The words settle deeper now. I don’t argue again.
Christian gives the signal and then it starts.
The first wave moves in ahead of us, men clearing the outer edges, fast, efficient, controlled. Gunfire breaks out almost immediately, sharp cracks splitting the air, but it’s contained, directed, not the chaotic explosion it felt like before.
We move in after. Following. And it feels wrong in my body. Every step measured. Every movement deliberate. Every second forcing me to stay where I am instead of pushing ahead. I can feel the pull of it.
That urge to surge forward, to close the distance, to take control of the situation myself, and I have to lock it down.
Because Lucian is right. Because Christian is right. Because if I lose control here, I don’t just risk myself. I risk everything.
We move through the warehouse in sections, clearing as we go. I stay close enough to see everything, far enough that I’m not the first line taking the hits.
And I see it. The way they work. The way Christian directs without raising his voice. The way Lucian shifts before something happens, like he’s already read it before it plays out.
The way their men move around them, not waiting for orders, but understanding them.
This is what I’m stepping into. Not what I was before. Not reaction. Not instinct.
This.
Someone goes down to the left. Another shot answers from the far side. A man tries to run past one of the containers, and one of ours drops him before he makes it three steps.
It’s over quickly.
Too quickly. The silence that follows is immediate and heavy, settling into the space like dust.
“Clear,” one of the men calls.
Christian steps forward first. Lucian follows.
I move in behind them. And I know before anyone says it, he’s not here.
“This was a shipment crew,” Christian says.
Frustration hits. Sharp. Contained, but only just.
“He’s not here,” I say.
“No,” Lucian replies. “He’s not.”
One of the men drags someone forward.
Alive. Barely. Christian studies him for a second.
“We keep him,” he says.
I don’t argue. Because this, this is how this gets finished now.
Not by rushing. Not by losing control. By doing it properly. Even if every part of me is still screaming to tear through it faster.
They take the man away. Christian turns slightly toward me.
“We’ll get what we need.”
It doesn’t feel like enough. It won’t feel like enough until it’s done. Until there’s nothing left. But I nod anyway. Because I understand now, this isn’t something I can force to end in one move.
And that sits wrong in my chest.
