A floorboard creaks behind me.
I whirl, ready to fight, but it's Knox—materializing from the shadows like a ghost. His movements are precise, calculated, as he scans the room with the focus of someone who's survived worse nights than this.
Ryker follows, his massive frame somehow silent despite his size. The usual intensity in his eyes has hardened into something darker, more lethal. He positions himself near the stairs, blocking any potential escape route.
Caleb enters next, and the absence of his usual grin hits me like a physical blow. There's no trace of the charming jokester now—just cold efficiency and barely contained violence. He carries himself differently, like his body remembers battles I'll never know about.
Elias brings up the rear, his movements steady and controlled. Even now, there's a calm about him that steadies my racing pulse. The medic's eyes meet mine, asking silent questions about injuries or threats.
I shake my head slightly.
I'm okay.
Then point toward the door where the silence still screams. The team moves like water—fluid, connected, reading each other's intentions without a word.
This isn't their first rescue. This isn't even their darkest night.
Caleb approaches me, pressing a handgun into my palm. The metal is cold, but it grounds me. I check it automatically—magazine, chamber, safety.
Knox takes point, issuing commands through hand signals I barely understand. But the others nod, shifting positions with practiced ease.
They've done this dance before. They know the steps.
We move toward the door as one unit. Knox leads, weapon raised. Ryker and Caleb flank him, creating a triangle of lethal intent. Elias stays close to me, watching our six.
The door opens with agonizing slowness.
The scene inside stops my heart.
Granger stands with a gun pressed to Logan's forehead. Logan's face is bloody but calm—too calm.
Like he's already accepted whatever comes next.
Their eyes are locked in a silent battle of wills, years of shared history crackling between them like lightning.
For a split second, time freezes.
Then Granger's eyes widen as he registers the team's presence. Surprise fractures his mask of control—he really thought Logan came alone. That Logan would play by rules written in blood.
The shot cracks through the air before anyone can move.
But Granger's already turning, already running. He fires wildly as he bolts for the window, creating chaos to cover his escape.
Logan drops and rolls, avoiding the spray of bullets with practiced grace.
Caleb's pistol arcs through the air, spinning perfectly into Logan's waiting hand. There's no hesitation—Logan's already moving, already hunting. The others follow, spreading out to cut off escape routes.
Elias stays with me, one hand on my arm. Not restraining—steadying.
"Let them work," he says softly.
My pulse thunders in my ears as I watch Granger reach the railing. He moves like a cornered animal now, all precision abandoned in favor of raw survival instinct.
But Logan is faster.
He hits Granger from behind, arms locking around his throat in a brutal chokehold. They slam into the railing hard enough to make the whole structure groan. Granger thrashes, clawing at Logan's arms, but Logan's grip is iron.
"It's over," Logan growls, voice rough with exertion and something darker. "Stop fighting."
