Ghost leads the second team wide on the left. Saint’s on my six, rifle up, watching for shadows.
We take the high ground first—ridge above the ranger station. From here, I can see it all.
Grace is inside.
Her shape is visible through a cracked window, tied up in a chair. Duct tape on her wrists, ankles, mouth. John stands behind her like he owns the world.
Something in me snaps and reassembles in the same breath.
I don’t let the rage lead. I let the mission lead.
I pull out my radio. “Position confirmed. Four outside, two at the rear. John’s inside with Grace. Green light?”
Ghost: “Green.”
We move like ghosts.
Havoc and Blade sweep the rear. Silent and lethal.
Saint and I hit the porch.
The first guy turns just in time to catch my fist to the jaw and Saint’s knife in the gut. No time for a scream.
Inside, John hears it.
He grabs Grace by the hair, yanks her up like a shield.
Wrong move.
I’m through the door in two strides, gun up, sights on his skull.
“Let her go,” I growl.
He grins. “Or what? You’ll shoot through her?”
My trigger finger doesn’t twitch. “You know I won’t.”
“You’re right. Because you’re soft for her.”
Grace’s eyes are wide. Terrified.
But she’s alive.
And still fighting.
I see it. The resistance in her body. The strength it takes just to stay upright. To meet my eyes. To believe.
“You’re gonna die for her?” John sneers, dragging her closer.
“No,” I say. “You are.”
He blinks.
Ghost’s bullet takes him through the shoulder from the side window.
John screams and shoves Grace away. She stumbles and crashes to the floor, shaking all over, breathing wild through her nose, eyes wide with fear.
“I’ve got you,” I say, low and steady.
