Page 212 of Broken Oath

Fathom stared at his monitor.

“What?” Rook asked.

Fathom pointed without speaking.

Not a good sign.

A photograph filled the center screen.

Old.

Damaged.

Copied so many times that the image had begun to degrade.

Five men stood beside a military transport aircraft.

Dirty.

Exhausted.

Bruised.

Alive.

Sarah stepped closer.

Her breath caught.

“Wade.”

The man near the center was unmistakable.

Older than the photograph she carried.

Thinner.

Blood darkened one side of his shirt.

But he stood without assistance.

Three members of his team stood beside him.

Hawk.

Atlas.

Ridgeback.

Four survivors.

A fifth man stood apart from them.

Clean tactical clothing.

Baseball cap pulled low.

His face was turned away from the camera.