Sentinel thinks this is leverage.
Thinks this is pressure.
Thinks this is where we fracture.
He’s wrong.
Because this—
This is where we end it.
And we move.
42
Logan
The door gives on the first hit.
Boone takes it out clean, fast, controlled—no hesitation, no noise beyond what’s necessary.
We move instantly.
Weapons up.
Clear angles.
“Left clear.”
“Right clear.”
“Moving.”
The space opens up in front of us—wide warehouse floor, dim lighting, shadows cutting across stacked crates and metal beams.
Too open.
Too quiet.
“Heat signature ahead,” Russ says in my ear. “Center position.”
I see it.
A single chair.
Dead center of the room.
And someone in it.
“Eyes on,” Boone murmurs.
We tighten formation, moving in slow, controlled steps.
Every instinct I have is screaming—
This is wrong.
But I don’t stop.
