Mrs. Undercover May 2026

Until the casserole arrived.

Ellie’s eyes flicked to Brenda’s hands. The nails were perfectly manicured, but the cuticles were raw—a sign of recent chemical exposure. Her floral dress was designer, but the shoes were combat-grade boots, resoled for silence. And the casserole dish was giving off a faint, rhythmic click . Mrs. Undercover

Her husband, Dave, a pleasant but profoundly unobservant accountant, kissed her forehead. “Big day at work, honey. Budget meeting.” Until the casserole arrived

“The usual,” she said, kissing his cheek. “Budget meeting go well?” Her floral dress was designer, but the shoes

“Not anymore.” Brenda pulled a sleek phone from her bra. “The Serpent is back. He’s built a new network, and he’s targeting the suburb of Oak Grove for a test run—a dirty bomb hidden in the elementary school. Detonation: 3:00 PM. That’s four hours.”