"Clean on resources." Winter consulted her tablet. "Ammunition expenditure was zero. Medical supplies are within normal range. Fuel consumption matches Reese's flight plan within acceptable margins. Vehicle maintenance is scheduled for tomorrow. We're good to go for the next op."
Mara nodded slowly, processing it all. Textbook extraction. Four targets secured. Zero casualties. No trail. Exactly how it was supposed to go.
"G.I.D.E.O.N., run analysis," Quinn said, her voice shifting to the tone she used when talking to the system like it was a person. Maybe it was. The way Quinn had coded it, the AI learned from every operation, adjusted its parameters, built predictive models that got better with each mission.
The main monitor shifted. Data scrolled across the screen. Threat assessment. Success probability. Resource allocation. Projected recovery timelines for the survivors. A dozen different metrics that told them whether they'd done this right.
Success rate: 98.7%
Mara felt the familiar weight settle in her chest. Not quite perfect. Never perfect. Because perfect meant no one got hurt. Perfect meant they got there before the damage was done.
"The cartel chatter," Mara said, bringing them back to the anomaly Quinn had mentioned. "What's our exposure?"
Quinn pulled up a separate window. Radio frequencies. Encrypted transmissions. Time stamps that lined up forty minutes after their extraction.
"Could be coincidence," Quinn said. "Could be we just hit a location that's on someone's radar. G.I.D.E.O.N.'s still analyzing the decryption, but preliminary assessment suggests it's not directly related to us. More likely they're tracking their own shipments, got spooked when inventory went missing."
"Inventory." Sloane's voice was sharp. Angry.
Mara understood. Had felt the same rage. The same bone-deep fury at being reduced to a commodity. Something to be bought and sold and used until there was nothing left.
"We need to tighten security protocols," Mara said, pushing past the anger because anger didn't keep people safe. Planning did. "If cartels are expanding into the region, we adjust. Quinn,I want G.I.D.E.O.N. monitoring any chatter related to trafficking networks in the Gulf Coast corridor. Sloane, start pulling together intel on cartel operations. If they're moving into our territory, I want to know about it."
Sloane nodded. "I'll coordinate with Quinn. Should have a preliminary report by end of week."
"Kira, how are you on medical supplies?"
"Stocked for another three operations, maybe four if we're conservative." Kira glanced at Winter. "But if we're looking at increased activity, we should reorder sooner."
"Do it," Mara said. "Winter, prioritize the medical supply chain. I want redundancy. Multiple suppliers. Different routes. If we're going to scale up operations, we can't afford to run dry."
Winter made notes on her tablet, her mind already working through logistics that would've given most people a migraine.
"Reese, that starboard engine issue Quinn flagged. Get on it tomorrow. I don't want any surprises next time we're wheels-up in the middle of the night."
"Roger that," Reese said.
Mara looked around the room. Women who'd been broken by violence and decided to become something sharper. Something that cut back.
Nine and a half years ago, this hadn't existed. Shadow Veil had been nothing but a name Mara scribbled in a notebook during a sleepless night, wrestling with the question Tallie had asked her. What if you could be the person who comes for them?
Now it was real. A compound in the bayou. Eight women with skill sets that ranged from combat medicine to tactical planning to flying planes through hostile airspace. A success rate that sat at ninety-four percent and climbed with every operation.
And G.I.D.E.O.N. The digital backbone that made all of it possible.
"One more thing," Quinn said, her fingers pausing over the keyboard. "G.I.D.E.O.N. flagged three potential targets in the last forty-eight hours. One in Mobile. Two in Houston. All fit the profile for trafficking operations."
The room went quiet.
"How solid is the intel?" Mara asked.
Quinn pulled up three separate files. Surveillance photos. Financial transactions. Social media posts that looked innocent on the surface but triggered G.I.D.E.O.N.'s pattern recognition algorithms.
"Mobile is sixty-three percent confidence. First Houston location is seventy-eight percent. Second Houston is eighty-two percent." Quinn's voice was clinical, detached. "G.I.D.E.O.N.'s still gathering data. Give it another seventy-two hours, and we'll have actionable intelligence."
Three more locations. Three more chances to pull someone out of hell.
Mara felt the familiar pull. The need to move. To act. To be the person who came for them because no one had come fast enough for her.
