I did.
Every mile pulled me farther from the compound. From Amanda. From the last place I knew she was breathing easy.
This wasn’t a show of force.
This was confirmation.
Quiet. Sharp. And already personal.
The cold wind cut through my cut, but I barely felt it. My mind wasn’t on the weather. It was back in the clubhouse, in my room, on Amanda. I could still feel the heat of her skin, the way she trembled under my hands. The kiss she left on my jaw was still burning. It grounded me and lit a fire in me all at once. I wanted to finish this mission and get back before that look in her eyes faded.
Ghost’s voice cracked through comms. “First stop—warehouse near the trucking depot. East perimeter.”
“Copy,” Ranger replied. “Taking rear flank.”
Brutus nodded once beside me, silent as ever. That man didn’t need words to kill.
We reached the outskirts in under ten. Ghost pulled the truck to the side, killing the headlights and cutting the engine like a ghost slipping into a shadow. Smoke jumped out before the door even clicked open, nose twitching, body rigid. Ranger rolled to a stop beside the truck, glanced over his shoulder, then dismounted without a word.
“Dog’s already on edge,” he muttered, grabbing his flashlight from the saddlebag.
“Yeah, well,” I said, stretching my neck. “Wouldn’t be the first time Smoke caught shit before we did.”
We split up without needing to be told. Ghost moved left with Smoke, scanning the building’s outline with that quiet, methodical gaze of his. Brutus was already halfway around the side before I even saw him move. Ranger headed toward the loading bay, crouched low, scanning the ground. I followed, keeping my steps light.
The warehouse was a mess of peeling siding and rusted metal, with one flickering light above a side door. Looked abandoned at a glance, but we knew better.
“Boot prints,” Ranger muttered. “Fresh. Deep tread. Big guy.”
I crouched beside him, fingers brushing the edge of the print. Mud still wet. “Not more than a few hours old.”
“Movement,” Ghost whispered in comms. “Northwest corner. Two… maybe three.”
Brutus responded with a single, sharp sign: trap.
We regrouped at the back. The door was cracked open an inch. No creaks. No alarms. Someone had left it that way on purpose.
“I’ll take point,” I said, sliding my knife free just in case.
The inside smelled like old oil and stale coffee. Rows of rusted shelving and stacked pallets lined the walls. Dust clung to everything. But there, on the far end, two folding chairs sat side by side. One had a Styrofoam cup resting in the seat.
I stepped forward, pressed two fingers to the side of the cup. Still warm.
“They were just here,” I said.
Ghost was already scanning the floor. He knelt, picked something up. A small, busted burner phone.
“Same model Scout used,” he muttered, turning it over in his gloved hands.
“Shit,” I breathed, moving closer. “Why leave it behind?”
“It’s deliberate,” Ghost said. “Smashed just enough to break it, not destroy it. Someone wanted us to find it.”
Brutus stepped forward, voice low. “Means he was here.”
Ranger rubbed a hand down his jaw. “Or someone wants us tothinkhe was.”
I looked around. The chairs. The open door. The footprints. All of it perfectly staged. A message.
