?Chapter 1502:


    “Something’s off,” Maynard muttered as he ran, his brows drawing together. “Why is she running like this? Did she spot us? Or is there another presence behind her?”


    Questions pressed at him, but protocol overruled every doubt. Maia had to stay within sight, no matter what.


    After nearly ten minutes of relentless running, Maia shoved through a wall of brush and stumbled into a small clearing where the trees thinned. Then, all at once, she stopped.


    Her steps faltered, her body pitching unsteadily. Her knees buckled and she dropped hard to the ground,nding on her back with her limbs ck. She appeared to have lost consciousness.


    Maynard froze at once, sliding into a crouch behind a thick trunk and shing silent signals — hide, stay sharp. No one spoke. Even breathing seemed too loud.


    The forest settled into an uneasy stillness, disturbed only by leaves whispering as wind threaded through the branches.


    One minute crawled by. Then another, just as heavy and tense. Maia did not stir.


    “What’s going on?”


    Maynard narrowed his eyes and lifted his binocrs to study her closely. There was no blood staining the ground, no broken branches or disturbed earth to suggest a struggle. Had she simply run herself to the brink of copse? Or had she suddenly fallen ill?


    If this was a fainting spell, hesitation was not an option. Their standing orders left no room for error — Maia’s safety was absolute, and any failure on their watch would carry unforgiving consequences.


    “Numbers three and four, hold your positions and keep eyes on the perimeter. Number two, you’re with me. We’re going in.” Maynard kept his voice low as he spoke.


    He and one operative drew their pistols, staying crouched as they advanced toward Maia’s motionless form — step by deliberate step, closing the gap. Thirty feet. Then fifteen.


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    At that distance, Maynard could finally make out her features clearly. Her eyes were shut, her skin drained of color, her stillness absolute. She truly appeared unconscious.


    A breath eased from his chest. He slid his weapon back into its holster and quickened his pace, reaching out to check her pulse.


    “Ms. Watson?” he called out softly.


    But just as his fingers hovered inches from her neck, everything shifted in a single breath.


    The woman who had appeared unconscious snapped her eyes open. There was no haze of disorientation, no weakness lingering in her stare — only sharp awareness, edged with a knowing glint.


    “Oh no.” rm detonated in Maynard’s chest, and instinct screamed at him to pull back. But the warning came toote.


    “Move!” Maia’s voice cut through the clearing, crisp andmanding. In response, multiple gun barrels slid into view from the surrounding brush, rising from behind tangled shrubs and low-hanging branches. They belonged to Siena’s people — d in camouge, they emerged with predatory precision, bodies coiled like leopards springing from concealment.


    “Freeze! Hands up!” Siena’s voice rang cold and unwavering. A frigid muzzle pressed firmly against the back of Maynard’s head.


    The remaining members of The Mask were overtaken just as swiftly — weapons stripped, movement locked down. It was a wless ambush.


    Maynard remained rigid, hands lifting slowly, dejection carving itself across his expression. The reversal was unmistakable. The hunter had been cornered by the very prey he believed he controlled.


    He tracked Maia as she pushed herself upright and brushed soil from her clothes, shock tightening his chest even as reluctant admiration followed. Only then did the truth settle in. She had offered herself deliberately. Bait, ced with precision.


    Maia flicked the dirt from her palms and stepped toward him. She looked down at the man behind the half-mask, her stare honed and merciless.


    “That was quite the run,” she said calmly. “You led it straight to this.”


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