Page 7

SEVEN

Blaze

Countdown to Zero Hour

The Guardian HQ staging area thrums with barely contained energy. We’re organized chaos, a dance of deadly precision. Weapons gleam under harsh fluorescent lights, and the air thickens with the scent of gun oil and anticipation.

My fingers trail over my gear, a ritual as familiar as breathing. Kevlar vest, snug against my chest. Thigh holster tight. Magazines nestled in place. Each piece promises protection or vengeance. The weight of it all grounds me, a constant reminder of the life I’ve chosen.

The Glock 19 slides into my hand, an extension of my arm. I check the chamber, muscle memory taking over. Fifteen rounds of 9mm, plus one in the pipe. Enough to start a war.

Or end one.

My backup piece, a compact Sig Sauer P365, nestles against my ankle. Insurance policy. Last resort. The cold metal comforting against my skin.

The team filters in, faces set in steely determination. Charlie’s usual spark is dimmed. Brett’s jaw is clenched tight. Even Jon’s easygoing demeanor carries a sharp edge today. The air between them crackles with unspoken tension.

Something happened.

Something they’re not talking about.

Mac lumbers in, his massive frame dwarfing the high-tech gear he carries. His prototype body armor is lightweight but rugged as hell. His hands, scarred and calloused, move with surprising delicacy as he checks each piece.

“You good?” I ask, catching his eye.

He grunts a sound that could mean anything, but there’s tightness around his eyes. The way his fingers linger on the St. Christopher medal at his neck gives me pause. He’s got a bad feeling about this one. That makes two of us.

“Alright, people. Gather ‘round.” Jenny’s voice cuts through the bustle, sharp as a whip crack.

We circle up, a pack of wolves ready for the hunt. Mitzy’s holo-display flickers to life, bathing us in an eerie blue glow. The warehouse materializes in a skeletal structure of light and shadow.

“Latest intel on our target.” Mitzy’s fingers dance across her tablet, graceful and sure. A 3D schematic blossoms before us, rotating slowly. “Three main entry points. Heavy security here, here, and here.” Red dots pulse ominously, like fresh blood spatter.

“That’s our way in.” Brett jabs a finger at the southwest corner, his voice tight with barely contained eagerness. “Least guarded, best cover.”

“You’re dreaming.” Mac’s rumble carries the weight of experience, of too many missions gone sideways. “That’s exactly where they’ll expect us. Northeast is our best bet.”

“And walk right into their crosshairs?” Jon scoffs, arms crossed over his chest. “No way. We go in from above. They’ll never see it coming.”

The argument builds, voices rising. Strategy dissolves into ego. I watch, letting them burn through the tension, but time’s ticking away. Every second we waste is another second Ember and Aria spend in hell.

“Enough.” My voice, low and sharp, silences the room. “We’re not going in blind. Mitzy, show us the thermals.”

The schematic shifts, blooming with heat signatures. Clusters of red and orange human forms move purposefully, but something’s off. The pattern is too perfect, too rehearsed.

“There.” I point to a section deep within the building. “Isolated heat signatures. Stationary. That’s where they’re keeping the hostages.”

Jenny leans in, her shoulder brushing mine. The faint scent of her shampoo, something crisp and clean, cuts through the metallic tang of the room. Her eyes narrow, laser-focused on the display.

“Good catch. But look at the patrol patterns. They’re too regular, too perfect.”

“Because it’s a trap.” The realization hits like a gut punch, stealing my breath.

Mac nods, face solemn. “They’re expecting us.”

“But how?” Charlie’s voice is steady, though a sharp edge cuts through. “This op is strictly need-to-know.”

A heavy silence falls, thick enough to choke on. The implication is clear as day. Someone talked. But who? The thought sits like acid in my stomach, burning away at the foundation of this mission.

I scan the faces around me. We all feel it. This op came together too fast. From Holbrook’s first call to wheels up, we’ve been running on pure adrenaline. No time to leak intel. No time to set up a trap this elaborate.

Unless …

“Maybe it’s not us they’re expecting.” Something about this whole op stinks, but I have yet to figure out what.

The only common denominator is Holbrook—the one who set this in motion.

“Doesn’t matter.” Jenny’s tone brooks no argument, a steel core wrapped in velvet. “We adapt. We overcome. Whatever they’re planning, we hit them harder.”

Nods all around, but I can see the wheels turning behind my teammates’ eyes. The same question is etched on every face.

