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No one speaks.

We're waiting.

Waiting for Liam's signal. Waiting to move. Waiting to know whether this nightmare is finally going to end tonight or if Vanessa is going to find one last way to slip through our fingers.

Then…

Movement.

At first, it's just a flicker of shadow near the loading dock entrance. A ripple against the darkness. But then I see him—Cliff Reyes, stepping just outside the warehouse doors, his thick neck craning as he scans the lot.

Tyler stiffens beside me. "Shit."

Ryan stops pacing. "What?"

Tyler's voice is tight. "We've been made."

Everything happens in the space of a breath.

The warehouse doors burst open, and Vanessa's hired muscle spills out like a wave of violence. Two men, both built like battering rams, moving fast. The taller one—short, dark hair, bruised knuckles—spots us first and barks something unintelligible. The other one looks like he is pain, which, I suppose, is good for us.

Dean reacts instantly.

Before the guy can reach for whatever weapon he's carrying, Dean closes the distance and lands a punch to his ribs. The guy stumbles back, but he's quick. He recovers fast, swinging at Dean's jaw. Dean dodges, countering with a sharp elbow to the gut.

Ryan isn't far behind. The second thug rushes at him, but Ryan's already moving, sidestepping at the last second and slamming his knee into the guy's stomach. The man grunts, staggering back, but Ryan doesn't let up—he grabs the back of his head and drives it straight into his knee.

The guy drops like a stone.

Tyler, meanwhile, does what Tyler does best—he keeps his distance, phone steady in his hand, capturing every second of this disaster.

I'm frozen.

I knew this would happen, knew the second Cliff spotted us, things would explode. But I didn't expect it to be so immediate. So violent.

And Liam is still inside.

I grip the bracelet tighter, my pulse hammering.

Ryan throws a glance over his shoulder. "Ava, stay back."

I scowl. "Like hell."

Ryan turns back just in time to block another punch.

Inside, I hear a crash—metal against concrete, a grunt of pain.

That's it. I'm done doing nothing. I sprint toward the warehouse entrance, dodging past the chaos, my boots skidding against the gravel as I bolt for the open doors.

"Ava!" Dean's voice is sharp, but I don't stop.

I can't.

Not when I hear her voice.

"You son of a bitch."

I burst through the entrance just in time to see her swing a tire iron at Liam's head.