Mason POV

The church is dead quiet, the air so thick you could cut it with a knife. It's the kind of atmosphere I hate to be part of.

Everyone’s eyes are on Ghost, his fingers flying over the laptop connected to Snake’s phone, checking for any sign he’s the mole. My heart’s pounding, my fists clenched under the table. Snake’s story about me getting jumped at a club was a lie, and he hesitated to hand over his phone. He was too obvious.

My gut’s screaming he’s the traitor ...