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— officers shouting orders, the crack of rifle fire, blood on concrete, blood fucking everywhere ?—

I blinked, forcing myself to focus on Ethan’s steady voice as he continued the briefing. I didn’t look at Ty this time.

“What do you need from us?” Richard asked, his decision already made.

“Authorization from Compass Medical to proceed with extraction operations,” Ethan said, looking toward Dr. Merrick. “And financial authorization for the operation.”

Merrick adjusted his glasses nervously. “Compass Medical authorizes your team to evaluate the situation once you’re there and extract all four doctors from the Corazón clinic when you see fit. The safety of our personnel is our primary concern.”

Catherine narrowed her eyes at Dr. Merrick. “ Evaluate the situation ? Have you not heard anything that has been said? You sent our daughter into some godforsaken?—”

Merrick shook his head. “No offense, Mrs. Valentino, but Compass didn’t force Lauren to go anywhere. She came to us, asking for a remote position. She knew the area was unstable and that there was risk. She also knew that was a place she could do the most good.”

Catherine looked like she was going to argue further, but Richard placed a hand on her shoulder. “Money is no object. We’ll cover all costs. We just want Lauren home safely if it’s no longer safe there. And her colleagues, of course.”

Obviously, getting Lauren out had already been a topic of conversation between Dr. Merrick and the Valentinos—and the reason the Valentinos were part of this call at all.

A nonprofit organization like Compass Medical Outreach wouldn’t be able to afford the cost of this sort of operation and extraction, even if Citadel worked for free and only charged them what it cost us.

Concerned, rich parents willing to foot the bill made everything much easier.

It also made me wonder if Lauren Valentino was just in Corazón to piss them off. We worked with all sorts of clients who found themselves in dangerous situations because of stupid choices.

“There’s another potential complication. Just want to make sure everyone is aware of it.” Jace brought up weather data on all our screens. “Hurricane Tristan is live in that region. Category 3 storm, possibly strengthening. Right now, not heading for Corazón, but it could become a factor.”

Richard scrubbed a hand down his face. “A hurricane? On top of everything else?”

“Worse, natural disasters often trigger increased criminal activity,” Ethan explained.

“Emergency services become overwhelmed, communications break down, and existing power structures become even more volatile. The Silva cartel will likely use the chaos to consolidate control or eliminate remaining opposition.”

“What if the hurricane stops the extraction?” Catherine asked.

“Then our team will stay with them and keep them safe until the storm has passed and extraction becomes an option again.” Ethan gave a reassuring nod. “We’ll probably use the storm as part of our cover story for why the team is there.”

“You should also be aware that we haven’t been able to reach the team in over a week,” Dr. Merrick explained. “That is not uncommon, so while we’re worried, we’re not panicked.”

I crossed my arms over my chest. “But they won’t know we’re coming.”

Dr. Merrick nodded. “That’s correct.”

The call continued for another fifteen minutes, covering operational details and communication protocols.

Throughout, Richard’s agitation never subsided, his pacing becoming more frantic as he absorbed each piece of tactical information—I finally had to stop looking at him altogether to keep myself focused.

And goddamn if Ty didn’t notice that too. But he was smart enough not to say anything.

Still, I needed to get this shit locked down tighter.

As the screen went dark, I found myself studying the reflection in the blank monitor—my own face, weathered by too many missions in too many hostile territories. I looked fucking ancient.

“Well, that was fun,” Jace muttered, fingers still dancing across his keyboards. “Nothing like terrified rich parents to start the day.”

“Can’t blame them,” Ethan said, leaning back in his chair now that we could speak freely. “Logan, assessment?”

“High-risk extraction from hostile territory with potentially deteriorating weather conditions.” I stretched, working out the tension that always built during client calls.

Ty shook his head. “Do we have any advantages since it’s single-cartel control?”

“Predictable patterns,” I replied, settling into the familiar rhythm of tactical planning with guys who’d watched my back through multiple missions.

