Page 122 of Rescued By the Alpha SEAL

A threat wrapped in an ultimatum, delivered with the clinical precision of a man who knows exactly how to twist the knife.

"Timer's live," Asa announces, voice clipped and professional despite the fury I see burning behind his glasses.

"Fifty-nine minutes, forty-seven seconds."

I force myself to breathe. To think past the red haze of rage clouding my vision.

Getting angry won't help her.

Getting reckless will get her killed.

"Run it again," I order, though we've already watched the feed three times. "Every detail. Every shadow. There has to be something we missed."

Asa nods, fingers moving in that precise way of his that turns chaos into code. The video rewinds, then starts again in high definition across the main display.

Sloane appears on screen, zip-tied to what looks like a support beam. Her clothes are dirty but intact, no visible blood—small mercies.

But it's her eyes that grab me. They're sharp. Alert. Even bound and threatened, she's still gathering intel. Still fighting.

Still alive.

"Focus on the background first," Knox says, leaning closer to the screen. "Structural elements, window placement, ambient sound."

We dissect every frame like it's a crime scene—which, I suppose, it is. Or will be, depending on how the next hour plays out.

The thought sends ice through my veins, but I push it down. Lock it away with all the other fears I can't afford right now.

"Wait," Knox says suddenly, pointing to the upper right corner of the frame. "The birds."

I squint at where he's indicating. Through a grimy window, barely visible in the weak morning light, three crows perch on what appears to be a railing or ledge.

"What about them?"

"They're level with the camera." Knox's voice carries the quiet certainty of a man who's spent years reading terrain through a scope. "That means we're looking at serious elevation. Has to be a firewatch tower."

Asa's already pulling up regional maps, fingers dancing across three different keyboards. Red dots begin populating across the display—every firewatch tower in a hundred-mile radius.

"Too many," I mutter, but my mind is already calculating. Time stamps. Distance ratios. Walking speed.

"She left before dawn," I think out loud, pacing now because standing still feels like drowning. "Video came in three hours later. Walking speed in snow, factoring in Granger's gear weight and an unconscious target..."

"Two-hour radius max," Asa finishes, already adjusting parameters. Most of the red dots vanish, leaving only three blinking points within the theoretical range.

"That's still too far to check them all," Knox says, voicing what we're all thinking. "Not in the time we have left."

Asa's response is to pull open a heavy case beneath his workstation.

Inside, three compact drones nest in custom foam cutouts. They look like toys—until you notice the military-grade surveillance package mounted beneath each chassis.

"I can get eyes on all three locations in five minutes," he says, already prepping the first unit for launch. "These boys are fast."

I follow Asa into the hall as he heads to launch his toys. Knox falls in step beside me, both of us snatching up our gear as we move.

But when Knox reach for the truck keys, my arm shoots out, blocking his path.

"You heard Granger," I tell him, voice flat. "I go alone, or she dies."

"Like hell." Knox's eyes are dark with something that looks like fury but feels like fear. "You walk in there solo, you both die."