Page 5

FIVE

Blaze

Digital Breadcrumbs

The jet’s engines roar to life, vibrating through the soles of my boots. I strap myself into the plush leather seat, the material cool against my palms. Around me, Guardian HRS’s mobile command center hums with activity. Screens flicker to life, flooding the cabin with a pale blue glow that dances across intent faces. The air crackles with tension and the faint scent of ozone from overworked electronics. Those mingle with the lingering aroma of high-end coffee.

“Alright, people,” Jenny’s voice cuts through the noise, sharp as a whip. “Let’s get up to speed.”

I lean forward, eyes scanning the largest display. A map of New York City glows, pulsing with potential leads and dead ends. My fingers itch to do something, anything, to close the gap between us and our targets.

Mitzy’s fingers fly in a blur across her keyboard; the rapid-fire clicks a counterpoint to the jet’s engine noise. Her face, bathed in the light of multiple monitors, is a mask of concentration. “I’ve got eyes on the van up until 42nd and 8th,” she says, not looking up. “Then it’s like it vanished into thin air.”

“Traffic cams?” I ask, already knowing the answer but needing to hear it anyway.

She shakes her head and her psychedelic hair shimmers in the light. “Whoever these guys are, they’re good. They stuck to blind spots, avoided major intersections. I’m piecing together scraps from ATM cameras, store security feeds, anything I can get my hands on.”

Mac leans back in his chair, the metal creaking under his bulk. His muscled arms cross over his chest, biceps straining against the fabric of his tactical shirt. “I’ve got feelers out on the street,” he says. “If the Night Pack’s involved, someone’s bound to have heard something.”

Jenny nods, her dark eyes intense. “Good. We need every angle covered. Blaze, what’s your take?”

I stand, the movement helping to focus my thoughts. Moving to the central holographic display, I feel the eyes of the team on me. Aria Holbrook’s face hovers there, alongside what little we know about her kidnappers.

“We’re missing something,” I mutter, more to myself than the team. “This isn’t a random grab-and-snatch. Too long without a ransom demand. I don’t know Holbrook, but something about this feels off. The Night Pack doesn’t waste resources. They wouldn’t have grabbed Ember along with Aria. Too much risk.”

“What do you mean?” Mac asks.

“Why drag her into the van when they could’ve kicked her to the curb.” I run a hand down my face. “She weighs, what? A buck ten at most? Those men could’ve hauled her from the scruff of her neck and tossed her like a sack of potatoes. Instead, they drag her into the van? That feels wasteful and complicated.”

“Agreed,” Jenny says, her voice tight with frustration. “But what’s the angle? Ransom for Aria, at least, that’s the working theory. Human trafficking for Ember?”

I shake my head, feeling the tension knotting at the base of my skull. “Maybe both. Maybe neither. We need to dig deeper into Aria’s background and Ember Winters. What’s her connection?”

“Wrong place, wrong time?” Mac suggests, his deep voice rumbling through the cabin. “I firmly believe in keeping it simple.”

“Maybe,” I say, but something nags at me, an itch I can’t quite scratch. “Or maybe not. She’s a liability to them now. Run a deep background on her, Mitzy. Foster care records, juvie, everything.”

“On it,” she says, fingers already flying again, the staccato of keystrokes filling the air.

A loud yawn breaks the tension. We all turn to see Charlene—Charlie—stretching languidly in her seat. Her blonde ponytail swings as she rolls her neck, working out the kinks.

“Sorry.” She flashes a megawatt smile that seems out of place given our grim mission. “Long night.”

Brett, seated next to her, smirks. “Yeah, I heard. The two of you kept me up all night.”

Jon, on Charlie’s other side, has the decency to look slightly embarrassed, but not Charlie. The dynamics between the three of them are—complicated, to say the least.

“Children, please,” Jenny says, but her voice holds a hint of amusement. “Focus.”

Charlie leans forward, all business now despite her bubbly exterior. “What if we’re thinking about this all wrong? Instead of following the van, why don’t we track where it came from?”

Mitzy’s eyes light up. “Brilliant. If we can pinpoint their starting location, we might be able to identify other properties they own or frequent.”

I nod, feeling a spark of hope. “Do it. And someone get me more coffee. It’s going to be a long flight.”

“What happened to you?” Mitzy gives me a look. “Your feet don’t work? Get up and get it yourself.”

“Whatever.” I shake my head, then dutifully head to the back of the plane where the galley sits.

Hours blur together, marked by the steady hum of the engines and the ebb and flow of conversation. Lead after lead fizzles out. The tension in the cabin ratchets up with each dead end, pressing against my skin like a physical thing.

“Dammit.” Mitzy slams her fist on the armrest, the impact reverberating through the cabin. “How the hell did they just disappear?”

I pace the length of the jet, mind racing. There’s a pattern here. There has to be. The carpet muffles my footsteps, but the vibrations of the engines thrum through the floor, a constant reminder of our race against time.

