Her breath catches beside me—rapid, shallow. Tension's written in every line of her body as she watches the satellite feeds update. She's running calculations in her head, war-gaming scenarios, finding too many that end badly.
"Hey," I say quietly.
She looks at me, can't quite hide the dread.
"They're going to be fine. Kane knows what he's doing. Dylan, Stryker, Mercer—they're solid operators. They'll execute the mission and come home."
"You can't know that."
"No. But I can know they're good at what they do. That Kane's planned for contingencies. That they have every advantage terrain and surprise can provide." I hold her gaze. "The rest is up to them."
She nods slowly, pulls herself back together with visible effort. "You're right. I'm just not used to watching from the sidelines while other people are in danger."
"Neither am I. But this is the job. We do our part, they do theirs, and we trust the plan."
I'm tracking the latest satellite data when Sarah's voice cuts through the silence.
"Reeve's team is approaching the canyon."
I pull up the feed, confirm her assessment. "Secondary team is holding position south of Reeve. No indication they're aware of Kane's position."
"How much longer until contact?"
"Less than an hour at current pace." I check the thermal overlay, make sure Kane's team is still invisible on the imagery. They are. "Kane's team holds perfect ambush position. Reeve won't know what hit him."
Minutes tick down before everything either works or falls apart.
Sarah pulls up the communications protocols, double-checks encryption keys and backup channels. It's busy work, keeping her hands occupied while her mind races through scenarios. I recognize the behavior because I'm doing the same thing, reviewing tactical overlays I've already memorized, calculating angles I've already worked through.
"Reeve's team is closing on canyon entrance," Sarah reports, her voice tight.
I open the channel. "Kane, Ops. Primary target approaching your position."
"Copy. We have visual on approach route. Standing by."
Each second feels like minutes. I hold onto the clinical detachment that's kept me alive through operations where one mistake meant death. But anxiety radiates from Sarah's position, and I feel it settling into my bones despite every instinct telling me to stay detached.
She's breathing too fast now.
I watch the thermal signature representing Reeve's team move closer to the canyon. Four operators move in standard reconnaissance formation, carrying the confidence of people who think they're still hunting.
They're about to learn otherwise.
"Target approaching optimal range," Sarah says quietly.
I switch the satellite feed to maximum zoom, trying to pull details from thermal imaging that was never designed for this level of precision. Kane's team registers as faint heat signatures behind rocky outcroppings, perfectly positioned to control the kill zone.
"Target entering canyon," Sarah confirms.
My pulse kicks up despite training that should keep me clinical in moments like this. This is the inflection point—the moment where everything either works or goes to hell.
"Target entering canyon," I confirm to Kane.
"Visual confirmed," Kane responds, his voice barely above a whisper. "Four operators, standard patrol spacing. They're moving right into the trap."
Beside me, Sarah's hands grip the edge of her workstation hard enough that her knuckles have gone white.
"Moving to optimal firing position," Kane reports.
