Armed men flooded through the breach in disciplined formation.
Black tactical gear.
Automatic rifles raised.
Masks covering their identities.
They spread immediately — taking control of angles, scanning corners, securing sightlines.
Professional.
Efficient.
Deadly.
At their center walked Vasquez.
His presence commanded the room.
Silver threaded through his dark hair now — not old age weakness but battle-earned experience.
His eyes burned with fury.
Beside him —
Harris.
Smiling.
Watching.
Like this was entertainment.
Like it was a business negotiation unfolding exactly as planned.
Vasquez locked eyes with me instantly.
No hesitation.
No emotion.
He stepped forward.
His boots echoed across shattered glass.
Before I could react —
His hand shot out.
He grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked me upright.
Pain exploded across my scalp.
I gasped.
He dragged me forward violently — then slammed my back into the nearest wall.
The impact knocked the air from my lungs.