“Mitzy,” I call out, my voice rough from too much coffee and too little sleep. “Show me the van’s route again. All of it, even the fragments.”

The map springs to life, a spiderweb of possible paths crisscrossing the city. The glowing lines hurt my eyes, but I force myself to focus.

“Now overlay that with known Night Pack territories.”

Colors bloom across the display. Red for confirmed hideouts, yellow for suspected areas of operation. The effect is like a bruise spreading across the face of the city.

“Son of a bitch,” I breathe, the realization hitting me like a punch to the gut.

Jenny’s at my side in an instant, her presence a steady anchor. “What do you see?”

I point to a section of the map, my finger leaving a faint smudge on the glossy surface. “They’re not just dodging cameras—they’re sticking to a deliberate path. See? They’re skirting the edges of their territory, never crossing the boundary, but never fully leaving it either.”

Mac leans in. His bulk casts a shadow over the display. His eyes narrow, years of street experience coming into play. “A test run? Making sure the coast is clear before bringing in the big fish?”

I nod, feeling the pieces start to click into place. “Exactly. And look here,” I trace a path with my finger. “This loop. It’s unnecessary, unless…”

“Unless they’re checking for tails,” Jenny finishes, a note of grudging admiration in her voice. “Smart.”

Brett whistles low. “These bastards know what they’re doing.”

Jon nods, his expression dour. “Makes you wonder how long they’ve been operating under the radar.”

Charlie, who’s been uncharacteristically quiet, speaks up. “But if we know their pattern now, can’t we predict where they might go next?”

Before I can respond, Mitzy’s voice cuts through our discussion, high and excited. “I’ve got something. Facial recognition just pinged on one of the kidnappers.”

We crowd around her station, the cramped space filling with the scent of sweat and anticipation. A grainy image fills the screen—a man exiting the van, face partially obscured. Behind him looms the skeletal structure of what looks like an abandoned factory, its broken windows gaping like empty eye sockets.

“Meet Boyton Farmer,” Mitzy says, her fingers flying as she pulls up additional information. “No name, but he’s got a rap sheet a mile long. Mostly muscle-for-hire stuff.”

“Can you track him?” I lean in so close.

She shakes her head, frustration evident in the set of her shoulders. “Lost him after this. But,” her eyes gleam with triumph, “I know where this photo was taken.”

The map shifts, zooming in on a decrepit section of the city. The satellite image shows a maze of abandoned buildings and overgrown lots, a forgotten corner of the urban landscape.

Mac whistles low, the sound sharp in the tense silence. “That’s not friendly territory. Night Pack’s got that place locked down tight. Booby traps, lookouts, the works.”

Jenny’s brow furrows, deep lines etching themselves into her forehead. “It’s risky. We go in there half-cocked, we could lose everything.”

I study the map, mind racing through scenarios. It’s dangerous, yes. But it’s also our best lead. The taste of stale coffee lingers on my tongue as I weigh our options.

“We don’t have a choice.” My voice sounds hollow in my ears. “Time’s running out for Aria and Ember. We need to move.”

Jenny nods with a slight hesitation. “Alright. But we do this smart. Mitzy, I want every scrap of intel you can find on that area. Mac, reach out to your contacts again. See if anyone knows about recent Night Pack activity there.”

I return to the map, studying the twisted streets and abandoned buildings. Somewhere in that urban maze, Aria and Ember are waiting. Counting on us. The weight of their lives settles on my shoulders, a familiar burden that never gets easier to bear.

The next few hours are a flurry of activity. Mitzy’s fingers never stop moving, coaxing information from the depths of the digital world. Mac’s voice is a constant low rumble as he works his contacts, calling in favors and making promises we all hope we can keep.

I find myself drawn back to Ember’s file. Something about her story nags at me. A life lived on the edges, always one step ahead of disaster. I can’t help but admire her resilience.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Charlie’s voice breaks through my concentration. She perches on the edge of my desk, two steaming cups of coffee in her hands. She extends one toward me. The scent is rich and inviting.

I accept the cup gratefully, the warmth seeping into my fingers. “Just trying to put the pieces together.”

She nods, her usual bubbly demeanor subdued. “It’s a mess, isn’t it? Poor girls must be terrified.”

“Yeah,” I agree, taking a sip of the coffee. It’s perfect—strong and black, just the way I like it. “But they’re survivors. Both of them.”

Charlie leans back, her eyes softening as she studies me. “You see yourself in them, don’t you? In Ember, especially.”

I shrug, the familiar discomfort creeping in. She always reads me too easily.

“Maybe.” Memories of my youth flash briefly—the cold streets, the lies that got me into the Navy when I was just a kid. “Grew up scraping for every inch, just like her. Doesn’t matter, though. What matters is getting them out.”

“We will. You’ll see.” Charlie squeezes my shoulder, her touch lingering for just a moment.

