“Too exposed,” I agreed. “And after Yuri, he knows we’ll come fast. He won’t risk storing her in a place we can hit clean.”
Silas dragged a hand through his hair. “So not public, not private residence, not a stashhouse… that still leaves too many.”
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “It doesn’t.”
I turned back to the files, flipping fast now, scanning, not reading. Looking for patterns.
“Think like Lena,” I muttered. “She wouldn’t look at what’s listed. She’d look at what connects.”
Silas watched me, tense. “Connects how?”
“Proximity. Access. Control points,” I said. “What’s in his territory, but isolated? What’s owned under the shell corporation, but not actively used? What has private access, limited visibility, and no traffic?”
Silas searched the map.
“Somewhere he can take her immediately,” he said slowly, catching on. “No prep. No setup. Already secure.”
I flipped one more page, then stopped.
There.
My finger pressed down on the address. I cross referenced it with the map.
“Industrial sector,” I said. “Inactive storage. No staff assigned, no active shipments, no financial movement in months.”
Silas leaned over my shoulder, scanning quickly.
“Private access road,” he added. “Limited visibility. No neighbors.”
I nodded once, the pieces locking into place.
“It’s one of his only commercial properties not in use or generating anything,” I said. “No profit, no activity, no oversight. It's a perfect place to bring her."
"Well, let's go get her then."
Night settled heavy over the city, silent and eerie, like the calm before a big storm.
Engines idled as convoys lined up in front of the AIED headquarters, loaded with officers ready to wreak havoc on Marco's operations. Everyone moved with quiet precision, clad head to toe in black tactical gear, weapons checked and rechecked, comms tested in clipped murmurs that barely carried. Soon, the comms went silent completely.
There was a weight in the air. Anticipation. The kind of energy that buzzed through you and tightened with every passing second.
Then we moved out, headlights killed, stealthy silhouettes of armored vehicles barely visible under the dim glow of scattered streetlights.
Seven targets.
Seven teams.
One strike window.
Synchronized, clean, and deadly.
Across Marco’s territory, units took position, stacking outside doors, lining rooftops, sealing exits before the storm hit. Boots shifted against concrete. Gloves tightened around rifles. Breaths slowed behind masks.
Waiting.
Counting down.
Over the comms, a voice cracked, "Alpha Team One, you're a go."
