Page 22 of Rescuing Ember

The schematic shifts, blooming with heat signatures. Clusters of red and orange human forms move purposefully, but something’s off. The pattern is too perfect, too rehearsed.

“There.” I point to a section deep within the building. “Isolated heat signatures. Stationary. That’s where they’re keeping the hostages.”

Jenny leans in, her shoulder brushing mine. The faint scent of her shampoo, something crisp and clean, cuts through the metallic tang of the room. Her eyes narrow, laser-focused on the display.

“Good catch. But look at the patrol patterns. They’re too regular, too perfect.”

“Because it’s a trap.” The realization hits like a gut punch, stealing my breath.

Mac nods, face solemn. “They’re expecting us.”

“But how?” Charlie’s voice is steady, though a sharp edge cuts through. “This op is strictly need-to-know.”

A heavy silence falls, thick enough to choke on. The implication is clear as day. Someone talked. But who? The thought sits like acid in my stomach, burning away at the foundation of this mission.

I scan the faces around me. We all feel it. This op came together too fast. From Holbrook’s first call to wheels up, we’ve been running on pure adrenaline. No time to leak intel. No time to set up a trap this elaborate.

Unless …

“Maybe it’s notusthey’re expecting.” Something about this whole op stinks, but I have yet to figure out what.

The only common denominator is Holbrook—the one who set this in motion.

“Doesn’t matter.” Jenny’s tone brooks no argument, a steel core wrapped in velvet. “We adapt. We overcome. Whatever they’re planning, we hit them harder.”

Nods all around, but I can see the wheels turning behind my teammates’ eyes. The same question is etched on every face.

What aren’t we being told?

I catch Mac’s eye. A subtle nod. He’s thinking it too. This whole thing stinks, and Holbrook’s at the center of it.

“We need to consider the possibility Holbrook isn’t being entirely truthful.” My voice is low but carries in the silence.

Brett’s head snaps up. “You think he set us up?”

“I think we don’t have all the pieces,” I reply carefully. “And in our line of work, missing information gets people killed.”

Charlie leans in, her earlier uncertainty replaced by sharp focus. “So, what’s our play?”

Jenny’s eyes narrow, calculating. “We proceed as planned. But eyes open, people. Question everything. And be ready for this to go sideways fast.”

The air shifts, tension morphing into heightened alertness. Whatever we’re walking into, we’ll face it together. But Holbrook has some explaining to do when this is over.

“Gear up. We roll in twenty.” Jenny dismisses us with a sharp nod. She shifts her attention back to the holo-display.

The team disperses, each to their own corner. I watch them go, noting the subtle shifts in body language. Brett and Charlie, tension crackling between them like live wires. Jon, trying too hard to seem unbothered, his movements just a touch too casual.

My fingers find the St. Michael medallion at my throat, a habit I can’t seem to break. Cool metal, worn smooth by years of worry. A talisman against the darkness we’re about to face.“To protect those who protect others.”Those were the words of the chaplain the night before my first op. If only he could see me now.

I move to my station, double-checking my loadout. Flashbangs, smoke grenades, Zip Ties. Tools of the trade. Each one a potential lifeline or a deadly weapon, depending on how this plays out.

The Rufi units catch my eye, sleek and deadly in their charging stations. More machine than dog, there’s something sentient in the way they move and respond. I run a hand over the nearest one, feeling the hum of power beneath the surface.

“All set, buddy?” I murmur, not expecting a response, but its head swivels toward me, sensors glowing a soft blue. Yeah, it’s ready for anything.

“Blaze.” Charlie’s voice, low and controlled, cuts through my thoughts. Her blonde curls are pulled back tight, all business, but there’s tension in her jaw that wasn’t there this morning.

I turn, meeting her gaze. Despite the pressure, she stands tall, every inch the operative I’ve come to respect. “What’s up?”

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