Page 455 of Broken Oath

“Different positions. Different weapons.”

A bullet slams into the SUV.

Metal screams above us.

Caleb doesn’t flinch.

His hands are steady. His breathing is even. His eyes remain fixed on reflections in the broken glass scattered across the floor.

The reports called him one of the most gifted snipers in modern special operations.

They didn’t explain what that meant.

He sees the world differently.

Every sound is information.

Every shadow is a warning.

Every angle is either an escape or a place someone can die.

“Can you run?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“Are you hurt?”

“No.”

“Good.”

Another bullet punches through the vehicle’s rear quarter panel.

Caleb reaches inside his jacket and pulls out a cylindrical device.

“What is that?”

“An interruption.”

He tosses it beneath a truck on the opposite side of the garage.

The explosion produces a burst of white light and a deafening crack.

The shooters curse.

Caleb grabs my hand.

“Now.”

We run.

Not toward the stairs.

Toward a narrow service door half-concealed behind rusted storage cages.

Caleb fires twice behind us without slowing.

Someone shouts.