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Chief Aiken Oakley

Valor

One week later.

It was five in the morning, and he and Zorion were loading up the boat like they’d done every morning since they had arrived.

Valor had just finished adding the fishing gear when their satellite phone rang.

He and Zorion exchanged disappointed looks before Valor pushed the button to receive the call.

“I need you to get to the location Glitch is about to send you,” Jo said without a greeting. “Meridian went in with the Browns and killed the director in his own office last night.”

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah.” Jo snickered. “And from what I hear, Meridian honored his promise.”

“He tortured him?”

“Yep, after Grace shot him with a lethal dose of cyanide.”

“Damn. That’s some ruthless shit.”

Valor felt no remorse except that he hadn’t been the one to do it.

“I’m mobilizing the team to infiltrate the facility. Now’s the time to get in and extract Zelmir’s family before his dirty guards attempt to tie up loose ends.”

Valor hung up and quickly told Zorion what’d happened.

“Shit,” Zorion bit out, already moving.

Their respite had been brief but still a gift.

Now, it was time to finish the war.

Fifteen hours later, Valor crouched on the rooftop of the Ravens facility, his steel claws glinting in the dim emergency lights, with Zorion beside him, his bow ready and his quiver full of too many specialty arrows for him to keep count.

Four disciples from the Order flanked them in their ninja attire, their hoods made to only reveal their eyes that were outlined with black kohl.

The blades from the stealth chopper made no sound as it powered off. Once they were out, the pilot gave them a thumbs-up that he’d be waiting for them when they returned.

Jo’s calm voice crackled in their ears.

“Greens, you have the go light. Glitch has eyes on the feed. The director’s men are sweeping the floors. Keep it quiet until you can’t.”

The six of them fell into motion, snapping on harnesses and securing their claw hooks.

The city pulsed with life forty floors below, but they were focused on their landing point on the fourth floor. Their intel confirmed it was gutted, cleared of personnel, and scheduled for renovation by the architectural firm operating on the first few floors.

They landed on the balcony one by one.

“You’re all clear for three floors,” Jo said.

Though the floor was empty, the terrace doors were still bolted.

Valor signaled to Zorion, and without hesitation, his cherished nocked an arrow with a mustard-yellow tip and shot it at the steel handle.

The arrowhead sizzled on impact, corroding the reinforced metal in seconds, and the door collapsed inward with a whispering hiss.

They moved like a SWAT team who’d been training together for years.

Valor peered into the hall before he motioned toward the stairwell.

They became shadows, moving through the darkness without a sound.

Zorion trailed close behind him, bow raised, scanning every angle. The disciples ghosted along the walls, their breaths and steps synchronized.

“You got six armed hostiles thirty feet from your mark.”

Valor melted into the corner while Zorion perched on the railing.

The door flew open and three men the size of linebackers and wearing bulletproof armor over their chests burst through.

Before they realized they weren’t alone, Zorion sent an arrow flying. The projectile split into three, each shaft striking a throat with inhuman accuracy. The mercenaries hit the floor with hard thuds, blood gurgling from around the objects embedded in their tracheas.

The three remaining men raised their weapons, but Valor was already in motion. His pounce was silent, his claws splitting through the femoral arty of one before he spun and slashed the aorta of another. The last turned to run, but Zorion launched a taser arrow into the left side of his hip that locked his legs and sent him tumbling hard down the rest of the stairs, where one of the disciples made quick work of his life.

“Level twenty-two, twelve hostiles.”

They hurried and ascended the fourteen flights.

Zorion exploded through the door first and shot a flashbang arrow that bathed the hall in a blinding red light.

Valor and the disciples used the distraction to attack while the dozen men were disoriented.

His claws cut through flesh and snapped bones like dry twigs. One aimed his rifle at Valor’s head and a disciple twisted and spun with a kick that sent the man’s elbow inward. His scream was cut short as a knife struck and crushed his windpipe.

The other three disciples wove into the fray, their movements as sleek as oil over flames, sinuous and dangerous, a testament to their mastery. One leaped forward, using the wall as a springboard to snap a guard’s neck mid-spin. Another delivered a crushing elbow strike to the temple, sending a man down and twitching until his life faded.

Zorion loosed the double arrow at the two men, pinning them against the wall.

Jo’s voice cut through the chaos. “Move. Incoming.”

They stormed down the corridor as the alarm began blaring.

Zorion shot a titanium-tipped arrow into a wall, creating a magnetic field that yanked the others’ weapons out of their hands.

Without bullets, they had no means of defending themselves.

Standing confused and paralyzed with fear, Valor dashed around them in a blur of claws and muscle.

One mercenary raced to recover his weapon and Zorion shot an arrow with such force it pierced the man’s hand, nailing it to the wall.

“Destroy it all,” Jo ordered.