Gray’s voice on comms. “Non-lethal where possible. But Megan comes out alive. Priority one.”
We move.
Symon and Maverick take the east approach, silent as shadows. I go west with Gray. We’re ghosts.
At the perimeter fence, Maverick cuts the chain link. No alarm. They’re cocky.
Gray and I move to the loading dock. Symon and Maverick circle to the rear.
We’re ten yards from the side door when the first guard steps out for a smoke.
I’m on him before he can react. My arm around his throat in a chokehold, he’s down in seconds. Zip-tied. Gagged.
Gray clears the doorway.
We slip inside.
The interior is cavernous, echoing, dark, and smelling of rust and old grain. Voices drift from the center.
A man’s voice, low and ugly, says. “She’s still out. Boss wants her awake when we send the video to Calhoun.”
Another laugh. “Think she’ll scream pretty?”
Rage blinds me for a second.
Gray’s hand finds my shoulder—steady, grounding.
We move.
Symon’s voice in my ear. “Rear clear. Two down.”
Maverick: “Three down.”
Gray gives the signal.
We breach.
It’s brutal, fast, and bloody.
The first guard spins too slowly. Gray puts two in his chest. I take the second one, center mass, then headshot when he keeps moving. The third guard grabs for his radio, and my knife finds his throat before he can key it. He drops, gurgling.
Megan is in the center, tied to a metal chair, wrists zip-tied behind her, ankles bound, duct tape over her mouth. A bruise is blooming on her cheek. There’s blood on her lip, but her eyes are wide, furious, alive.
She sees me, and relief floods her face.
I’m at her side in two strides, knife out, cutting the ties. She sags forward. I catch her and gently rip the tape off.
“Aaron—”
I pull her against me. “I’ve got you.”
She clings, arms around my neck, face buried in my throat. “I knew you’d come.”
“Always.”
Gray’s voice on comms. “Clear. Exfil now.”
I lift her and carry her out, her legs around my waist, arms tight. The team covers with Symon and Maverick rear guard.
