Eli rolled to a stop at the edge of the gravel drive, engine idling low as his eyes swept the property. No movement. No sound. The house sat still in the early morning haze, its front porch partially hidden beneath the long shadows of two twisted oaks.
It was too quiet.
Delaney ended her call with Noah and tucked her phone away. “Still nothing,” she said. “No visual. No comms. Noah’s got a backup team on the way, but they’re twenty minutes out.”
They didn’t have twenty minutes. Hell, they might have no time left at all.
Eli put the SUV in park and cut the engine. He reached into the back seat and grabbed his vest, slipping into it with practiced ease. Beside him, Delaney did the same, her movements smooth and focused. No hesitation. No nerves showing.
She checked her sidearm, and she didn’t ask what to do next.
Good. She didn’t need handholding.
Eli had learned a long time ago that in moments like this, trust mattered more than rankor resume. And while he hadn’t known Delaney long, he trusted Owen, Ruby, and Noah. They didn’t put people in the field unless they were ready. If Delaney was out here, it was because she had the skill to be.
Still, even the most capable operator couldn’t predict the chaos once things broke loose. Eli had seen perfect plans fall apart because of timing, terrain, or the wrong person in the wrong place. Training helped, but it didn’t stop a full-fledged shitstorm.
And Delaney had already been through one of those. He’d heard enough from others around the compound. The girl she couldn’t save. The fallout. The headlines. Nobody gave details, but the silence around it said enough.
He didn’t hold it against her. Hell, they all had ghosts.
He looked over. She was staring at the house, jaw tight, breath slow and steady in the chill March air.
“You ready?” he asked.
She met his eyes. “Yeah.”
He believed her.
Eli reached for the rifle in the back, loaded and checked it, then stepped out into the cold. The air had a bite to it, not quite winter, not yet spring. Fog clung low over the ground and curled against the corners of the porch.
No birds. No wind. No sign of life.
“Stay low,” he instructed her. “We sweep theperimeter first. If we see anything, we shift.”
Delaney nodded and fell into step beside him. They moved in silence toward the house, boots crunching softly over gravel. Eli kept his eyes scanning, his instincts on high alert.
Eli moved first, rifle at the ready, eyes sweeping the yard. Delaney flanked him to the right, staying low, her sidearm steady in her grip. The morning air bit at his skin through the gaps in his collar, and the damp scent of trampled grass filled his lungs.
They circled the perimeter in silence.
No movement.
No sound.
But he could see where the grass had been crushed down in spots. Boot prints. Several sets. Some fresh. No tire tracks leading out. That told him something—whoever came here hadn’t used the driveway to leave. They’d likely come and gone through the woods that made a semicircle around the property.
They rounded the rear corner of the house, where the back porch steps led up to a screen door. Eli lifted a hand, and Delaney stilled beside him.
The door was open a few inches. Not enough to suggest forced entry, but enough to set every alarm in his head screaming. He gestured for Delaney to cover him, then moved up the steps, boots silent against the worn wood.
He nudged the door open with the barrel of his rifle.
It creaked.
Eli steeled himself and got ready for whatever the hell might come at them. But there was no return fire. No warning shout. Just that eerie, slow creaking of hinges and the chill of adrenaline riding his spine.
He stepped inside first. Delaney followed, close behind, and they fired glances around. The kitchen was empty.
