A man drops outside before he even clears the porch.
“Left side!” I call.
“I’ve got it!”
More gunfire erupts, ripping through the walls. Wood splinters. Plaster explodes. They’re not holding back.
Not trying to take us.
Trying to erase us.
Figures.
I pivot, firing through the broken window. One—two—three rounds. A shadow jerks back. A body hits the ground.
More incoming.
Too many.
“They’re flanking!” Jase growls.
I see it.
Two breaking right. Three pushing left. Another team hanging back near the vehicles.
Coordinated.
Professional.
And very, very wrong.
“They knew,” I say.
“Yeah,” Jase mutters. “They knew.”
Which means the moment I opened that channel…
We lit up.
No surprise.
Still not backing down.
“Inside!” he snaps.
We move deeper into the safehouse, using the narrow hallway to funnel them. Tight quarters. Limited angles.
Better odds.
For us.
Boots pound outside. A door crashes open.
They’re in.
I steady my breathing.
Wait.
