Kane's voice from inside the lodge interrupts the moment. "Dylan. Reagan. You need to hear this."
We step back inside to find the team gathered around Kane's tablet. Cross's voice crackles through the encrypted speaker, her words clipped and urgent.
"Webb's shifted strategy. He's no longer focused on discrediting your testimony or suppressing the exposé. He's pulled his PR teams off the disinformation campaign."
"What's he doing instead?" Kane asks.
A pause. When Cross speaks again, her voice carries something I've rarely heard from her. Concern. Maybe even fear.
"He's stopped trying to win the public relations war. That means he's accepted that he can't. And when Webb accepts that he can't win a fight, he doesn't retreat." Another pause. "He eliminates the problem."
"The problem being us," I say.
"The problem being all of you. Every witness, every journalist, every source who contributed to the investigation. He's compiling target packages. Moving assets into position."
Kane's jaw tightens. "How much time do we have?"
"Unknown. But Dylan, Reagan, listen to me carefully." Cross's voice drops. "Webb has stopped trying to discredit you. That means he's moving to eliminate. Watch your backs. Trust no one outside your immediate circle. And for God's sake, get somewhere defensible before he finds you."
The call ends. The room is silent except for the crackle of the dying fire.
Mercer moves first, crossing to the window to scan the treeline. Stryker checks his weapon automatically, muscle memory taking over. Willa puts a hand on Khalid's shoulder, steadying him. Kane starts pulling up tactical displays on his tablet, already shifting into operational mode.
I look at Reagan, at Khalid, at the team that has become my family. We knew this was coming. We've known since the beginning that Webb wouldn't let us expose his operation without a fight.
But preparation and reality are two different things.
"We said we'd give you more time," Kane says quietly. "But I don't think we have it anymore."
Outside, the wind picks up, rattling the windows of the hunting lodge. Somewhere in the darkness, Webb's assets are moving toward us.
15
REAGAN
The wind dies sometime after midnight, and the silence that follows is worse.
Sleep refuses to come. Every creak of the old lodge sends my heart rate spiking, every shift of settling wood sounds like footsteps on the porch. Cross's warning plays on repeat in my head. Even through the distortion of encrypted comms, the fear in her voice had been unmistakable.
The PR war is over. Now comes the killing.
The second wave of releases is scheduled for morning. Six more outlets ready to publish, each building on what came before, each adding new sources and documentation that makes the story harder to dismiss. The momentum is building exactly as planned. But none of that matters if we're dead before sunrise.
Dylan sleeps beside me, his breathing shallow even in rest. Even unconscious, he holds himself carefully, protecting the wound that's still healing. Willa cleared him for light duty, but light duty doesn't mean ready for combat. It means able to walk without reopening the wound.
The thought of him fighting in this condition makes my stomach clench.
A soft knock at the door brings me upright before I register moving. Dylan's awake instantly, hand reaching for the weapon on the nightstand.
"It's Kane." The voice is low, controlled, but the urgency beneath it raises every hair on my arms. "We need to move. Now."
Dylan is already pulling on clothes, movements economical despite favoring his injured side. His eyes meet mine in the darkness, and what passes between us doesn't need words. This is it. Whatever Cross warned us about, it's here.
The main room is controlled chaos. Mercer stands at the window with his rifle, scanning the treeline through a scope. Stryker is checking weapons at the tactical table, distributing magazines and spare ammunition. Willa has her medical bag open, preparing trauma supplies with practiced efficiency.
Khalid sits on the couch, pale but alert. His eyes find mine when we enter, and the fear there hits me harder than I expected.
"Tommy picked up movement on the approach roads." Kane keeps his voice low, but urgency sharpens every word. "Three vehicles, no lights, tactical formation. They'll be here in minutes."
