Something about Sullivan bothered her. Had bothered her since the briefing. The way he’d hesitated. The way he’d mentioned his family. The way his eyes wouldn’t quite meet hers when they’d loaded onto the aircraft.
She pushed the thought aside. Too late for doubt now. Too late for second-guessing. They were committed. The only way out was through.
The loadmaster returned.
“Five-minute warning.”
Red light illuminated above the jump door.
Final equipment check. Each operator inspecting the man next to him, looking for loose straps, disconnected gear, anything that could fail. Brennan checked Evelyn’s rig. She checked Sullivan’s. Callahan checked Brennan’s. Sullivan checked Callahan’s. A chain of mutual dependence. Your life in someone else’s hands. Their life in yours.
All green. All ready.
The red light cast everything in a crimson glow, like the inside of a heart. Like being swallowed by something vast and hungry.
“Three minutes.”
Evelyn stood, moved to the jump door. The others formed up behind her, single file, ready to exit on her signal.
The loadmaster opened the door. The world exploded with sound and wind. The slipstream tore at her, trying to rip her out before she was ready. The temperature inside the hold plummeted. Minus forty degrees Fahrenheit outside. The kind of cold that didn’t just chill—it burned.
She looked out into darkness. Twenty-eight thousand feet below, the earth was invisible. Just blackness and stars and the thin line of horizon where the two met.
She was about to fall into nothing. About to trust physics and fabric and training to keep her alive.
“Two minutes.”
She thought about Cole, the way he’d stepped in front of that RPG without hesitation. The way he’d died so she could live. She thought about Preacher, his last words, his last look. The forgiveness in his eyes even as she left him behind.
This jump was for them. This mission was for them. Everything she’d become in the four years since Syria was because they’d paid a price she couldn’t repay. But she could honor it. She could finish what they’d started. She could bring Garrett home.
“One minute.”
The loadmaster held up one finger.
Evelyn’s hand went to her chest, checking one last time that her ripcord was accessible, that her reserve handle was clear, that every life-saving device was exactly where muscle memory expected it to be.
“Thirty seconds.”
She moved to the edge, toes over the ramp, wind screaming past, the void calling. She didn’t look back at her team. Didn’t need to. Either they were ready or they weren’t. Either they’d follow or they wouldn’t. She’d find out in about ten seconds.
The light changed from red to green.
Evelyn stepped into nothing.
The wind hit her like a physical thing, tore the breath from her lungs, spun her for half a second before training took over and she arched, stabilizing. Arms out, legs spread, falling at terminal velocity toward the earth she couldn’t see.
One thousand one.
One thousand two.
One thousand three.
Behind her, three more bodies tumbled into the void. She couldn’t see them yet, couldn’t hear anything but wind. But the weight on her back told her they were there, the IR strobe on her helmet marking her position. Trust they’d find her. Trust they’d form up.
Fifteen seconds into the fall, Brennan appeared on her left, tracking her through the darkness. Then Callahan on her right. Then Sullivan below and behind. All four operators falling together, a formation held together by skill and faith and the shared understanding that separation meant death.
The altimeter on her wrist glowed green in the darkness.
Twenty-six thousand feet.
Twenty-four thousand.
Twenty-two thousand.
Falling at a hundred twenty miles per hour, the earth rushing up to meet them even though they couldn’t see it yet.
Evelyn watched the numbers tick down, watched the GPS track their position, watched the wind drift them exactly as she’d calculated.
Thirty-seven hundred feet west of their intended freefall end point. The numbers matching her predictions within meters. She’d done the math right. Now she had to hope physics agreed.
Eighteen thousand feet.
Sixteen thousand.
Fourteen thousand.
The darkness below began to take shape. Terrain features emerging from blackness: mountains, valleys, the thin ribbon of a road cutting through wilderness.
The target compound still invisible, but getting closer with every second.
Ten thousand feet.
Eight thousand.
Six thousand.
Evelyn’s hand moved to her ripcord handle.
Not yet. Not yet.
Wait for the exact altitude. Deploy too high and you’re visible for too long. Deploy too low and you don’t have time to fix malfunctions before you crater.
