Toward the fight.
Because I’m not lost anymore.
I’m exactly where I want to be.
And Malenkov is about to learn the truth Ronan already knows—
You don’t chase Navy SEALs.
You bleed following them.
65
Ronan
Location: Eastern Europe — Forward Operations Vehicle
Time: 1217 Hours
The map changes.
Not dramatically.
Not all at once.
Just enough.
A flare of red where green should be. Two rapid thermal collapses. One tight cluster of movement suddenly breaking pattern.
I don’t need confirmation.
Jonah has engaged.
Miles stiffens beside me. “We just lost two hunter signatures.”
“Not lost,” I say. “Neutralized.”
Lena’s breath is calm in my ear, but I hear the edge under it. “He’s forcing a compression. They’re converging uphill.”
Exactly where he wants them.
I lean forward, fingers steepled, eyes tracking the live terrain feed as it redraws itself around Jonah’s movement.The hunters are fast. Coordinated. They think they’re closing a net.
They’re wrong.
“Mark the choke,” I say.
Miles highlights the ravine cut without hesitation. “Done.”
Aaron glances back at me. “He’s pulling them away from the detention wing.”
“Yes,” I answer. “And tightening Malenkov’s blind spots.”
The feed flickers again—radio chatter bleeding through, clipped, frustrated.
I hear it before Miles translates.
“He’s disrupting their comms,” Miles says. “Using their own frequency.”
