Page 3 of Rescuing Ally: Part 2

Ethan falls in behind, face hardening. Rigel scans the hallway, a subtle shift in stance. Blake’s smile fades. Walt’s jaw ticks.

We know this feeling.

Combat silence.

Then we see it.

Jenna’s door.

Hanging off its hinges. Splintered. Bent inward.

The frame hanging half-on, half-off its hinges. A spiderweb of bullet holes stitched across the wood. One wine glass lies outside the threshold, shattered, red soaking into the rug like blood.

Tactical formation. No words needed.

Ethan takes the left. Blake and Walt flank right. Rigel covers the rear. Gabe and I go for breach.

I push what’s left of the door open with the muzzle of my Glock.

My stomach drops.

Hell greets us.

Furniture overturned. Blood smears the floor like someone dragged a body—maybe more than one. Bullet holes pockmark the walls. Glass crunches underfoot, glittering like ice in the scattered light.

The air reeks of cordite, gas, blood, and sweat. And beneath it… Something heartbreakingly domestic.

Garlic. Pasta. Wine.

They were having dinner.

The food’s still on the table. Plates half-full. A bottle is knocked over, bleeding red across the floorboards.

My throat closes as I move deeper. Wine glasses on the counter. A paused movie. One of the kids’ drawings is still taped to the fridge. The kind of night you never think will end in violence.

And blood. So much blood.

Long, wet smears across the cream carpet. Palm-sized splashes across the wall. A chair shattered in the corner like someone tried to throw it—tried and failed.

Gabe steps deeper inside, weapon raised, eyes tracking the destruction. “Clear right.”

“Clear left,” Ethan calls.

Then I see Max.

Jenna’s German Shepherd sprawled in the wreckage, unmoving. He lies on his side near the hallway, motionless. A dart protrudes from his thick neck, fur soaked dark around the edges. I drop to one knee. My fingers search.

“Alive,” I grit. “Tranqed. Not shot. Pulse is there.”

Relief buzzes through me, sharp and shallow.

“Hallway’s got defensive spatter,” Rigel reports from behind me. “Someone fought back. And hard.”

“Overturned table used as a barricade,” Blake says. “They tried to hold them off.”

“Three sets of drag trails,” Walt adds. “They didn’t walk out of here. They were carried.”

The others sweep through behind us. Silent now. Controlled.