A place meant to survive anything.
Anything except me.
Aaron signals silent movement. Miles takes high. Jase ghosts left.
Delta Five moves like we always do—no wasted motion, no sound, no hesitation.
The vault door looms ahead.
Locked.
I don’t slow.
Jase plants the charge, steps back.
The blast is sharp and contained—metal shrieks, hinges fail, and the doorcollapses inward.
We go in hot.
Three Ascendancy soldiers spin up in panic.
They don’t finish turning.
I clear the room in seconds—controlled fire, center mass, clean. The echoes fade fast, swallowed by the mountain.
Then I see him.
Roscov.
Pinned beneath a collapsed console, blood soaking his leg, his pistol lying just out of reach. His eyes snap up when he sees me.
Fear—real fear—floods his face.
“You came,” he breathes.
I step closer, rifle lowered but ready.
“You underestimated how personal this was.”
He laughs weakly. “You always did have a flaw, Pierce.”
I crouch in front of him, calm as ice. “You made it personal when you took her.”
“You still don’t understand,” he rasps. “She was leverage. You were the prize.”
“Wrong,” I say. “She was the line you never should’ve crossed.”
His gaze flicks behind me—to the shadows, to my team.
“You think this ends me?” he sneers. “You think killing me stops what’s coming?”
“No,” I say quietly. “It stopsyou.”
His smile turns sharp. “Then do it. Be who you really are.”
I lean in, close enough that he can hear every word.
“I already am.”
