I swallow hard. “They want us to chase.”
“And we will,” Poe says. “But we do it smart.”
Sawyer steps closer. “Ozzy, Poe. You both stay outside the warehouse perimeter when we arrive. You will not enter. You will not engage. If you see movement, you report. You do not do anything that’ll get you killed.”
Poe opens his mouth like he wants to argue.
Sawyer gives him a look that shuts him up.
Poe mutters, “Fine.”
We get into vehicles. I ride with Poe because Sawyer does not want me driving in a state like this, and I hate that he’s right. My hands shake too much.
The drive to the warehouse feels shorter than it should.
The sun has climbed higher, but the light is weak. The lot looks emptier now, like it has swallowed people before and is ready to swallow more.
Sawyer’s team spreads out the moment they arrive. Silent. Efficient. A ripple of bodies moving into positions. Riggs signals. Gunner takes the right side. Tanner checks a window line. Jaxson angles toward the loading dock. Miller disappears into the shadows like he was born there.
Rae’s voice is steady. “I have county traffic feeds up. No obvious movement around the warehouse for the last thirty minutes. That does not mean it’s clear. It means they’re disciplined.”
Poe’s fingers flex on the steering wheel. “I hate disciplined.”
“I hate that she’s inside,” I say.
Poe glances at me, eyes sharp. “Hold it together.”
“I am,” I lie.
Sawyer’s voice comes through on the team channel. “Stack on the side entrance. On my count.”
I can see them now, clustered near the door we could not open earlier. Weapons ready. Bodies angled. Focused.
My throat tightens so hard it hurts.
Salem’s in there.
She’s scared.
And I am outside, useless.
Poe’s voice is low beside me. “If you go in, you get her killed.”
I close my eyes for a second. Then I open them, staring hard at the warehouse door.
Sawyer raises his hand. The team forms the stack.
Rae’s voice comes through calm and clear. “Cameras are still down. No external feeds. You are dark.”
Sawyer’s reply is a quiet and steady, “Copy.”
He looks over his shoulder once, checking the perimeter. His gaze catches mine through the windshield. He gives a single nod like he is promising me something. Then he turns back to the door. Sawyer’s hand drops.
And BRAVO breaches.
TWENTY-FIVE
SALEM