Which means—
Someone knows us.
The thought hits me hard enough to turn my stomach.
Clay’s voice drops lower.
“Who recommended me?”
The commander studies him silently for one long moment.
Then—
A gunshot cracks outside.
Close.
One of the militia fighters near the loading dock suddenly drops with blood spraying across the concrete.
Everything explodes into chaos again.
“SNIPER!” someone screams.
The commander whirls instantly toward the entrance as more rounds punch through the loading dock walls.
Militia fighters scatter for cover.
Russ grabs his rifle.
“MOVE!”
Clay’s hand slams against my lower back immediately.
Protective.
Urgent.
We dive behind concrete barriers as bullets rip through the loading dock.
Outside, black SUVs skid violently through smoke-filled streets while heavily armed men flood into the district from multiple directions.
Not military.
Not local militia either.
These men move differently.
Professional.
Precise.
Fast.
The commander curses sharply in Arabic before barking more orders.
One of the fighters near him shouts back frantically—
“They found us!”
