“More than one,” he said. His voice came out hard, flat. “We go in quiet. If we’re lucky, we find her before they finish loading.”
The wind picked up again, carrying the metallic tang of salt and diesel. Blake signaled for them to move, leading her along the narrow edge of the pier. Boards creaked beneath their boots, the sound swallowed by the hum of the generator and the low whine of winches.
At the base of the crane, he crouched again, gesturing toward a small side door. “We’ll breach there. Quieter than the main bay.”
Vivian nodded, unholstering her weapon. “You cover left, I’ll clear the storage corridor.”
“Copy.”
He hesitated, watching her steady her breathing. The same woman who’d taken a hit two nights ago, who’d still insisted on standing her ground. The same woman he’d kissed without meaning to—and couldn’t stop thinking about since.
“You good?” he asked quietly.
She looked at him, eyes fierce beneath the brim of her hood. “I’m with you.”
Something in his chest twisted—pride, fear, want, all tangled. “All right,” he said. “Let’s finish this.”
He pushed the door open, a faint squeal from its hinges. Cold air and the smell of oil spilled out. Inside, the dim corridor stretched toward a loading platform lit by a single flickeringbulb. Shadows moved beyond the doorway—two guards, talking low.
Blake raised his hand—two fingers. She nodded. On his count.
One.
Two.
Three.
Blake didn’t risk a shot — too loud, too soon. His arm snaked around the man’s neck, dragging him down before the guard could shout. Vivian moved in perfect sync. She lunged, striking the second across the jaw with the butt of her weapon.
Silence. No alarms. Only the slow drip of oil and the groan of metal.
“Clear,” Blake whispered.
Vivian crouched beside the downed man, checking his wrist. “No laurel tattoo.”
He frowned. “Local hires. The higher-ups are still inside.”
They secured both out of sight, gagged and tied.
They crept forward. At the next steel door, Blake froze, pointing to a boot print near the threshold—fine grit tracked from outside. “Someone’s already been through here,” Blake said.
Outside, the wind keened through the docks — and underneath it came a faint metallic sound, rhythmic and hollow, like chains dragging beneath the tide.
Blake’s gut went cold. The tide stirred, and something beneath the surface stirred with it.
CHAPTER NINE
The metallic rattle came again—closerthis time, echoing through the planks like a heartbeat gone wrong. Vivian froze, her pulse syncing with the sound. Salt and oil burned the back of her throat. For a moment, all she heard was the slow swish of tide brushing the pylons and Blake’s steady breathing beside her—controlled, measured, masking what any normal person would call fear.
She wanted to believe him when he’d said they’d finish this. That they’d walk out with the girl. That the past wouldn’t swallow them. But promises like that had shattered on missions before. Too many.
She edged forward, boots silent on rain-slick boards. A thin beam of warm air puffed through a crack between stacked crates. Wrong for a night this cold.
“There,” she whispered.
Blake followed her gaze to the half-hidden trapdoor beneath the crane’s base. “Sublevel. Probably where they’re keeping them.”
“Then that’s where we go.” She didn’t hesitate. He gave her that assessing look, but she met it squarely.
