Page 48 of Shadow's Edge

I had been in this line of work for years, had faced death more times than I could count, but never—not once—had I lost a member of my team. Until now.

Now, I was lying on a stretcher, my body bruised and battered,staring at the pine boxes lined up before mein the belly of the transport plane. The air inside the cargo hold was cold and stale, but it couldn’t touch the fire burning beneath my skin.

Three of my own. Gone.

I tried to move, but the pain was like knives stabbing through my body, reminding me that I was stillalivewhile they weren’t. My hands curled into the thin blanket over me, trying to keep the rage at bay, but it was useless.

How the fuck had it gone so wrong?

It had been a routine recce—a sweep of an area we’d cleared two days ago.There had been no warnings, no signs of trouble. Hell, we hadn’t even known where we were being sent until the last minute. It was a strategy to prevent leaks, to keep our movements unpredictable.

Except, it didn’t fucking work this time.

I should have been the oneflying the helicopter, but lately, I’d been spending more time on the ground, burning off the frustration and anger that had been eating at me since everything fell apart. I needed thenumbnessthat came after pushing my body past its limits—needed the exhaustion to keep my mind from wandering where it wasn’t supposed to go.

Because the one time I let myself feel it, I’d done something I hadn’t done in years. I’dcried and I wasn’t letting that happen again.

Yesterday, everything had been fine. The team had been talking shit, the mission had been simple, and Data had even sent me one of hisnew signal interceptorsafter I mentioned how some previously quiet areas were suddenlyturning hotfor no damn reason.

I’d had a gut feeling, and gut feelings weren’t something I ignored.

We were hunkered down, taking a break, passing around water bottles when the device suddenlypinged. A message had been sentfrom somewhere close—too close.

I’d checked the readout and saw that ourcoordinateshad just been transmitted. My stomach dropped, and I’d done aheadcount—one missing.

Then the first explosion hit.

Heat scorched the air as the blast rocked the ground beside me, and before I could react, another detonated. Then another.Precision strikes, meant to wipe us out. We’d never stood a chance.

By the time I was loaded onto the plane, my body wrecked, I could barely keep my eyes open. But I hadone last thing to do before they took me home. As they wheeled me toward the ramp, I reached out, my fingers locking weakly around the wrist of theCamp’s General Administrator—the man signing off on the bodies.

He hesitated, then leaned down.

I didn’t need to say much, I didn’t even have the strength to if I was honest, yet I forced outone namethrough gritted teeth. “Jared.”

His whole body wentrigid.

I didn’t need to explain. Didn’t need tospell it out. He knew.

And I made sure he saw it in myeyes—the promise, the vow.

Jared had beenfeeding them our intelthe whole time.Betraying us and selling us out. And I was going to be the one toend him when I was ready. But they needed to know so they could keep eyes on him wherever he went.

The wheels of the planeslammed against the tarmac, and I forced my eyes shut. I couldn’tcry.Wouldn’t.

As thecargo bay lowered, I saw theuniformed soldiers marching in. They moved inunison, their boots striking against the metal as they carefully lifted the first casket. It was then—only then—that my resolve broke, and the firstsob tore out of me.

I clamped my jaw shut, but it was too late.

They had been here, beside me, hours ago, laughing, talking aboutgoing home. They hadkids and families who were now going to live their lives without them. They would never truly know theheroes they were.

The music played softly in the distance, the rhythm of boots against the pavement fading as thecoffins were carried away. More soldiersboarded, wheeling out the injured.Five men, barely clinging to life, strapped to gurneys hooked up to oxygen and IV drips.

We should have beenflown to Germanyfor immediate treatment, butour work didn’t exist on the record. We had all signed thewaivers before deployment—we wouldn’t stop. We’d beflown homeno matter the risk.

As they rolled me off the plane, the sunlight hit my face like a blade. I squinted, my body still too weak to protest. Then I heard it, a low, familiar growl.

Engines.

---