Page 15 of Picture Perfect

I fold my arms across my chest, nodding once. Mason's company handles everything from personal security to corporate espionage. Sometimes, lines get blurred—morality becomes a spectrum rather than a fixed point. It's in these shades of gray where we find ourselves most often, doing what needs to be done.

I don’t mind. It’s not like we don’t cross lines every day with the shit we get up to at school. These elitist snobs think they’re above everyone else. They need people like Mason, people like me and the boys to remind them that their shit stinks too. Sometimes even worse. I live to air their dirty laundry.

But, this… this is different. Mason isn’t playing petty games, he’s building an international brand that speaks for itself. In here, we’re not Saint, Dre, and Chess. No, we’re Halo, Wraith, and Rook. Mason doesn’t like real names out on the comms, so everyone is assigned a call name and those are ours.

As tonight’s main team files in I nod at the familiar faces and wait for Mason to start briefing us on what’s expected. I know this isn’t everyone, that there will already be a team in the field. Still, I’m surprised at the small number trickling in.

"Rook, you're on comms and tech support. I need eyes everywhere," Mason says, pointing to the station bristling with equipment.

"Got it," Chess replies, already moving towards his designated post, his gaze alight with the thrill of the hunt.

"Wraith, you're intel and analysis. Keep track of any shifts, patterns, anything out of the ordinary." Mason hands him a tablet loaded with data streams.

"Will do," Dre confirms, settling into a chair and swiping through the screens, his focus immediate and unwavering.

"And Halo," Mason turns to me, his expression unreadable, "you're overseeing coordination. Make sure everyone's in sync and the op runs smooth."

"Understood," I respond, the weight of responsibility settling on my shoulders—a familiar burden I've come to accept.

He addresses the rest of them, laying out the op and everything we already know. He pulls up plans and schematics, assigns everyone else their positions, and dismisses us.

"Remember, we're after information. No direct engagement unless absolutely necessary," Mason adds, his gaze sweeping over each of us. "Keep it clean, keep it quiet."

"Like always," I say, the words more of a vow than a statement. In this world, we can't afford slip-ups or second chances.

"Good." Mason nods once, sharply. "Let's get to work."

As Mason strides away, probably to oversee other elements of tonight's job, I take my position. I'm the eye in the sky, the one who sees all the moving parts and knows how they fit together. It's a role I've grown into—one that suits my need for control, for understanding the chaos that surrounds us.

"Halo, you ready for this?" Dre asks without looking up from his tablet.

"Always ready," I reply, because when it comes to the shadows we navigate, readiness isn't just a state of mind—it's survival.

The monitors glow with a blue hue, casting our faces in stark relief against the dim room. I lean back in my chair, arms folded across my chest, watching the feeds flicker with images of places that hold secrets not yet whispered to us.

"Alright, Rook," I murmur, glancing over at Chess who's already working his magic on the keyboards, "What have we got?"

"Running facial recognition now, Halo," Chess responds, his voice laced with the usual edge of excitement as he taps into streams of data, "And cross-referencing with known associates."

Dre is hunched over another monitor, tracking movements with an eagle eye. His scars shimmer briefly under the artificial light as he shifts, giving him a ghostly quality that fits his codename all too well.

"Any hits?" I ask, keeping my tone neutral but internally coiling for action.

"Patience, Halo," Dre chides without looking up, "Art takes time."

Chess snorts, and the sound breaks the tension like a crack of thunder in a clear sky. "Yeah, and so does hacking into high-security networks. Give me a sec."

I let out a slow breath, forcing patience. These situations always put me on edge, the need to control every variable clashing with the reality of unpredictability.

"Keep digging, both of you," I command quietly. We're a unit, a brotherhood formed not by blood but by circumstance and mutual necessity. We know our roles—Wraith, the silent stalker; Rook, the digital mastermind; and me, the one who holds it all together.

"Anything specific we're looking for?" Chess asks, pausing momentarily, hazel eyes seeking mine.

"Patterns. Anomalies." I scan the screens, each showing different angles, different lives unknowingly observed. "We find the thread, we'll find the way to pull."

"Got it, boss," Dre says with a half-smile. It never reaches his eyes, though; nothing really does anymore.

"Remember," I add, the weight of leadership pressing down on me, "we stay sharp. We watch, we listen, we gather. No engagement unless it comes to us."

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