“On paper,” Aaron said. “In reality, it’s a black-budget storage facility for prototype systems. Mostly drones, AI logistics, and cyber-ops tech. Reese didn’t just want money—he wanted access.”
Julia leaned forward, brow furrowing. “Access to what, exactly?”
Miles brought up a feed—rows of crates and sealed containers stacked inside a vast hangar. “Whatever he was funding, it ties to this. Project Veridian. It’s not in any public record. The files we recovered last night referenced it asPhase Two.”
I crossed my arms. “So what was Phase One?”
“Copper Cove,” Aaron said. “A proof of concept—testing how far Halcyon could manipulate law enforcement and civilian infrastructure under a false flag. Phase Two scales that globally.”
The words landed like shrapnel.
Julia’s voice was steady, but her hands tightened around the edge of the table. “And the President?”
“He’s been briefed,” Aaron said. “He wants this handled quietly. We go in under the radar—no backup, no leaks. If Reese is still alive, this is where he’ll surface.”
Boone exhaled. “How deep’s the site?”
“Underground,” Miles said. “Four levels, maybe more. Entry points are limited—one main access road and one emergency tunnel that connects to the coastline. Security’s automated, but the system still runs on old military protocols. I can get you in.”28
Aaron looked at each of us in turn. “This isn’t an extraction. It’s containment. We don’t let Veridian activate. We find Reese, we shut him down, and if we can’t—”
“We end it,” I finished.
He nodded. “Exactly.”
Julia’s gaze flicked toward me. “We go in quiet?”
“As quiet as ghosts,” I said.
She gave a small, almost grim smile. “Then it’s a good thing we don’t spook easy.”
Aaron cut the tension with a brisk tone. “We leave at 0300. Miles will feed real-time surveillance through the drone relay. Boone, and Logan, you’re lead on breach. Julia,you’re with Hawk—west entry, secondary access. This is a closed loop. No outside chatter.”
Miles powered down one of the screens, glancing up. “If Veridian’s live, we’ll see it the moment we cross the threshold.”
“Then we better be ready for whatever’s waiting,” Aaron said.
When the briefing ended,the others filtered out—voices low, gear being checked, the familiar rhythm before chaos. I lingered by the table, watching the rain smear light across the window.
Julia came up beside me, quiet. “Every time we think we’ve ended it, another door opens.”
“Yeah,” I said. “But this one feels like the last.”
She studied me a moment. “You don’t actually believe that.”
“No,” I admitted. “But I need to.”
Her hand brushed my arm—light, grounding. “Then let’s make it count.”
I met her gaze. “We always do.”
24
Hawk
We moved like we’d been rehearsing for this our whole lives—three shadows against the scrub brush, breath measured, boots whispering on damp gravel. The world at 0300 was a black-and-white photograph: outlines and silhouettes, everything that could give away a body reduced to shape and sound.
Mile’s feed was a low voice in my ear. “West perimeter clear. Automated sensors on a two-minute loop—timing’s tight. You have sixty seconds of blind before the thermal sweep resets.”
