The breach came from below.
A muffled explosion first, deep and concussive followed by a groan of metal as a side tunnel caved in. Dust bled from the walls. Lights flickered. Then the secondary hatch, the one no one had used in years ripped open with a piercing hiss, and armed men poured in like black water through a cracked dam.
Alvarez was mid-step when it happened, his pistol half-raised toward the sound. “Shit!”
Gentry swung around from the panel. “That’s the old maintenance corridor, no one’s used it in—”
A voice cut through the tension. Calm. Precise.
“Down.”
A dozen laser sights locked onto Gentry and Alvarez before they could even flinch. Silhouettes in tactical armor flooded the room, smooth and synchronized, rifles raised, visors cold. It was Ridge's elite
Rhys’s handpicked ghosts. Mercenaries trained to kill, vanish, and leave no trace.
And then came him.
Rhys was leaner now, sharper, hair cropped close, eyes like black ice. His coat trailed behind him like a shadow, and when he walked, it was silent. Like the devil had learned to tread soft.
He took one look at Gentry and Alvarez, then turned his head.
“They’re not resisting. Good.”
Alvarez bristled. “Bastard—”
Rhys nodded.
One of the soldiers slammed Alvarez to his knees with the butt of a rifle. Gentry didn’t move. He just stared across the room at Marcus.
Marcus, who was standing beside Kestrel. Uncuffed now. Standing tall.
No chains. No restraint.
Free.
Alvarez spat blood. “You! You opened the door. You gave them the damn code. Damnit! I told you we should not trust him!”
Marcus didn’t deny it.
Kestrel rubbed her wrists, flexing them as if nothing had happened at all. She didn’t even glance at the soldiers. Just watched the scene unfold with a detached curiosity.
“You played us,” Alvarez growled.
“You won't realize it now, do you?” Gentry said softly, looking at Marcus.
Rhys took a few steps closer, observing Marcus like a man appraising a weapon. “I expected you to leave, not stay behind.”
“I wanted to see it done,” Marcus said quietly. “See how it ends.”
Rhys raised an eyebrow. “Sentimental for a man like you.”
Marcus didn’t answer.
Kestrel tilted her head. “You always want to see what your choices cost, don’t you, Asshole?”
Gentry was still watching Marcus. Eyes searching. Quiet. Not pleading but knowing. Knowing the truth, even if he didn’t understand it all.
“You’re not just doing this for nothing,” he said finally. “You have—?”
Marcus cut his words immediately, "I do this for him, and will do more."
Marcus met his gaze. Just a moment.
No denial. No confirmation.
Just a flicker in his eyes.
A choice he hated.
Alvarez snarled. “Screw that. You think you’re clever? You think handing us over earns you a place at their table?”
“It’s not about a seat,” Marcus said. “It’s about leverage.”
Gentry’s jaw tensed. “We’re the leverage.”
Rhys gave a signal.
Two soldiers grabbed Alvarez and Gentry by the arms, guns never lowering.
Rhys turned to Marcus. “They’ll be transported to Site 9. Quiet. Off-grid. You’ll get your debrief in the morning.”
He nodded at Kestrel. “And her?”
Marcus looked at her. She looked back.
Then he said, “She’s coming with me. Just take her for now, I'll just gonna pick her up later.”
Rhys studied them for a long moment. Then, finally, nodded once.
“Clean up,” he told his men. “Thirty seconds.”
"Wait!" Alvarez shouted, "It's not done yet! Hah! You won't keep this to Nolan forever. Damn!"
Gentry didn't say a word, but hopelessness can see in his eyes.
They moved fast sweeping the perimeter, gathering anything worth burning. A tactical ghost operation.
Marcus didn’t say another word. Just walked forward, hand lightly touching Kestrel’s back as they exited the room, walking past Gentry and Alvarez as they were being pulled toward the lift.
Gentry still didn’t speak.
Alvarez was cursing.
But neither of them missed what Marcus whispered so soft it was barely audible, meant for them alone.
“Don’t fight. Not yet.”
Then he was gone with Kestrel. And everything closed in behind him.
Thirty seconds later, the safehouse was empty again, silent.
Except for the blood on the floor.