“Yeah. Very.” He laughs, because… good.
Fear won’t save him, but it will make this sweeter.
A guard coughs somewhere downstairs. Just one. That means more are waiting in the dark. They always keep the first floor loaded, ready to swarm if anything happens.
“Three more minutes,” Berk murmurs through the comm. “Report movement if you see it.”
The night presses heavier around us. My muscles coil, ready to spring. My breaths come slower, deeper, preparing myself for what I have to do when we breach the upper floor.
Images flash—Kimber tied to a chair, crying. Berk bloody in that bedroom years ago. Reign dying alone while our fathers smiled through it all.
My grip tightens on the windowsill until my knuckles crack.
Rowan whispers, raw and ragged, “I’m gonna fucking rip him apart.”
“Get in line,” I whisper back.
A long silence.
Then Berk again, quieter than before. “Two minutes.”
Every part of me goes still.
We’re close now—close enough that I can almost hear Bryce’s heartbeat. Almost feel the second his eyes widen when he realizes exactly who came for him.
Five minutes crawl by as if the universe is holding its breath. I crouch in the shadow of a rust-stained window, gun steady in my grip even though my pulse is an earthquake. Through the comm, Berk is quiet, too quiet, and that kind of silence from her is a storm waiting to break.
Then her whisper cuts through the static.
“Time. Give me updates.”
Her voice is sharp, threaded with a focus that makes even my bones listen.
I scan the stretch of second-floor hallway again. Exposed pipes. Peeling paint. A buzzing fluorescent that flickers like it’s losing a fight. Two doors cracked just enough to show black nothing.
“No movement,” I whisper. “Left corridor’s dead. Two rooms. Both empty.”
A beat of quiet. Rowan comes in next, his voice a controlled blade. “Bryce’s still in my window. He hasn’t moved an inch. Still alone.”
I grit my teeth until my jaw pops. Bryce—sitting relaxed in his little hideout like the world doesn’t want his head on a spike.
Ronan breathes into the comm, frustration leaking through. “Top floor on my side is clear too. If Kimber’s here…” His voice frays a little. “She isn’t upstairs.”
It punches a hole through my chest. I swallow it down because panic won’t help her, or us.
Berk draws a quiet breath, but even that carries an edge. “She could be below. Storage. Holding areas. But Bryce comes first. We lock him down, we get answers.” Her voice is tempered steel—fury restrained by discipline. That’s how I know she’s right on the brink.
I sweep the ground below, watching shadows slide and reset. A warehouse operating too quietly. Too orderly. Too controlled.
Ronan speaks again, quieter now, but the tension hums beneath every word. “Once we breach, stealth’s over. This place is too old for pressure sensors or glass-break alarms—but not so sealed that sound won’t travel. There are guards posted downstairs. Someone’s going to hear the first step.”
My grip tightens. I picture Kimber—my baby sister—in some dark room, terrified, holding herself small the way she used to when our father would raise his voice. My heartbeat goes savage. She’s in this building, or they know where she is, and Bryce is going to sing before he dies.
Berk exhales once—steady, controlled, lethal. “Hold your positions. We wait for my mark.”
My eyes cut across the warehouse. Every shadow feels like a threat. Every second feels like we’re losing her.
Rowan whispers, “Copy.”