"Always."
Westep out onto the metal catwalk.Belowus, the main floor of the clubhouse crawls with activity.Theclock reads 3:00 a.m., but theHaloscompletely bypass sleep when a threat hits the radar.
Shaneclears anAR-15 on the green felt of the pool table.Acrossthe room,Blakesharpens a blade resembling a short sword, whileAustinbarks low, rapid commands into a handheld radio.
Thecommotion ceases the second we appear.Everyeye in the room snaps up, landing dead-center onKaila.
Shegoes completely rigid, shifting her weight closer to my back.
Grippingthe metal railing,Ilean over the edge.Mygaze sweeps the scattered men, projecting a silent dare for anyone to utter a single word or look at her the wrong way.
"Eyesfront,"Ibark.
Shaneflashes a reckless, dangerous grin that guarantees incoming trouble. "Well, well.TheGhostfound a body."
"Stowit,Sergeant,"Isnap. "Wehave a location on theCostahideout."
Totalsilence drops over the floor.Theplayful energy evaporates entirely, making way for the cold, hard focus of a predator pack.
Loganemerges from his office.Helooks at me, then up at the catwalk.Hisgaze tracks the heavy leather cut draped securely overKaila'sshoulders and the protective stanceI'vetaken right in front of her.
Logangrunts, his jaw setting as he absorbs the intel.
"Bringthe map,Tracker,"Logansays. "Let’sgo hunting."
Lookingback atKaila,Icheck her expression. "Ready?"
Shesqueezes the obsidian hidden in her pocket. "Ready."
Wedescend the stairs into the war.
7
KAILA
Myfingers race across the mechanical keyboard, theclick-clackrhythm grounding my frantic pulse.Theback ofAustin’stactical van smells like stale coffee and copper.Threemonitors are bolted to the wall in front of me, glowing with the thermal feeds from the helmet cams of theBrokenHalosteam.
"Tracker, you have two heat signatures coming up on your left.Corridorsintersect in ten meters,"Iwhisper into the headset, the words rattling against my teeth.Ihate the weakness.I’mKailaReyes.I’vedemolished banking firewalls and government servers.Awoman like me has no business tangling with a man so lethal, terrified his predatory violence might ultimately consume us both while he walks into this nest of vipers.
"Copy,LittleGhost,"Daniel’svoice comes back, low and distorted by the static. "Stayoff the open channel unless it’s urgent."
"Don'ttell me how to do my job, mountain man,"Isnap back, though there’s no bite in it.Justthe metallic taste of terror coating my tongue. "Anddon't get shot.That’san order."
"Yes, ma'am."
Onthe center screen, the thermal image shifts.Daniel—Tracker—stalks forward with a terrifying fluidity that makes my stomach clench with doubt.Apurely feral creature hunting in the dark.Theother glowing thermal shapes on the screen—LoganandShane—are flanking him, advancing with the heavy, practiced accuracy of hammers.Danielremains the scalpel.
Weparked a mile out from theCostaEasternCliffscompound, an abandoned mining facility sitting like a rusting scar on the side of the mountain.Fatsnowflakes bury the windshield of the van, sealing me inside this metal box.AProspectnamedJoeysits in the driver’s seat with a shotgun across his lap, his jaw locked hard.Thekid barely has peach fuzz on his chin.Hechecks the rearview mirror every ten seconds, flinching whenever my keys clatter too loudly.
"Youokay back there, ma'am?" he croaks.
"Eyeson the perimeter,Joey,"Iorder, keeping my focus welded to the screens. "Ifa squirrel sneezes,Iwant to know about it."
"Yes, ma'am."
Asudden red flare blooms on the left monitor, signaling gunfire.Mystomach drops straight through the floorboards.
"Contactfront,"Logangrowls over the comms. "Shane, suppressive fire.Tracker, flank right."