfortable." She said coldly. "This doesn't mean we're friends."

Armando smirked again, the teasing returning in full force. "Friends? Nah, you're right. We're way past that, aren't we?"

Cataleya rolled her eyes and turned away, trying to ignore the faint heat creeping up her neck. He was going to make this very difficult, and she hated how good he was at it.

"Mike, Marcus," she called over her shoulder, "if he screws this up, it's on you."

Armando's soft scoff followed her as she walked off, but when she glanced back, she saw it—the briefest flicker of something sincere in his gaze. Something that made her wonder if he wasn't teasing all the time.

As Cataleya settled back into her seat, her eyes flickered over to Armando, who was now watching her with a conditional look on his face that she couldn't stand. His gaze briefly met Mike's, who was watching the young Spanish pair, when he looked back at Cataleya, his expression unreadable.

But she shoved the thought aside. Whatever this was, she wasn't letting it distract her. Not again.

Marcus leaned in, his tone conspiratorial as he spoke low enough so Cataleya wouldn't overhear. "Mike, I wasn't even gonna tell you this, but in one of our previous lifetimes together," Mike nodded along, half listening, his usual calm exterior not betraying any sign of what was coming. "you were a donkey. And I owned you."

Mike, not missing a beat, kept his eyes on Marcus as he kept nodding.

"You were a stubborn ass, Mike. You used to bite and spit. You were nasty." Marcus continued, shaking his head as if recounting a painful memory.

Mike hummed low in response, the faintest smile playing on his lips. He met Marcus's gaze, their shared history hanging heavy between them.

"But," Marcus added with another scoff, "I was a terrible owner, you know. Because I used to beat you." He turned his head to the side, almost wistfully. "Because you wouldn't listen for shit. And maybe I beat some kind of shame into you, Mike."

Cataleya, still processing the earlier tension, couldn't help but watch the exchange, her brow furrowing slightly. There was something both absurd and unsettling about the way they interacted—like old wounds and buried memories had a way of resurfacing at the most unexpected times.

Mike, with a playful mockery in his tone, let his eyes linger on Marcus. "You miss your nap?"

Marcus raised a hand in exasperation, his voice rising. "Ah, Mike. I'm trying to apologize to you."

Mike's grin only widened. "We don't have your blankie, but you could just rest your eyes."

Marcus threw a pointed finger at Mike, his frustration bubbling up. "That's exactly how you was as a donkey."

Mike stretched his arms, still mockingly casual. "Mm-kay—"

Marcus pointed his finger at him, clearly pissed. "That's that shit right there."

Mike, unfazed, looked back at him, a teasing glint in his eyes. "I get it. You need some help with your seatbelt?" He asked, his tone dripping with sarcasm as he started securing himself into his seat.

"No, Donkey." Marcus shot back, his tone tinged with annoyance but still unmistakably fond.

As the plane began its ascent, the engines roaring louder and the cabin shifting with the movement, Cataleya remained still. The rush of the takeoff filled her ears, but her thoughts were elsewhere. Her fingers instinctively reached down, a small, unconscious movement. But the familiar cold metal wasn't there.

Her knife.

A quiet frustration stirred within her. She loved having something to fidget with—something sharp, something small to slice the air, the moment, the thoughts that bothered her. But now... now, she was without it.



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