His realization settles in my gut with dark satisfaction. Let him know. Let him understand that we're not cowering in some hole waiting to be found. Let him come looking for a fight and find exactly what he's asking for.
Silence settles over the forest around me, that peculiar stillness that comes before violence. My finger rests on the trigger guard, breathing controlled, mind clear. Somewhere in the darkness, Kessler is mobilizing his team for one final push to find us. Blood from Lewell is still tacky on my knife. Before this night ends, Kessler's blood will join it.
15
RACHEL
The operations center feels too bright, too sterile, too controlled for the violence happening somewhere in the darkness beyond these mountain walls.
I sit at the edge of the tactical table with Lucas pressed against my side, his small hand gripping mine hard enough to cut off circulation. Khalid occupies the chair to my left, and Odin lies at his feet with his massive head resting on his paws. The dog's ears swivel constantly, tracking every sound, every shift in the room's atmosphere.
Tommy hunches over his array of monitors at the main console, his work creating a steady rhythm of keystrokes. Sarah stands behind him, one hand braced on the back of his chair, knuckles white against the black leather. Her eyes stay locked on the central display showing blue markers for our team and red markers for hostile contacts.
Reagan and Delaney are on perimeter watch, covering the approaches while the strike team is out. Willa moves between the operations center and her medical bay, checking supplies once more with methodical precision. Every few minutes she returns to stand near the doorway, medical kit at her side, ready.
The strike team deployed what seems like hours ago. Somewhere out there, the man I love is hunting the people who want my son dead.
When we were running from Tucson to the safe house, at least I was doing something. Not much, but something. Action, any kind of action, meant some kind of control, even if that control was an illusion. Now I can only sit here and follow colored dots across a screen while my imagination fills in all the terrible details the tactical display doesn't show.
"Target team is regrouping at Rally Point Bravo," Tommy announces. Despite the professional neutrality in his tone, tension radiates from his shoulders. "Our team has visual confirmation on multiple hostiles. Kessler's signature is confirmed at the center of their formation."
Sarah moves closer to study the thermal imaging, leaning in until her face is inches from the screen. "Defensive perimeter. They know for sure something's wrong with the decoy signatures."
"Time to contact?" I ask. My voice comes out steadier than I feel.
"Soon," Tommy replies without looking away from his screens. "Kane's holding position until Mercer confirms overwatch is established."
Minutes feel like hours. Lucas's hand stays locked in mine, his pulse jumping rabbit-fast against my palm.
"Mom," Lucas whispers, his voice small in the quiet of the operations center. "Is Mr. Stryker going to be okay?"
The question catches in my chest. Lucas already cares about him. Already worries about him like family. And I have no way to protect either of them from what's happening out there in the dark.
"He's very good at what he does," I tell him, which is truth without being a promise. "And he's not alone. Kane and Dylan are with him."
Lucas nods slowly, processing this non-answer with the same gravity he's worn since the night at Martinez Grocery. "Khalid says soldiers are brave because they're scared but they go anyway."
I glance at Khalid, who keeps his eyes on the tactical display but offers a slight nod of acknowledgment.
"That's exactly right," I say, pulling Lucas closer. "Being brave doesn't mean you're not scared. It means you keep going even when you are."
Kane's voice comes through, low and controlled. "Overwatch established. Mercer confirms clean sight lines on all targets. Moving to intercept."
The final moments before violence. I force myself to breathe. Four counts in through my nose, hold, four counts out through my mouth. The breathing exercise my therapist taught me for managing panic feels inadequate for the terror clawing at my throat, but it's all I have.
Willa stands near the doorway with her emergency kit at her side, ready. I know she's already prepped the medical bay for whatever's coming. The trauma station is set up, supplies organized, instruments laid out. She's just waiting now, same as the rest of us.
My stomach lurches. I focus on breathing.
"Contact imminent," Tommy announces.
The operations center goes silent except for the soft hum of electronics and the occasional click of Tommy's keyboards. Even Odin seems to sense the tension, his ears flattening against his skull as he presses closer to Khalid's leg.
The blue markers converge on the red ones. Colton is one of those blue dots, moving through darkness with a weapon in his hands.
"Contact," Tommy says sharply.
The radio crackles to life with sounds that make me flinch. Gunfire tears through the speakers, sharp and staccato, violent even through the transmission. Commands shout over the chaos, voices tight with adrenaline.
