10
Ronan
Location: Ascendancy Perimeter, Northern Alps
0300 Hours
The mountains rise like jagged teeth against the sky, black silhouettes carved from ice and cloud. Wind howls through the ravine, carrying the scent of snow, metal… and something older. Something wrong.
I crouch behind a slab of frozen rock, breath fogging the air as I study the facility built into the mountain’s ribs—concrete, steel, blast doors, razorwire running up the cliff like a spine. Motion sensors blink red in the dark.
We’re close.
Too damn close.
Cyclone whispers through my comm, “Thermal readings confirm interior movement on Levels Two and Four. The prisoner wing is on Level Three.”
Lena.They didn’t take off with her.
My pulse hammers once—sharp and vicious.
River’s voice follows, calm but tight. “Ascendancy routed a transport here three hours ago. We’re late, but not by much.”
Not by much.
In my world,not by muchmeans the difference between alive and a ghost I’ll never bury.
I raise my binoculars again. Snowflakes hit the lenses like sparks.
The blast doors open. Two men step out—armed, masked, methodical—routine perimeter check.
But one detail locks my attention:
A smear of blood on the back of one guard’s glove.
Fresh.
“Beckett,” I murmur. “You ready?”
“Born ready,” Beckett replies, already moving into a flanking position with predator silence.
Gideon and Raven claim the high ridge.
Faron and Cyclone cover the south flank. I glance over at Jase and Miles and nod once.
Then the Golden Team moves like a single organism—but my focus tunnels to one name pounding in my skull:
Lena. Lena. Lena.
I refuse to accept a world without her, any longer.
River crouches next to me. “We go for Level Three first. Cyclone will relay floor plans as you move. But Ronan…”
He lowers his voice.
“If she’s here, she’s not going to be the same. You know that.”
My jaw flexes.