What aren’t we being told?

I catch Mac’s eye. A subtle nod. He’s thinking it too. This whole thing stinks, and Holbrook’s at the center of it.

“We need to consider the possibility Holbrook isn’t being entirely truthful.” My voice is low but carries in the silence.

Brett’s head snaps up. “You think he set us up?”

“I think we don’t have all the pieces,” I reply carefully. “And in our line of work, missing information gets people killed.”

Charlie leans in, her earlier uncertainty replaced by sharp focus. “So, what’s our play?”

Jenny’s eyes narrow, calculating. “We proceed as planned. But eyes open, people. Question everything. And be ready for this to go sideways fast.”

The air shifts, tension morphing into heightened alertness. Whatever we’re walking into, we’ll face it together. But Holbrook has some explaining to do when this is over.

“Gear up. We roll in twenty.” Jenny dismisses us with a sharp nod. She shifts her attention back to the holo-display.

The team disperses, each to their own corner. I watch them go, noting the subtle shifts in body language. Brett and Charlie, tension crackling between them like live wires. Jon, trying too hard to seem unbothered, his movements just a touch too casual.

My fingers find the St. Michael medallion at my throat, a habit I can’t seem to break. Cool metal, worn smooth by years of worry. A talisman against the darkness we’re about to face. “To protect those who protect others.” Those were the words of the chaplain the night before my first op. If only he could see me now.

I move to my station, double-checking my loadout. Flashbangs, smoke grenades, Zip Ties. Tools of the trade. Each one a potential lifeline or a deadly weapon, depending on how this plays out.

The Rufi units catch my eye, sleek and deadly in their charging stations. More machine than dog, there’s something sentient in the way they move and respond. I run a hand over the nearest one, feeling the hum of power beneath the surface.

“All set, buddy?” I murmur, not expecting a response, but its head swivels toward me, sensors glowing a soft blue. Yeah, it’s ready for anything.

“Blaze.” Charlie’s voice, low and controlled, cuts through my thoughts. Her blonde curls are pulled back tight, all business, but there’s tension in her jaw that wasn’t there this morning.

I turn, meeting her gaze. Despite the pressure, she stands tall, every inch the operative I’ve come to respect. “What’s up?”

“I want you to pair up with Jon.”

I can’t help but marvel at the package of contradictions that is Charlene Kendricks. To the uninitiated, she’s a blonde bombshell with curves that could stop traffic. I’ve seen how people’s eyes slide over her, assuming the double D’s mean there’s nothing going on between her ears.

If they only knew.

Behind that Barbie doll exterior is one of the sharpest tactical minds I’ve ever encountered. I’ve seen Charlie take down men twice her size without breaking a sweat. Her movements are a deadly ballet of precision and power. In the field, her situational awareness is unparalleled. She spots details others miss and calculates risks and outcomes faster than our AI.

A woman in a man’s world, Charlie has had to work twice as hard to prove herself. And damn, has she ever. She doesn’t hold her own—she sets the damn bar.

“Something going on I should know about?” I keep my voice neutral.

Charlie’s eyes harden, a flash of the steel that’s made her one of our best. “Nothing that’ll affect the mission. Just think we need a change-up this time.”

I study her face, seeing past her beauty to the determined warrior beneath. This isn’t a request born of weakness but a tactical necessity. Charlie doesn’t make calls like this lightly.

“Alright.” I nod, decision made. “I’ll pair with Jon. But Charlie? Whatever’s going on with you three, sort it out.”

“Copy that.” A ghost of her usual smirk flickers across her face. “Thanks. I owe you one.”

As she walks away, shoulders set with renewed purpose, I’m reminded again why Charlie’s such a vital part of this team. She’s beauty and brains wrapped in a destructive layer of lethal skill—anyone who underestimates her barely lives long enough to regret it.

I catch Jon’s eye across the room, jerking my head in a ‘come here’ motion. Time to reshuffle the deck. We’ve trained for this and practiced every possible team configuration. With Charlie’s tactical genius and our collective skills, whatever this mission throws at us, we’re ready.

I turn back to my gear, but my mind’s elsewhere. On Ember, trapped in that hellhole. On Aria, torn from a life of privilege into a nightmare. On the team, with a potential fracture in our midst.

“Listen up, people.” Jenny’s strong and sure voice rings out. The team gathers, a well-oiled machine despite the cracks. Her fierce and unwavering gaze meet each of ours.