Four thousand feet.
Thirty-five hundred.
Now.
She pulled.
The pilot chute deployed, dragged the main canopy out of her pack. She felt the tug, the opening shock, the sudden deceleration from terminal velocity to fifteen miles per hour, like hitting a wall made of air.
Above her, the MC6 canopy blossomed, black fabric against black sky, nearly invisible. She grabbed the toggles, checked the canopy for malfunctions.
All good. Full flight. Controllable.
Around her, three more canopies deployed. Brennan, Callahan, Sullivan—all good deployments, all flying, all tracking toward the landing zone she’d marked on their GPS units.
The ground was visible now, rising up in shades of gray. Mountains becoming real. Trees taking shape. The landing zone, a small clearing marked by her GPS as a glowing waypoint.
She flew the canopy like she’d done it a thousand times, because she had. Spiraling down, trading altitude for position. The wind pushing her exactly where she needed to go.
Two hundred feet.
One hundred feet.
Fifty feet.
She flared the canopy, converting forward speed into lift.
Touchdown. Soft feet. Knees. Roll. Combat landing. Up immediately, hand on her rifle, scanning for threats.
Nothing.
“Clear.”
Brennan landed ten meters to her left. Then Callahan. Then Sullivan.
Rally point. Thirty seconds. Weapons hot. Perimeter established.
They’d made it.
Phase one complete.
Now came the hard part.
Evelyn checked her GPS.
Eight kilometers to the compound. Two hours to cover it.
She looked at her team, made eye contact with each.
“Ready?”
Three nods.
“Move.”
They ghosted through the forest like smoke, night vision turning the darkness into shades of green. Each step placed carefully. Each movement measured. Sound discipline absolute.
This was where training mattered, where a thousand hours of practice made the difference between invisible and dead.
They moved in a tactical column. Evelyn on point. Brennan second, covering their six with the sniper rifle. Callahan third, medical kit and close-range weapons. Sullivan last, demolitions and heavy firepower.
An hour into the movement, they encountered the first patrol. Four hostiles moving along a road two hundred meters to their east.
Evelyn raised her fist.
Freeze.
The team melted into the ground, becoming part of the terrain. The patrol passed, unaware that four American operators lay within rifle range, unaware how close they’d come to dying.
The patrol passed. Evelyn waited ten minutes, making sure they were truly gone. Then moved again.
Another hour. The compound appeared through the trees, exactly where the intelligence said it would be. Guard towers, perimeter fence, roving patrols—everything matching the satellite imagery.
Evelyn checked her watch.
Fifteen minutes until the shift change. Fifteen minutes until the eighteen-minute window opened.
She turned to her team, used hand signals.
Brennan, establish sniper position four hundred meters north. Callahan, Sullivan, perimeter security, two hundred meters south. I enter at 0200. If I’m not out in eighteen minutes, abort and exfil.
Brennan moved first, disappearing into the darkness with his rifle, finding the position he’d identified from the satellite imagery, settling in, becoming invisible.
Callahan and Sullivan moved to their positions, set up, waited.
Evelyn moved to the drainage culvert. Twenty-eight inches in diameter, barely large enough for her with full kit. She stripped down to essential gear—rifle across her back, sidearm on her hip, knife, radio. Minimal load, maximum mobility.
Two minutes.
She stared at the culvert entrance, at the darkness beyond, at the point of no return. She thought about Garrett, about him holding on for four years, waiting for someone to come, about the faith that maybe, just maybe, someone still gave a damn.
“I’m coming, brother. Hold on.”
She entered the culvert.
The space was claustrophobic, dark. Water dripped from somewhere above. The smell was concrete and rust and stagnant water.
She low-crawled through the tunnel, pulling herself forward with her elbows, rifle dragging beneath her. Every sound amplified in the enclosed space. Thirty meters through absolute darkness. Thirty meters where one wrong sound could alert the guards. Thirty meters where backup couldn’t reach her if things went wrong.
She emerged in a maintenance area beneath the main compound, exactly where the intelligence said she would.
Good intel so far.
That worried her.
Intel was never this good.
Something felt wrong.
She moved through the basement level, past machinery, past storage
