Silence dropped over them.
Ghost sat for a moment, his hands still gripping the wheel hard enough that his injured knuckles screamed in protest. He forced himself to breathe, slow, controlled, measured. Let the tactical part of his brain take over from the part that wanted to charge through that warehouse door with nothing but a knife.
Rachel needed him sharp. Not reckless.
Around him, doors opened with quiet precision. Boots hit dirt with muffled thuds. His team spread out into defensive positions automatically while they waited for intel.
Ghost stepped out of the SUV, his rifle coming up to rest against his chest. The night air was cooler than he'd expected, carrying the smell of rust and old concrete. Somewhere in the distance, ventilation fans hummed with a low mechanical drone. Wind brushed through gaps in the warehouse's metal siding, creating an eerie whistle that set Ghost's teeth on edge.
Torch had the tactical tablet open, its screen dimmed to minimum brightness. The blue glow painted harsh shadows across his face as he studied the warehouse's layout.
"Echo, talk to me," Ghost said into his mic.
"One main entrance, front side. Loading dock around back with a roll-up door, probably locked from inside. Two smaller emergency exits here and here." Echo's voice was steady, professional. "I've got thermal coverage on the main storage area, but there are blind spots. Could be more hostiles than we're seeing."
"Armed?" Reaper asked from the shadows to Ghost's left.
"Too far for weapons-grade thermal imaging. Assume everyone inside is carrying."
Predator's voice cut in from his position near the tree line. "No elevated shooters visible. No heat signatures on the roof or upper levels. But they could have counters we're not seeing, thermal blankets, shielded positions."
"Noted." Ghost's gaze swept the warehouse, cataloging entry points, cover positions, potential ambush locations. His mind ran through breach scenarios, calculating angles and response times.
"Carver," he said into the comm. "You ready?"
There was a brief pause, then Carver's voice came through. "In position. Moving on your go."
Ghost looked at the man standing ten feet away, barely visible in the shadows. Carver met his eyes, and for a moment neither of them spoke. This was the test. The moment that would prove whether Carver was really undercover or just playing them all.
If this went wrong, if Carver was lying, Rachel would die.
And Ghost would make sure Carver followed her within seconds.
"Stick to the plan," Ghost said, his voice carrying all the unspoken threats he didn't have time to articulate. "Get in. Confirm visual on Rachel. Keep them talking. We'll handle the rest."
Carver nodded once. He reached up and tapped the small microphone clipped to his collar. "Mic check. Live now."
Echo's voice came back immediately. "Signal's green. We've got you."
Everything Carver said from this point forward would feed directly into their earpieces. Every word. Every sound. If things went sideways, they'd know instantly.
Ghost watched Carver walk away from the tree line, his silhouette cutting across the sun-bleached lot toward the warehouse. Long shadows stretched across cracked pavement, twisted shapes cast by abandoned shipping containers and rusted equipment.
Near the front entrance, a guard stepped into view. His weapon was slung, barrel pointed down, but his posture was alert. Professional. He scanned Carver with the practiced eye of someone who'd done security work before.
The guard said something into his radio, his voice too low to carry across the distance. A pause, then a dull metallic buzz.
The steel door clicked open.
Carver walked through without hesitation.
The door sealed shut behind him.
Ghost's hand tightened on his rifle.
Now they waited.
Ghost moved back to the SUV where Torch had the tablet angled so they could both see it. Echo's voice came through, narrating what his equipment was picking up.