“Two young women are counting on us. Aria Holbrook and Ember Winters. They’re scared, they’re alone, and we are their only hope. So whatever’s waiting for us in that warehouse, whatever traps or ambushes they’ve got planned, we push through. We do not stop. We do not falter. Because failure is not an option.”

The room falls silent, hanging on her every word. This is why she’s our leader and why we’ll follow her into hell itself.

A ripple of determination flows through the team. Spines straighten, jaws set. This is what we live and die for.

But not tonight.

No one’s dying tonight.

“Now, one last thing.” Jenny’s voice softens just a fraction. “I know there’s been talk about Holbrook. Put it out of your minds. We go in as a team. We come out as a team. Is that clear?”

“Crystal,” we respond in unison. The doubt’s still lurking beneath the surface, but at least we’re focused on the mission.

“Comms check.” Mitzy’s voice crackles through our earpieces, all business. “Sound off.”

We confirm our links one by one, a digital lifeline connecting us all. Familiar voices crackle through the static—Mac’s rumble, Charlie’s lilt, Brett’s clipped tones. A chorus of readiness.

“Rufi units online and synced,” Mitzy adds. “Bumblebee drones prepped and ready for deployment.”

“Vehicles are hot,” Mac reports, his voice gruff but steady. “Ready when you are.”

We move as one toward the exit, a well-choreographed dance of lethal intent. The weight of our gear, the hum of adrenaline, the taste of metal, and anticipation on our tongues—this is it.

There is no turning back now.

I fall into step beside Jenny, matching her stride.

“Any concerns?”

She doesn’t break a step. “Standard op. High-profile target. We’ve done this dance before. You switched up your team?”

“Charlie asked to pair with Brett.”

“You got concerns?”

“No. Whatever’s going on between the three of them, it won’t spill over into this mission. Charlie, Brett, and Jon are solid to a fault.”

“Good.” Jenny leaves me to it.

One of the things I love about her leadership style is that she doesn’t micromanage. I’m leading the assault team, and she trusts my judgment.

Mitzy’s voice cuts through our comm links.

“New intel. It’s big. ” We pause, turning back. Mitzy’s eyes are wide, focused on her tablet. “I’ve ID’d the Night Pack’s leader. There’s a connection to Holbrook. A personal one.”

The team stills, attention razor-sharp.

“What kind of connection?” I ask, voice level.

“Brothers. Half brothers. Marcus Holbrook and the Night Pack’s leader share a father.”

This changes the entire scope of the operation. Aria’s kidnapping could be personal.

I glance at Jenny. Her expression is neutral, but her mind is at work, recalculating.

“Possible setup?” I ask quietly.

Jenny’s eyes narrow. “Or Holbrook’s been compromised. Either way, we proceed with caution. Team, adjust your threat assessments. Holbrook is now a person of interest.”

The team nods, shifting gears without missing a beat. This is why we’re the best. Adapt and overcome.

“Doesn’t change the mission. Mitzy, keep digging. Feed us any updates. Move out,” Jenny orders. “We’ll reassess en route.”

As we head to the vehicles, I run through various scenarios. We’re ready for whatever we’re walking into—just another day at the office. Engines roar to life, and we’re mission go.

The city blurs past, a neon-streaked smear. In my mind, I see the faces of our targets. Aria Holbrook, our primary objective. Privileged background, but now thrust into a nightmare she never could have imagined, and Ember Winters, an unexpected variable. She’s a street-smart survivor with eyes that speak of a hard life.

Two women.

Two very different stories.

Both counting on us.

I review the intel we’ve been given. Aria’s the priority—daughter of our client and a high-profile target. But Ember… There’s something about her. The way she threw herself into danger to help a stranger.

She could be an asset or a complication.

Either way—she’s fierce.

Focus sharpens my thoughts. The mission is clear: extract both hostages and neutralize the threat. Personal interests don’t factor in.

Can’t factor in.

We’re coming for you, Aria, and Ember. That’s a promise. The SUV hurtles through the night, and I check my watch. T-minus thirty minutes to zero hour.

I close my eyes and let the vehicle’s motion soothe me. I see flashes of what’s to come in the darkness behind my eyelids. Blood and fire. Screams and silence. Victory or defeat.

It all hangs in the balance.

When I open my eyes, the warehouse looms before us. A hulking shadow against the night sky.

Our battlefield.

Time to get to work and earn our keep.