“We know Diego Silva’s playbook—territory markers, patrol schedules, response protocols.

But it also means absolute authority. If they decide we’re a problem… ”

“They throw everything they’ve got at you guys,” Ethan finished. “Which is why you’ll have to be ghosts on this one.”

Jace pulled up satellite imagery, his screens lighting up with tactical overlays. “Speaking of ghosts, check this out. Silva patrols run through the valley twice daily—0900 and 1700 hours. Consistent as clockwork.”

“Diego’s old-school,” I said, studying the patrol routes. “Likes his schedules.”

“Old-school’s predictable school,” Ty observed. “That’s good for us.”

“Any direct surveillance on the clinic?” I asked.

“Negative. Basic presence patrol, not focused monitoring.” Jace highlighted the patrol routes in red. “If we time it right, we’ve got clean windows.”

Ethan clicked on the map. “All right, here’s how you’ll play it. You’ll go in as a meteorological team, studying weather patterns ahead of this hurricane.”

“Please tell me I don’t have to pretend to understand barometric pressure,” Ty said.

“You’ll be the muscle pretending to be a graduate student,” Jace replied with a grin. “Just carry the equipment and look confused. Shouldn’t be much of a stretch.”

“Cool. Let me run add human luggage rack to my résumé.”

“Boys,” Ethan interrupted, though I caught the hint of amusement in his voice. “Focus. Cover story gets you legitimate clearance to fly in and out. But it means you go slick.”

I already knew what was coming. “How slick?”

“Concealable pistols, couple extra mags each.” Ethan’s expression turned serious. “One submachine gun for emergencies, but it stays hidden unless everything goes to hell.”

“That’s optimistic,” Ty said. “When do our ops ever go according to plan?”

“Hey, remember Prague?” Jace offered. “That one went perfectly.”

“Prague ended with you hanging from a hotel balcony by your fingertips.”

“But the client extraction was flawless.” Jace grinned.

“Gentlemen.” Ethan’s voice carried just enough edge to bring us back on track. “Light loadout means if things go sideways, you acquire weapons from enemy combatants.”

“Ah, the old kill them and take their stuff strategy.” Ty nodded approvingly. “Classic.”

“Concealment over firepower,” I said, understanding the tactical calculus. “We’re betting on stealth and speed.”

“Seems like the best bet in this situation,” Ethan replied. “Remember, priority is getting all four doctors out without anyone knowing we were there.”

“Four scared civilians, light weapons load, hostile territory, and an incoming hurricane,” Jace summarized cheerfully. “Just another Tuesday at Citadel Solutions.”

I shook my head. “Right now, we’re dealing with general instability and criminal violence. But cartels are paranoid organizations. They might interpret our extraction as evidence that the medical team has been providing intelligence to outside authorities.”

The silence that followed was heavy with understanding. We’d all worked extractions where our presence inadvertently escalated threats against civilians we were trying to protect.

“All the more reason to use the meteorologist cover,” Ethan said finally.

“Weather team flies in, takes some readings, flies out with a few passengers who want to evacuate in case a storm is coming. All right, people. You’re wheels up in six hours.

I’ll be monitoring from here. Get your gear sorted and grab some sleep if you can. ”

As the team began to disperse, the familiar banter fading into focused preparation, I remained seated, studying the satellite imagery. The clinic looked isolated and vulnerable, but I’d extracted people from worse places with worse odds.

The difference was, I’d never done it while pretending to be a meteorologist.

I found myself staring at the photograph of Dr. Lauren Valentino that Jace had included in the intelligence package.

Where her parents were polished and controlled, she appeared completely natural—blonde hair pulled back in a practical ponytail, no makeup, wearing plain scrubs.

But her eyes held an intensity that jumped off the screen, even in the candid shots.

Getting her and the other three doctors out of Silva territory before the hurricane hit was going to require every skill I’d learned in two decades of combat operations. And with our limited firepower, timing and concealment were everything.

But something about Dr. Lauren Valentino’s expression told me she was going to be the wild card in this equation.