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Ethan kept one hand on Rook’s thigh, while monitoring updates from the other teams. Kenosha’s victims were secure, Milwaukee’s extraction was complete, and Detective Rowsell had Ashford in federal custody by the time they reached the industrial waterfront.

Epsilon looked worse than the surveillance photos suggested. The meatpacking plant had been abandoned for decades, its metal siding rusted through in places, windows shattered or boarded over. A chain-link fence surrounded the property, but the gate hung open. There were no guards visible from the exterior, but Ethan knew better than to trust appearances.

“Infrared shows twelve barely there heat signatures in the cold storage area,” Ethan reported, checking his tablet. “Five warmer mobile signatures on patrol routes, two at entry points.”

Rook parked three blocks away. His shadows coiled tight around him, ready.

“The ward sigil should be near the main entrance,” Ethan continued. “Pope’s designs always place them at threshold points.” He pulled out his prepared supplies - salt water in a spray bottle, a scrubbing brush, and a rag. “Same approach as before. I break the seal and you handle the guards.”

“You stay behind me.”

“I’ll stay close,” Ethan corrected. “We went over this.”

Rook’s jaw tightened, but he nodded.

They approached from the south side, using rusted equipment and abandoned trucks for cover. The ward was exactly where Ethan expected, painted on the concrete loading dock in what looked like rust but had the copper tang of dried blood. The pattern was more complex than the one at the church, with additional binding sigils woven through the primary structure.

Ethan knelt, spraying salt water across the outermost circle. The pattern hissed faintly, like water on a hot pan.

“Move quickly,” Rook whispered. “Two guards, north entrance.”

Ethan kept working, scrubbing methodically at the dried blood. His hands were steady. It was Rook who seemed to be on edge, but Ethan wasn’t going to let that dissuade him from doing a good job.

The first crack came at the anchor points, and as Ethan scrubbed faster, the cracks fractured inward toward the center.

“They’re coming this way,” Rook warned.

“Almost done.”

The final symbol collapsed. The ward seal shattered with a light tinkle like breaking glass, and Rook’s shadows punched through the door like a battering ram.

The two initial guards never stood a chance. Rook was just as efficient as his brothers, his shadows lifting one man and slamming him into the loading dock hard enough to leave a dent. The second guard fumbled for his radio, but shadows wrapped around his throat and squeezed until he dropped, also unconscious.

“Clear,” Rook said.

They entered through the loading dock. The interior stank of old blood and industrial chemicals, refrigeration units humming along one wall. Ethan’s breath fogged in the cold air. Rook’s shadows spread outward, mapping the space.

“There’s three more guards in the central area.” Rook kept his voice low. “The victims are in the refrigerated units. They’re awake and terrified.”

“Then we need to get them out. Let’s finish this.”

The central area was originally a kill floor, with hooks still hanging from overhead rails, and drains in the concrete. Ethan couldn’t imagine how panicked the victims would’ve been just seeing that setup. It was like a scene from a serial killer movie.

Three guards stood near a card table covered with empty food containers and ammunition magazines. They looked up as Rook and Ethan walked in, and one of them reached for his weapon.

Rook’s shadows hit him first, yanking the gun from his grip and tossing him across the room. The man hit a support pillar with a thunk and fell to the floor in a slump. The second guard started firing - wild shots that ricocheted off concrete. Rook closed the distance in one flowing jump, driving his fist into the man’s chest. The guard folded.

The third guard clearly thought he was smarter. He didn’t reach for his gun, he got up and ran toward the refrigerated units - where the victims were.

Ethan moved without thinking, angling to intercept, but the guard was faster. He yanked open the nearest unit door and grabbed the first person he found - a young woman with messy dark hair and a university sweatshirt. She screamed as he dragged her out and wrapped an arm around her throat.

“Back off!” The guard pulled a knife. “Back off or I cut her!”

Rook and Ethan froze. Ethan calculated the distances in one glance - fifteen feet to the guard, twenty feet to the nearest cover. The woman’s feet were barely touching the ground as the guard held her suspended.

“Let her go,” Ethan said calmly, slowly walking forward, his hands wide to show he wasn’t carrying anything. “You’re not leaving this building. Your employer is in federal custody. Your network is dismantled. Killing her serves no purpose.”

“Shut up!” The knife pressed against the woman’s throat. “I’m walking out of here, and she’s coming with me. You try to stop me, and she dies.”