Viktor’s men rounded the far corner in formation. His voice carried through the smoke, calm and cruel.
“Beckett! You can walk away. Leave the girl, and I’ll let your team live.”
Elara froze. I didn’t.
“Funny,” I shouted back. “I was about to offer you the same deal.”
He laughed—low and genuine. “You still believe in mercy. That’s your weakness.”
“Not mercy,” I said, raising my rifle. “Payback.”
The next volley ripped the air apart.
River flanked left, covering Oliver’s retreat. Gage tossed a thermite charge under the lead van—fire and smoke blew upward in a roar that lit the entire port. Cyclone’s voice was a steady thread through the chaos, calling targets, updating positions, keeping us alive.
Viktor fired back with precision—no panic, no wasted ammo. One of his rounds grazed my arm, hot and fast; the burn barely registered. I saw him through the haze—tall, composed, a pistol steady in his hand and a smile that said he’d already decided how this would end.
Elara was at my side, eyes fierce, weapon steady. “We end it here.”
“Yeah,” I said. “We do.”
We pushed forward together, cutting through the storm—two soldiers against an empire, moving like the same heartbeat.
And somewhere beyond the fire and smoke, Viktor stepped out of the light, gun raised, waiting for me.
80
River
The docks burned like the end of the world.
The air shimmered with heat from the thermite blast, steel containers glowing orange in the haze. Bullets cracked through the smoke, pinging off metal and concrete in angry ricochets. Somewhere to my right, Gage’s laughter cut through it all—wild, reckless, and familiar.
“River!” he shouted. “You’re blocking my line of fire!”
“You’re welcome!” I yelled back, firing three shots that took down a Hydra gunman trying to flank us.
Cyclone’s voice came through the comms sharp and calm. “Multiple tangos incoming from the north docks—armored vests, heavy rifles. I can scramble the crane systems and buy you thirty seconds, but after that, they’ll have full visibility.”
“Thirty’s enough,” I said.
I ducked behind a shipping container, slammed a new mag into my rifle, and glanced toward Oliver. The sniper was perched halfway up the crane ladder, picking targets like he was carving statues from shadows. Each shot was a thunderclap. Every time a Hydra soldier dropped, I saw a flicker of light from his scope—a silent rhythm that meantwe’re still here.
Gage sprinted across open ground with zero cover, dragging a wounded Hydra soldier behind him. He shoved the man against the dock wall and growled, “Where’s your command relay? Where’s Viktor?”
The man spat blood, muttered something in Russian.
Gage smiled—a dangerous, slow grin. “Wrong answer.”
He slammed the butt of his rifle into the man’s chest, hard enough to knock the air out of him. “Try again.”
Oliver’s voice cut through the comms. “Gage, we don’t have time to interrogate!”
“Then he should talk faster!”
I grinned despite myself. That was Gage—too wild to tame, too loyal to question. But only on the job. When he was home, he was a completely different person.
Cyclone interrupted, voice rising. “Crane overrides dying. Lights coming back up in ten seconds. Get your asses moving or you’re going to be silhouettes against a spotlight!”
