“Aldar?” Garlen’s voice is sharp. He’s already on his feet.
“Vehicles.” Aldar’s voice is flat and controlled. “Multiple. Approaching from the south. Moving fast.”
The room goes cold. I feel it in my chest, that instant plunge from safety to danger that I know too well.
Jonus is on his feet. “How many?”
“At least three.” Aldar’s fingers fly across his tablet. Then his jaw clenches harder. “I’ve lost exterior cameras. They’ve been cut.”
Jonus turns and looks at me. His expression is one I’ve seen only once before — in a Colombian jungle, when he found me in the dark holding a rock. “They’re here,” he growls.
Chapter Twenty
Jonus
Every instinct I have goes to war.
Thirty seconds ago I was holding Sloane’s hands across the breakfast table, telling her I loved her in front of my entire family.
Aldar’s alert still rings and the room has gone cold.
“Ellie, take Zoe upstairs to the safe room. Now.” Garlen’s voice is unrecognizable. The professor is gone. Whatever is left is an Irontree male who has been through this before and knows exactly what’s coming.
Ellie doesn’t hesitate. She scoops Zoe off the floor in one fluid motion, cradling the little girl against her chest. Zoe’s confused face peers over her mother’s shoulder, the tablet still clutched in one hand.
“Laurie, go with them,” Dane orders.
Laurie is already moving toward the stairs. This woman has weathered threats with this family before and she doesn’t waste time on fear.
I turn to Sloane. She’s standing by the couch on her own feet, the feet she walked on this morning for the first time. Her face is pale but her eyes are sharp. She’s assessing, not panicking.
“Go with them,” I tell her. “Safe room.”
She holds my gaze for one beat. I can see her weighing it — the part of her that survived twelve days in a pit, crawled out on her own, and wants to stay and fight. But she nods. Sloane turns and follows the others toward the stairs. I watch her climb on her own, with no help, each step steady on her healing feet. Loki races up after her, nails clicking on the hardwood.
I can hear the safe room door close above us. The heavy lock engages with a solid click.
Now I can focus.
Garlen has already brought up the weapons from the basement. Rifles, handguns — everything we’ve kept secured since the surveillance photos arrived. He hands me back the rifle I used in Colombia. The weight is familiar in my hands, like greeting an old friend I wish I didn’t need.
Aldar is at his monitors. “Interior cameras still active. I count seven hostiles, tactical gear, body armor.”
“Same playbook as the attack on Keric and Anna at the commune,” Dane says grimly.
“Worse,” Aldar corrects. “I believe this team has learned their lesson from that debacle and this time they are better equipped and organized.”
“Fucking hell,” Garlin curses.
I growl in agreement. Aldridge spent real money on this team. These aren’t cartel thugs from a Colombian jungle. These are trained operators sent to silence one journalist and everyone protecting her.
Dane positions near the back of the house, covering the rear entrance. Garlen takes the front — the most likely breachpoint. Aldar monitors and coordinates from the hallway, calling positions from his camera feeds. I take the side entrance.
Aldar and I lock eyes across the kitchen. No words needed. We’ve done this before — not here, but in Colombia, and before that through the worst winter frenzy in modern orc history. We know what Irontrees do when someone threatens our family. The good, the bad and the ugly.
They all know what to do in case something goes sideways and I turn ugly.
The glass shatters first. Front windows and side door simultaneously. A coordinated entry, exactly what Aldar predicted. Mercenaries pour through the openings in tactical gear, with weapons up, moving fast and disciplined. They fan out in practiced formation, covering each other’s angles.
