Twelve feet by twelve feet. Steel walls on all sides. No windows. One door. One way in, one way out.Ten people crammed into a space designed for four.Marcus stood near the monitors, watching security feeds with his arms crossed. His four guards positioned themselves strategically—two near the door, two covering the team. Weapons weren't aimed, but they weren't holstered either.Nadia, Julie, and Reece clustered near Kai's medical cot. Helen sat in the only chair, her breathing labored, a tablet in her lap showing the same security feeds Marcus watched.Lila stood in the middle, the neutral ground between enemies forced into alliance."We survive first," Lila said, looking at each person in turn. "Fight later. Everyone agrees?"Marcus made a dismissive gesture. "Fine. But when this is over, when the Consortium is dealt with, we settle accounts. All of us.""Agreed," Nadia said, though her hand never left her weapon.The monitors showed hell. Consortium operators moving floor by floor

Floor 40.Helen's voice was barely a whisper, her breath rattling in Nadia's ear. "Put me down. I'm done.""Shut up," Nadia gasped, her legs burning with every step. "You're coming with us.""I'm... dying. Been dying for months. Just... let me go.""No."Helen had stopped fighting. Her body was deadweight across Nadia's shoulders, growing heavier with each floor. Blood dripped from her mouth, leaving a trail on the stairs behind them. But Nadia kept carrying her, kept moving, kept refusing to leave anyone else behind.Floor 35.Reece collapsed.His leg had been wounded at the clinic, barely healed, held together by bandages and willpower. Now it gave out completely, blood soaking through his pants, pooling on the concrete landing.He tried to stand. Couldn't. Looked up at the others with eyes that knew what came next."Can't run," he said, his voice steady despite the pain. "Go without me.""We're not leaving you," Julie said immediately, trying to pull him up with her one good arm."

The stairwell had become hell.Bullets flew from above and below, ricocheting off metal, punching through concrete, filling the air with the sound of death coming from every direction. The team huddled behind the inadequate cover of the stairwell railing—thin metal that wouldn't stop anything, just concealment, not protection.Nadia fired upward at the Consortium. Down at the CIA. Her magazine ran dry. She reloaded, fired again. But there were too many of them. Twenty operators, maybe more, professional and coordinated and closing in."We can't win this," Marcus said, blood running from the graze on his shoulder. "Too many of them.""Then we die here," Julie said, firing one-handed at shapes moving in the smoke below.Kai leaned against the wall, barely able to stand, his surgical wounds screaming with every movement. But he had Reece's rifle, and he fired when he could, dropping targets through sheer muscle memory because his brain was too fogged with pain and medication to aim prope

SSA Morrison stood with his rifle aimed at Lila, his mind waging a war his training had never prepared him for.Twenty-three years in federal law enforcement. Two decades following orders, trusting the chain of command, believing that the Bureau represented justice. And now he was being ordered to execute an unarmed journalist in a parking garage because powerful people needed their crimes buried."Who gave you the kill order?" Lila asked, her voice steady despite the red laser dots painting her chest. "Was it direct from the FBI Director?""Classified," Morrison said automatically."It came from CIA, didn't it? Through back channels. Because they're protecting Consortium members.""That's conspiracy theory.""Then why are your orders to eliminate rather than capture?" Lila stepped forward despite the weapons aimed at her. "Marcus Blackwell is an intelligence goldmine. Thirty years of secrets, connections, operations. He could expose half the criminal networks in this country. So why

The ladder emerged in an abandoned industrial district—the kind of neighborhood that died when manufacturing left and never recovered. Empty factories. Broken windows. Streets where nobody asked questions.Three AM. The city at its darkest.Reeves led them three blocks through shadows and alleys, moving with purpose despite her wounded shoulder. The team followed in silence, carrying Kai between them, too exhausted to speak.She stopped at an unmarked warehouse. No signs. No lights. Just another dead building in a district full of them.She knocked—a specific pattern. Once, twice, pause, three times.The door opened a crack. A man's face appeared, backlit, suspicious."Reeves. What the hell did you bring to my door?""Kai Cross. Marcus Blackwell. Consortium kill-teams hunting them."The man—Jack Torres, forty-something, with the weathered face of someone who'd seen too much combat—started to close the door. "No. Absolutely not. Get out.""Kabul. 2019. You remember."Torres stopped. Hi