“Looping… now.”
We move.
Boots crunch soft gravel. Breath fogs. The warehouse rises ahead, a squat, ugly building with one dim security light and boarded windows. The kind of place that screamsdon’t come in here.
We come anyway.
Gavin and Rafe take point. Silas nods once, his hand lifting. Stack. We line up at the side door under the eaves. Rhett’s shoulder braces. Boyd’s at the edge like a boulder with a gun.
Silas murmurs, “On three.”
One.
Two.
Three.
Rhett hits the door like he was born to break things. The frame splinters. The door swings inward with a groan. We flood in. The air inside is stale—oil, metal, something sour underneath. My eyes adjust fast. Dim light. Concrete floor. Shadows in corners.
A guard steps out of the dark with a gun half raised. Boyd takes him down in one brutal move. Another man yells from above—catwalk—raising his weapon. Thorne fires once. He drops without a sound. We move deeper, fast and surgical. No wasted steps. No panic. Just the steady rhythm of a team that’s done this too many times.
Wyatt’s voice tightens. “Rear room. North side. That’s your cluster.”
Gavin gestures, and we push toward the back hallway. The first door we hit is locked. Rafe kicks it in. Inside it’s empty. Just a desk, a chair, paperwork scattered like someone fled in a hurry.
“Next,” Gavin snaps.
We move. Second door. Locked again. Rhett breaks it. This one smells like fear. The room is lined with old mattresses and stained blankets. Three women huddle together in the corner—eyes wide, faces streaked with tears. One has bruises on her wrists. Another is shaking so hard her teeth chatter. They see us and flinch like they expect more pain.
Silas lowers his weapon immediately. “Sheriff’s office. You’re safe.”
The women don’t move.
Eli steps in slowly, hands open, voice soft. “Hey. I’m Eli. Medic. You’re okay. We’re here to get you out.”
One of them whispers, “He said no one would come.”
My jaw tightens.
Eli nods. “He lied.”
Gavin turns to Silas. “Get them out.”
Silas signals his deputies, who move in gently, offering coats. Eli checks pulses, pupils, injuries.
I stand at the doorway, scanning the hall. Because this isn’t over.
Marcus. He’s supposed to be here.
Wyatt’s voice comes sharp. “Heat signature moving—upper level—fast. He’s running.”
Gavin’s head snaps up. “Stairs. Now.”
I’m already moving. Rafe and Boyd with me. Thorne drops from the catwalk like a shadow. Harlan follows, weapon raised, breathing steady. We take the stairs two at a time. The upper level is a maze of storage rooms and narrow hallways. We clear fast—door, corner, sweep, move.
Then I hear it. A door slam. Footsteps pounding. I round the corner and see him.
Marcus.