“Minimal inside the building. Most guards are stationed at the pack borders and the Alpha’s residence. The Luna prefers not to have heavy security in her workspace. Says it makes her packmates nervous.”
Another lie wrapped in truth. Violet did say that once. But today, the entire building is a trap.
“Good.” 252 turns to address the other operatives. “Standard extraction protocol. Teams of four. We neutralize civilians first, then target the primary threats—the Alpha, his Beta, and thehybrid. Remember, we need her alive and functional. Kill shots are authorized only for the Alpha and Beta, if necessary.”
The operatives nod and start checking their equipment. I catch glimpses of silver blades strapped to thighs and forearms, as well as vials of what I know is wolfsbane solution in tactical pouches. As I expected, there are no guns.
I know firsthand that silver bullets are impractical; they don’t penetrate well against shifter skin and bone. Unless you’re at point-blank range, they’ll bounce off the skin, causing pain but rarely fatal wounds. But a silver blade, driven into vital organs? That kills.
252 looks back at me. “The vehicles?”
“This way.”
I lead them out of the forest, my steps deliberately unsteady, like each one might be my last. We emerge onto a service road where four black cars sit waiting—SUVs I requisitioned from the security fleet this morning.
“You did your part well, 621,” 252 says as he slides into the driver’s seat of the lead vehicle. I climb in on the passenger side, my movements appearing slow and pained. “How’d you pull this off? The empty border, I mean.”
I cough again, making it sound wet and horrible. “Messed with the rotation schedule. The team that should be here thinks another team has it covered. By the time anyone realizes the gap in coverage, you’ll already be inside.”
“Well done.” There’s approval in his voice now, the kind an owner gives when their dog performs a trick correctly. “Maybe we will give you that antidote after all.”
We both know he’s lying.
The other operatives pile into the remaining vehicles. Engines start. We pull onto the road leading toward headquarters, and I feed 252 directions—information I’vecarefully provided to the Covenant over the past two days. Left here. Straight for three miles. Right at the intersection.
“How exactly do you plan to take Violet with only twenty operatives?” I ask, letting curiosity color my voice. “She’s a hybrid. Stronger than a normal wolf. And she has the Alpha and Beta protecting her.”
252 smiles, the expression sharp and predatory. “Check beneath your seat.”
I reach down, and my fingers find a small, metal case. I pull it out and open it.
Three darts rest in foam padding. The tips gleam with a dark, oily substance. Another chemical these bastards have come up with, clearly.
“New formula,” 252 explains, his eyes on the road. “Strong enough to knock out a hybrid for days. We just need to get close enough to use them. One for each of the primary targets—the Alpha, the Beta, the hybrid. Once they’re down, the pack members will surrender rather than watch their leaders die.”
My throat tightens, but I keep my expression slack. Dying men don’t have the energy for anger. “That’s…smart,” I rasp.
“We learned from your failure.” The words are casual, but the insult is deliberate. “You tried subtlety and infiltration but couldn’t finish the job. This time, we hit hard and fast.”
We’re getting close to HQ now. I can see the building rising in the distance, glass and steel gleaming in the morning sun.
“There,” I say, pointing. “Main entrance.”
252 pulls into the parking lot, the other vehicles following close behind. The operatives exit in synchronized movements, weapons visible now. Silver blades catch the sunlight. There’s no pretense here; they look exactly like what they are. A tactical strike team.
We enter through the side door, avoiding the elevators, which could be halted if we were spotted on security cameras.The stairwell is concrete and metal, and our footsteps echo as we climb. I lag behind, playing up my weakness, hobbling up each step like it’s a mountain.
The operatives ignore me. I’m not a threat. Just a dying man who has already served his purpose.
At the third-floor landing, 252 holds up a fist. Everyone stops.
“Form teams here,” he orders quietly, handing out two of the darts. “Once we’re in, eight of you split off. Find the Alpha and Beta. Four operatives each. Neutralize with the darts. Confirm the kill if necessary. The rest, with me. We handle the civilians and secure the hybrid.”
Clearly considered of no further use, I am waved off to the side with the handler.
Perfect.
252 counts down silently with his fingers in the air. Three. Two. One.
