Page 94 of Rescued By the Alpha SEAL

"Negative. Hold the perimeter. If this is wrong, we need eyes everywhere."

A pause.

"Understood. Watch your six."

I glance at Sloane. She's already moving—reading my intent before I voice it.

We descend the far side of the ridge in controlled slides, using the terrain for cover. The shelter grows clearer with each step.

It's old. Pre-war maybe. The kind of place hunters used to use before the land went Federal. Weathered wood, tin roof, single door with a rusted handle.

Perfect box canyon setup.

Perfect kill zone.

I motion Sloane to hold position while I clear the angles. No fresh tracks. No trip lines. No obvious surveillance gear.

Too clean.

We close the final distance in absolute silence. I press against the wall beside the door, straining to hear any movement inside.

Nothing.

Just dead air and settling wood.

I meet Sloane's eyes. She nods once—tight, controlled.

Ready.

My boot hits the door just beside the handle—wood splintering inward as I breach with my rifle up.

The interior rushes at me in snapshots:

Single room. Low ceiling. Dirt floor.

Table against the far wall.

Empty shelves. Broken chair.

No windows. No back door.

No Lucia.

But on the table?—

A single sheet of paper.

I edge closer, my eyes sweeping the room in quick arcs—checking corners, shadows, ceiling beams.

The paper beckons from the table.

Something about its scent hits wrong. I unfold the sheet to find three red words.

You're too late.

-G

The paper crumples in my fist before I realize I've moved.