I moved last.
Because Rylie was still there.
Still holding.
Still trusting us to finish it.
The runner’s radio crackled softly. I caught the tension spike in his shoulders—the moment he realized his updates weren’t being acknowledged.
Too late.
I stepped out of cover just enough for Rylie to see me.
Her breath hitched—but she didn’t move.
Didn’t break.
Didn’t run.
She gave the smallest nod.
Now.
Havoc came in from behind like the forest itself had decided to kill.
The runner went down hard—no shout, no gunfire—just the brutal efficiency of a man who’d ended worse threats than this before breakfast. The weapon clattered to the dirt unused.
I crossed the remaining distance to Rylie in three strides, pulling her back into cover, my body shielding hers automatically.
“You okay?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said immediately. “But he wasn’t alone.”
“I know.”
Ace’s voice cut in. “Contact north. Two vehicles. They’re realizing the meet went bad.”
“Good,” I said. “Let them.”
The first vehicle never made it to the clearing.
Saint triggered the spike strip remotely, tires blowing out in a controlled burst that sent the truck skidding sideways into the trees. Havoc was already moving, neutralizing the driver before he could reach for a weapon.
The second vehicle tried to reverse.
Tried.
Ace put a round through the engine block, killing it instantly.
Silence followed.
Not the fragile kind.
The final kind.
I keyed my mic. “Wolf.”
“Here,” he replied instantly. Calm. Solid. Alive.
