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Oslo,Norway.

Ten years ago.

Christmas Eve.

The helicopter’srotors thundered through the crisp winter afternoon as it descended toward the financial quarter. Leonid Bychkov leaned forward, running his thumb over a worn brass compass, watching the angular skyline grow sharper through the frost-rimmed window. The buildings glittered in the cold light, modern monoliths of glass and steel. Among them stood their target—the regional headquarters of Hudson Finance, a UK finance and technology giant. A company with a problem.

Leo shifted his gaze to his teammates clad in tactical black, weapons secured but ready. Their reflections ghosted across the glass as the helicopter banked.

Problem solvers.

The chopper’s skids kissed the rooftop helipad with a jolt. Snow swirled in violent eddies, whipped into miniature storms by the downwash. As the rotors slowed, James Rook, their leader, signaled the team to disembark. Leo pocketed hiscompass and followed, ducking low under the blades as the subzero wind lashed at his face.

The scent of cinnamon apples and roasting chestnuts drifted up from the festive market below, clashing with the tension low in his gut. Just a block away, crowds wandered through the Christmas wonderland, oblivious to the unfolding crisis inside Hudson’s monolith.

Leo’s boots struck the concrete hard, the rat-a-tat echoing off the rooftop. He fell into step behind Rook as they made for the service stairs. Their descent was swift, boots pounding against the metal treads, breath visible in bursts of white in the unheated space. The air was damp and smelled faintly of disinfectant.

They emerged into a lobby, worlds apart from the indifferent stairwell. Holiday cheer was splashed across every available surface. A towering Christmas tree, decked in gold ornaments and blinking lights, overshadowed the reception desk. Red and green tinsel snaked along the walls, and a garish inflatable Santa grinned from a corner. Someone had gone all-in on the festivities.

Leo let it all slide off him. If he had the time, he might visit his brothers over the holiday. But Christmas wasn’t his season. He preferred to hunker down and wait for the whole charade to pass. His teeth clenched in a dull grind. Christmas brought memories and not the good kind.

Rook’s hand on his shoulder pulled him back to the present. “Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good fight.”

"Another day with extra decorations," Leo muttered.

"On the plus side, tinsel makes good trip wire." Rook’s gray eyes flickered with somber amusement.

While the rest of the team fanned out across the lobby, taking up strategic positions, he and Rook moved toward the meeting room.

Inside, two men in tailored suits waited. One, tall, with fair hair and glasses, the other heavyset, his thick neck straining against his collar. Corporate types. Clean-cut, polished, and clearly rattled. The thickset one adjusted his tie with nervous fingers, while the other tapped a pen against the table, the rhythmic click betraying his unease.

Leo exchanged glances with Rook. Time to solve a problem.

The men looked up as he and Rook pushed into the room.

“Alex Lund?” Rook asked.

The fair-haired man extended a bony hand. “Yes. Crisis management, Hudson Finance.”

Rook gave a sharp nod as he shook Lund’s hand. “James Rook. And this is my second, Leo Bychkov.”

Lund gestured to the thick-set man. “Joseph Tucker. CEO of Hudson Finance.”

Rook hooked one thumb in his belt and stalked to the window. Beyond the plaza, a second building loomed. He unwrapped a piece of gum, popped it in his mouth, and inclined his head at Lund. “We read the brief on the way over.”

“Excellent. We’re keen to avoid publicity and keep the situation contained.” Lund’s pen clicking stilled. “We own this building and the one adjacent.” He gestured toward the window where Rook stood. “As you know, armed men seized control and took hostages this afternoon during a high-stakes data migration. The hostages include some of our senior executives. They have access to sensitive corporate data tied to major UK government contracts.”

Rook grimaced. “You must have excellent security protocols.”

Lund took the hit and kept going. “We were contacted by Cameron Burke, their leader. He’s a known contractor with ties to numerous terrorist groups. Naturally, we are concerned about the hostages but?—”

“Burke’s team has breached Hudson’s encrypted servers,” Tucker blurted. “They’ve accessedNightwatchman.”

Leo frowned. “Nightwatchman?”

“Highly classified.” Tucker planted both hands on the table, leaning forward. “It’s a covert surveillance system that monitors global financial transactions for counterterrorism purposes. If released, it wouldn’t just expose UK operations—it would compromise allied intelligence networks, defense partnerships, everything.” His knuckles whitened against the dark wood. “The Norwegians are letting us handle this quietly, but one wrong move...”