Saint.
Alive.
Marco is already moving before anyone finishes speaking.
“She’ll have overwatch,” he says quietly. “Two teams minimum.”
Havoc checks the magazine on his weapon with a quiet click.
“Good,” he says.
“I was bored.”
We split without another word.
Wolf and I move west, sliding along the outer wall toward a reinforced service door.
Havoc climbs the steel ladder to the upper catwalk, disappearing into the shadows above.
Marco…
Marco vanishes.
One second he’s beside us.
The next he’s gone.
I hold up my hand.
Three fingers.
Wolf nods.
Three.
Two.
One.
The west door comes off its hinges in a tight, controlled blast.
We’re already moving when the echo hits the far walls.
Inside smells like rust, oil, and stale water.
“Clear.”
“Clear.”
A shout from above.
“Contact, second floor!”
Gunfire cracks through the open interior.
Short bursts.
Precise.
