Page 21 of The Shape of my Scar (The Unbroken #1)

T he door shut with a soft click, and Zel was already pulling out the handheld scanner.

“Strip,” he said.

Thane raised an eyebrow. “At least buy me dinner first, love.”

Zel wasn’t in the mood “You’ve been in multiple locations. We don’t take chances.”

Thane nodded grimly and started peeling off layers—jacket, shirt, jeans—until he stood in just his briefs under the harsh lighting.

The scanner hummed softly as Zel moved it methodically over his skin, shoes, belt, seams of his clothes.

Lirian looked up from the monitors once, then turned back to his work without comment.

“Clear,” Zel finally said, tossing the scanner onto the desk.

Thane pulled his clothes back on, slower now, tension thick in his shoulders.

Lirian’s voice broke the silence. “I’ve managed to patch into a surveillance loop near the dock. Nothing fancy—it’s blind spot hell—but we’ll have eyes when the ship arrives.”

“What about the farmhouse? You did track it?” Thane asked.

Lirian raised a well-shaped eyebrow as if insulted. His long hair was pulled into an untidy manbun.

“Still the safest bet,” Lirian continued. “Whatever comes off that ship will go dark fast. We’ll have more coverage once they hit the warehouse. Multiple entry options. It will make for a cleaner extraction.”

Thane was only half-listening. His eyes drifted to the floor, then to the muted flicker of a CCTV feed on one of the screens.

“She looked…wrong,” he murmured to himself.

Maro had just entered from the side hallway, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “Who?”

“Theodora,” Thane said, his voice quieter. “I know we wanted Trish for information. I played the game, gave her what she wanted. But if it comes down to it…” He looked up, eyes steady, voice like ice. “I’ll put a bullet in her head. This is going to be a pleasure.”

Zel glanced over, a question in his eyes.

“I have to save that girl,” Thane went on. “Theodora. She’s suffering like we were. There was this expression in her eyes. She’s trying to hold it together. If we don’t act…if we wait too long…they’ll destroy her. I know it.”

Maro exhaled heavily, then stepped closer. “We need to stick to the plan,” he said. “We can’t deviate. You know that. We go off course now, and we risk everything. Too much at risk.”

Zel stayed silent for a moment, then said quietly, “It’s not her, Thane.”

Thane blinked.

Zel’s voice was gentler than usual, but firm. “She’s dead. You need to accept it. Whatever you think you saw, it’s your mind playing tricks. This is going to destroy you.”

Thane’s fists clenched and unclenched slowly. “I know, all right? You think I don’t know?”

He turned away, jaw tight, staring at the window though it only reflected the flat’s dim interior.

“I’m going to get some shut-eye,” he said at last. “They’re not letting me stick around for the drop-off. I’m no use until then.”

He didn’t wait for a response, just started walking toward the back room, his shoulders drooped. He walked to the bathroom to take his brown contacts off. His unusual eyes made him a liability. He had started wearing contacts since he started university.

Behind him, Lirian added, “I’ve got partial eyes on the docks…but trust me, the best chance we’ve got is when they move the shipment. Once they’re at the warehouse, we strike. Until then, we have to hold.”

The room fell into silence again.

Thane could vaguely hear Zel call Robin and Garric for backup.

The light from the screens blinked in soft hues. Fans whirred. Somewhere outside, a siren wailed distantly, swallowed by the night.

And in the shadows of his mind, Thane saw haunted blue eyes and blonde hair burning against a fire-lit sky.

***

Thane jerked awake, heart already pounding. For a second, he couldn’t place where he was, but then the scent of gun oil and damp concrete grounded him. The flat. The cot. His sidearm tucked under the pillow. The air was thick, still humming with anxiety of the nightmare.

It was more of a power nap. Or a blink. A pause in hell. He never was able to sleep without one eye open, not ever since…

Maro barged in, already dressed in black, loading up his twin Glocks with quick, practiced hands.

“It’s today,” he said. “Those fuckers were trying to throw us off with the manifest. Ship came in early. Transfer’s underway.

No time to wait for Robin and Garrick; they’re en route, but we need to move now. ”

Thane was already up, dragging on gear, checking clips. His FN 509 MRD-LE went into the thigh holster. Extra mags. Utility blade. Kevlar. His heartbeat synced to the rhythm of readiness.

In the next room, Lirian’s fingers danced over the keyboard. “I’ve got partial feeds; truck’s already at the farmhouse. Fuckers must have docked somewhere else. Cameras show at least two heat signatures inside, plus the truck. Could be more in the woods. No chatter on open channels.”

Maro zipped up his jacket. “We split. Lirian and I will hit the base for data: routes, names, payment trails. You and Zel go to the farmhouse. Get the kids. Get the girl.”

Thane nodded once. No arguments. No time.

They took the van and parked on the outskirts.

The forest loomed like a black wall. Wet leaves, the scent of pine and damp bark. Somewhere ahead, the house glowed faintly through the trees.

The electric fence hummed softly, silent but deadly.

Zel worked fast, fingers steady. In the section they’d chosen, they clipped jumper cables across two insulated points to isolate the current. Thane’s hands were wrapped in rubber tape as he snipped the wire with insulated cutters. A hiss, a spark, then silence.

They slipped through like ghosts.

