"Teams of two," Fenrir continues. "Gunnar and Tor, take the east side. Hakon and Ulf, west. Magnus and Kraken, you're on vehicle duty—no one leaves. Rati and Dag, back entrance. Runes and I take the front."
Fenrir gives out more orders, and there are nods all around.
No questions.
We've done this before.
Maybe not exactly this, but close enough.
We know how to move as one.
How to fight as one.
How to kill as one.
"This shit is serious, brothers," Runes says, his voice low and hard. "No one walks out of here except our people and those kids. Understood?"
"Understood," we echo.
"Find out who's running this operation. I want the head of the snake before we're done."
More nods.
"Move out. Signal is three clicks on the radio. Then we hit them hard and fast."
We disperse into the darkness.
Shadows swallowing shadows.
Tor falls into step beside me as we circle toward the east side of the motel.
His face is carved from stone.
Unreadable.
But I know what's going on inside his head.
This is personal for him in ways it isn't for the rest of us.
He survived what these kids are going through.
He carries those scars every day—some visible, most not.
He knows what it's like to be small and scared and trapped.
To pray for someone to save you.
To have no one come.
"You good?" I ask quietly.
"I'll be good when they're all dead."
Fair enough.
We reach our position.
Crouch in the shadows behind a rusted dumpster that reeks of decay.
