Fast.
Silent.
Through the trees.
Through the dark.
Closer.
Closer.
Until—
I see them.
Three trucks.
Engines running.
Men moving between them.
Armed.
Organized.
Disciplined.
And then—
My stomach drops.
Cages.
In the back of one truck.
Metal.
Locked.
Occupied.
Rage hits.
Hard.
Immediate.
“Targets confirmed,” I whisper.
Briggs’s voice comes back tight.
“I see them.”
Aspen’s face flashes in my mind.
Dylan.
Her grandfather.