She’s right, but it’s more than that. The weight of that shared past isn’t just something that connects me to Ember—it’s what drives me. I see the same fight in Ember that I had back then, the same stubborn refusal to break no matter how bad things get.

Growing up on the streets, I learned early that no one was coming to save me. It was either adapt, fight, or fade into the shadows. Ember’s got that same fire, that same quiet desperation to survive, and that hits something deep inside me.

It’s more than just getting her out—it’s about protecting her from the life I escaped. I know what happens to people like her when the world forgets them, and I’ll be damned if I let her slip through the cracks.

I call her a kid, but Ember’s a grown woman—twenty-two. Still, she’s young, several years younger than me, but the streets made her grow up fast. It’s not that I see her as a kid—it’s just that the gap between us feels bigger, like I’ve already fought battles she’s just starting to face.

As Charlene walks away, I catch Brett watching us, his expression unreadable. The dynamics of their relationship are none of my business, but I can’t help wondering how they make it work.

“Alright, listen up.” Jenny’s voice cuts through the cabin, snapping everyone to attention. “We’ve got a potential location. Abandoned factory on the outskirts of the city. Satellite imagery shows recent activity, and it fits the profile of previous Night Pack operations.”

A holographic image of the factory springs to life in the center of the cabin. It’s a hulking structure, all rusted metal and broken windows. The perfect place to hide if you don’t want to be found.

“What’s the plan?” Jon asks, leaning forward in his seat.

Jenny’s eyes sweep the room, meeting each of us in turn. “Two teams. Blaze, you’ll lead infiltration. Charlie, Jon, and Brett are with you. Mac, you’re with me on perimeter control and backup.”

I nod, already running scenarios in my head. “We’ll need thermal imaging. If they’ve got hostages, they’ll keep them separate from the main group.”

“Already on it,” Mitzy pipes up. “I tapped into a military satellite. We’ll have real-time heat signatures when we’re in range, and the Rufi will be with you on the ground. I’ll also release the bumblebee drones.” A glint of excitement shines in her eyes. “They’ll map out the inside, along with identifying friendlies and hostiles.”

“How long?” I frown, tension knotting in my shoulders.

Mitzy hesitates. “An hour, give or take.”

I bite back a curse. Every minute feels like an eternity when lives are at stake. But I know she’s right. “Do it. We need all the intel we can get.”

“Blaze,” Jenny says, “you’ll take both units with your group. They can scout ahead and minimize our exposure.”

“The bumblebees and Rufi will work in tandem,” Mitzy adds, her fingers flying over her tablet. “I’ll sync their data streams. The drones can provide overhead mapping while the Rufi give us ground-level intel.”

Mac grunts in agreement. “Those robo-dogs have saved our asses more than once. Just don’t let ‘em get shot up. I’m tired of putting ‘em back together.”

I nod, already envisioning how we’ll integrate the Rufi into our infiltration. “What’s their current loadout?”

“Standard package,” Jon replies. “Infrared, motion sensors, audio surveillance. Plus, they’re carrying extra ammo and med supplies.”

“Perfect,” I say. “We’ll use them as advance scouts. Any hostiles they encounter, we’ll know before we’re in the line of fire.”

Brett grins, a predatory gleam in his eye. “Not to mention, they make great distractions if things go sideways.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” Jenny interjects. “Remember, this is a rescue op. We go in quiet, get our people, and get out. The Rufi and bumblebees are for intel and support, not engagement unless absolutely necessary.”

We all nod in agreement. The addition of our robotic team members doesn’t change the core mission, but it does give us a significant advantage.

“Alright,” Jenny continues, “Mitzy, you’ll coordinate the drone and Rufi feeds from the mobile command center. Any questions?”

The cabin falls silent, each of us mentally preparing for what’s to come.

“Good,” Jenny says, a rare note of approval in her voice. “Now, let’s talk extraction plans.”

The rest of the flight passes in a blur of preparation and last-minute checks. Before I know it, we’re on our descent into New York. The city sprawls beneath us, a glittering tapestry of lights and shadows. Somewhere down there, Aria and Ember are waiting. Hoping. Maybe even praying.

As we touch down, I review my mental checklist one last time. Gear, weapons, comm links—everything in its place. But it’s not just the human equipment that will make or break this mission. It’s all of us—flesh, blood, and circuitry—working together.

The cabin door opens, letting in a blast of cool night air. It carries the scents of the city—exhaust fumes, hot asphalt, and something indefinably New York. I take a deep breath, letting it center me.

Two black SUVs wait for us on the tarmac, engines idling. I head for the first one, Jon, Brett, and Charlie falling in behind me. In the second vehicle, Jenny, Mac, and Mitzy load up, along with one of Mitzy’s techs, carefully handling a box containing the bumblebee drones. The Rufi units are already loaded, their sleek forms visible through the tinted windows.

“Lock and load, people,” Jenny says, her voice tight with anticipation. “It’s showtime.”