Page 141 of Shadowed Sins: Nitro

"Coast Guard standing by," Katya confirms. "Once area is secure, they handle victim recovery."

"Rules of engagement?" This from Asher, who's already mentally calculating shot angles.

"Petrov alive if possible. Everyone else is expendable." Katya's smile could freeze blood. "No witnesses except cargo."

The casual way she distinguishes between targets and victims tells me everything about Prague team's usual operations.

"Timeline?" Cole asks.

"We move in thirty minutes. Full dark, fog at maximum density." Erik speaks for the first time, his voice like grinding stone. "North team creates distraction. South team—that's you—springs the real trap."

"Their trap becomes ours," Xander grins despite his fucked arm. "I like it. Very philosophical."

Mira hasn't spoken during the entire briefing. She stands apart, already disappearing into that cold place where she keeps her violence. I want to touch her, ground her, remind her she's not alone, but this is her descent to make.

"Comms check," Cole says, handing out earpieces.

The next twenty minutes pass in preparation—weapons loaded, gear secured, final coordination confirmed. I check Mira's vest three times, using it as an excuse to stay close. She allows it, maybe understanding I need the contact more than she does.

My hands won't stop moving. Can't stop touching her vest, her weapons, making sure everything's perfect.

"Two minutes," Katya announces.

We move toward vehicles—two SUVs that look standard but probably have enough armor to stop anything short of a tank. Mira climbs in first, and I follow, unable to stop my hand from finding her lower back.

She turns, those eyes meeting mine in the dim light.

"Thank you," she says simply. "For not trying to talk me out of this."

"It's your demon to face. I'm just here to watch your six."

Something shifts in her expression—surprise, maybe. Like she expected me to try to protect her from her own vengeance.

"Let's go," Cole says from the driver's seat.

Time to end thirteen years of nightmares.

The harbor fog is so thick it feels like driving through milk. Our headlights cut maybe ten feet before the world turns white. Perfect cover for Prague team, but also perfect for an ambush.

"Phoenix One in position," Katya's voice crackles through comms. "Thermal shows targets maintaining standard positions."

They're not even trying to hide. Through the bulletproof glass, I count guards standing under floodlights like they own the place. Cigarettes glowing, rifles casual across their chests. They're expecting us.

"Six approaching vehicles," one guard says into his radio—we're monitoring their frequency. "Female confirmed in second vehicle."

"Boss wants her alive," another voice responds. "The rest don't matter."

My hand twitches toward my weapon, but Mira places her fingers over mine. Not restraining, just reminding me to wait.

We exit the vehicles into fog that tastes like diesel and decay. The guards don't even raise their weapons, that casual arrogance that comes from thinking you hold all the cards.

"Boss said you'd come." The lead guard—skinny guy with prison tats crawling up his neck—looks only at Mira. "Just didn't think you'd bring an army to hide behind."

"I brought witnesses," Mira says, her voice carrying that particular tone that makes smart people nervous. "To watch what happens to men who destroy families."

The guard's smirk falters slightly, but he gestures toward the container maze. "This way. He's waiting."

We follow single file into the maze. The containers tower above us, rust-red and black, stacked like giant tombstones. Left turn, right, right again, another left. They're definitely herding us, using the maze to disorient. But Cole's been counting steps, memorizing the pattern.