Through the trees, the farmhouse emerged—tired wooden siding, single porch light flickering above a dirt-streaked door.

The warehouse stood tall, casting a sinister shadow over everything.

The truck was parked out front, engine cooling in the night.

Heat signatures bloomed through Thane’s infrared goggles.

Two guards-one on the far side, one near the barn.

Trish was outside.

She stood in the pale wash of porch light, speaking to Jac. Even at a distance, Thane could see her posture was relaxed, bored even. But her fingers never left the line of her belt.

Then she turned and went inside, and Jac wandered around the back.

Thane moved fast.

He caught Jac from behind, one arm around his throat, the other locking across his shoulder.

The man struggled—trained, sharp—but Thane was bigger and stronger.

He tightened the choke until Jac sagged, unconscious.

Then, with the experience of years, he zip-tied his hands and feet, gagged him with a sock, and moved on.

Zel was already in position, sniping silhouettes from the perimeter with quiet, suppressed shots. He signalled that he was doing a perimeter run and would circle back to cover him.

Thane crept inside.

The dormitory was dimly lit, bunk beds and thin mattresses crammed wall to wall. At least twenty kids, barely older than ten, looked to the door, startled, their eyes wide and glassy. Some clutched each other while some didn’t move at all.

Theodora stepped forward.

“What’s going on?” she whispered.

Thane’s voice came low, calm, clipped. “We’re getting you out.”

“But it’s too dangerous…”

“Put the gun down, you prick.” Trish’s voice cracked through the silence like a whip.

Thane froze.

Hands raised slowly, the gun still tucked in the back of his pants, he turned around, inch by inch. And as he did, he caught it, that flicker on Theodora’s face. Something almost…knowing.

He mouthed, Run.

Trish stood at the door, weapon raised, expression dead calm. Her eyes glittered with malice. “Mofos like you don’t listen,” she said coldly. “Now, hand over your weapons.”

“You don’t have to do this,” Thane said, voice steady.

“Oh, but I do,” she replied. “Put it down .”

But then, for a split second, her eyes darted over Thane’s shoulder. Something distracted her.

Her finger twitched on the trigger.

Thane moved, going for the gun at the back of his waist, but he wasn’t fast enough.

A shot rang out, followed by another milliseconds later.

Theodora gasped. Blood bloomed over her shoulder, staining her shirt like ink. She stumbled back, eyes wide, mouth open in shock.

Thane fired before he even registered what he was doing.

He was vaguely aware of Trish dropping in the corner of his vision, arms flailing as she crumpled to the floor.

But he didn’t look at her.

Because Theodora…

Theodora…

Her knees buckled, but she caught herself, staggering sideways. And then…

Her hand lifted.

She raised the gun.

Pointed it straight at him.

For just one ragged second, he couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t understand where he had gotten it wrong.

He didn’t even get the breath to ask why .

Because that expression on her face—cold and feral—wasn’t the girl he thought he’d seen in the warehouse.

This wasn’t the ghost from his past.

It was someone who had made peace with violence. Someone who had chosen it.

And that gun came up as if in slow-motion, aimed with intent.

In a split second, Theodora’s head snapped back. A neat hole appeared just above her brow.

She dropped like a puppet with its strings cut.

Then came the screaming.

The children.

All twenty or more had hit the ground like dominoes—flat, trembling, arms over their heads, faces to the floor.

Thane’s heart twisted.

He hadn’t warned them.

They just knew the sound of gunfire.

They knew to duck.

They knew what happened when you didn’t.

He stood in the middle of it all, gun slack in his hand, blood cooling on his face.

Theodora lay sprawled near the bunks, her arm still outstretched, fingers curled around the pistol she’d meant to use on him. Her eyes—the shade he couldn’t stop seeing in his dreams—were empty now, staring past him, through him.

Thane stared, frozen. He was vaguely aware of warm blood splashed across his face. It dripped down his cheek onto his shirt.

She was going to shoot me .

His fingers trembled.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Zel barked, stepping in behind him, weapon still raised.

Trish lay slumped against the doorframe, bleeding from a shot to the chest. A wet, wheezing gasp tore from her lips—the sound of a flail chest, broken ribs, punctured lung—as blood gurgled around her.

“Shit, she’s still alive…” Zel moved forward.

Then Jac burst in, wild-eyed, diving to her side. He exposed her wound before he tore his shirt off and pressed it to the wound, applying pressure with both hands.

“Don’t shoot! Don’t—” Jac gasped, looking at Thane. “We’re with organized crime. She’s one of ours.”

Then he turned his attention back to Trish. “Just hold on, Fee. Don’t talk. They’re coming. They’re on the way.”

Trish—Fee—grabbed Thane’s wrist with a blood-slick hand. “Take your contacts out,” she rasped, “I want to see.”

He blinked, stunned. “What…”

Zel stared, shocked silent.

Thane looked at the familiar face.

One of Trish’s eyes was the clearest, sharpest blue he’d ever seen.

He staggered back. “Your eye…”

“That’s twice I saved your arse,” she whispered, a tremor in her voice.

Her skin was going pale. Blood pooled beneath her.

Then the unmistakable roar of a helicopter split the night.

A man in fatigues burst through the door, face stricken, voice cracking. “Fee!”