Page 92 of Rescued By the Alpha SEAL

The red fabric hits the snow like blood.

My hands go numb as I stare at the embroidered name tag, each carefully stitched letter carving fresh wounds in my gut:

PROPERTY OF: LUCIA CALDERÓN

The world narrows to those two words, burning against white snow. My breath comes sharp and fast, crystallizing in the frigid air. The jacket is still warm—body heat clinging to the fabric like an accusation.

Lucia.

Rosa's daughter.

Only twelve years old.

The kid who runs drills with her mom on Saturdays, face fierce and determined as she throws punches with that high-pitched battle cry. Who connects dots faster than half my team, whofound Sloane hiding in The Forge before anyone else thought to look.

Who trusts us to keep her safe.

And now she's gone.

My fingers trace the embroidery, feeling each letter like a brand against my skin.

This isn't just a message. This isn't just a threat.

This is Granger showing his hand.

Not a casualty.

Aconsequence.

The realization hits me like shrapnel—sharp, biting, drawing blood.

Women or children, they're the same to him.

A leverage.

The rage that surges through me is cold. The kind that doesn't cloud judgment—it sharpens it.

I rise slowly, every muscle coiled tight. The team watches, waiting.

They know this silence. This stillness.

It's not shock.

It's the breath before the storm.

When I speak, my voice carries across the snow like steel on stone:

"Find her."

A beat.

"Now."

They move like lightning—no hesitation, no questions. Just synchronized violence waiting to be unleashed. Each man knows his role without being told.

Caleb breaks east, already unslinging his rifle.

Knox ghosts west, melting into shadow.