Chapter Four
The Ridge looked differentat night.
Floodlights carved long shadows across the training yard, their pale cones breaking the dark into sharp edges.Beyond them, the pines whispered under the weight of the wind, the air crisp enough to bite.
Dale adjusted the strap on his bulletproof vest and scanned the map pinned to the hood of the Humvee.“Three targets,” he said, tapping each red X.“One in the main warehouse, two in the south module.Objective is to retrieve the package without tripping the alarms.We’ve got motion sensors, sound traps, and a couple of Marsh’s lovely surprise tripwires.The team have gone all out to test us.”
Ty smirked.“Translation: they want us to fail.”
“Translation,” Dale corrected, “They want us to think like a unit, and I’m going to lead us to victory.I’m not pulling punches because you’re both pretty.”
Oren arched a brow.“You’re only with us cause we’re pretty?”
Dale’s eyes swept over him slowly.“You’re dangerous, too.That’s certainly part of the attraction.”
Ty rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitched.“All right, fearless leader.How are we playing this?I want to get to the part of the evening where you feed us.”
“Good plan.Silent entry from the east,” Dale said, flipping the map closed.“Ty takes point on locks and, Oren, you’re our eyes on elevated positions.I’ll sweep anything ground level.We stay on comms, but keep chatter minimal.”
Dale loved the comms devices they all wore, simple adhesive dots, skin colored so that they blended in.Place one against the jaw and one under the ear and you were on.A simple touch to either and you were live, and if anyone wanted to get word out to all of them, they could activate them all remotely.They never left home without them now.
The three of them moved out, boots whispering over gravel.The first fence loomed before them.Ten feet of chain link crowned with a lazy curl of barbed wire.Ty dropped to one knee, gloved fingers checking the base.“Loose gravel at the base of the fence.We’ve got a crawl space.”
Oren crouched beside him, sliding under first.His breath fogged in the cool night air as he scanned the yard beyond.“Clear.But someone’s been through here before us.Fresh prints.”
“You sure they aren’t ours?”Dale asked over comms.
“Nope.Smaller size, heavier tread, not something we would wear, they would be loud as fuck on this gravel,” Oren said, voice clipped.“Looks like they didn’t care about noise.”
Ty’s gaze met Dale’s briefly.It was just a drill—but the unease was real.
They fanned out, moving toward the warehouse.The shadows swallowed them, the crunch of gravel replaced by the muted thud of boots on packed dirt.Dale’s mind catalogued every movement—Ty’s deliberate pace, Oren’s restless scanning—and found a strange satisfaction in the way they naturally adjusted to each other.
Ty reached the warehouse side door, crouching over the keypad.“It’s an older model,” he murmured.“Give me thirty seconds.”
Oren took a knee nearby, rifle raised, scanning the roofline.“There are two vents open on the roof that shouldn’t be.”
Dale’s voice came low from behind them, having just joined them at the door.“Noted.Ty, status?”
“Done.”The lock clicked, and Ty eased the door open.
Inside, the dark smelled of machine oil and dust.The metal shelves rose like monoliths, casting deep shadows.Dale signaled right, Ty took left, and Oren ghosted up the metal stairs to the catwalk.
Minutes ticked by.The tension was ...good.Productive.Dale caught glimpses of them through the racks—Ty’s measured movements, Oren’s silhouette gliding above, rifle always at the ready.This was how it was supposed to feel—three operators watching each other’s six, working as a unit.
