Page 40 of Fired at the Heart

We move out, separating into our designated teams. Cassian, Caleb, and I circle toward the back of the warehouse while Rico, Jace, Raphael, and Ezra approach from the east side. The cool night air slips past the thin, black material covering my face, carrying the scent of metal and oil from the nearby train yards.

“I’m in position,” Lena reports through the comm. “External guards are in my sights. Ready on your mark.”

“Execute,” I command, and the plan springs into motion.

Through my scope, I watch as one guard drops, then another, Lena’s bullets finding their mark as always. Then Ezra confirms that the jamming signal is active, cutting the warehouse’s communication with external security, and we move in, approaching the fence line where Jace makes quick work of the lock.

But something feels wrong. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up as we approach the building. Too easy. The guards dropped too quickly, the perimeter too lightly defended for what’s supposed to be inside.

“Cassian,” I breathe.

He nods, sensing the same thing. “I see it. Not enough security for what they’re protecting.”

Caleb’s expression tightens. “Could mean they’ve moved the Omegas already.”

Realization settles, cold in my stomach. “Or they’re expecting us.”

Someone from the transport vehicle we intercepted must have sent out an alert.

Before I can signal a halt, Rico announces. “East entrance clear. Moving in?—”

His words cut off with a curse, followed by the unmistakable sound of gunfire.

“Ambush!” Jace shouts over the comm, the sound of return fire cracking through the air.

Everything accelerates. We abandon stealth, racing toward the rear entrance where Cassian kicks in the door with brutal efficiency. The interior of the warehouse opens up before us, concrete floors, metal rafters, stacks of crates creating a maze of potential cover. And people, moving in the shadows, weapons raised.

The first shot cracks past my ear close enough for the air displacement to ruffle my hair. I drop and roll, coming up behind a crate as bullets pepper the space where I had just stood. Cassian and Caleb find cover, returning fire in controlled bursts.

“Rico, Jace, status!” I demand into my comm, ducking as splinters fly from the crate above my head.

“Pinned down by the east entrance,” Rico says, his words clipped. “At least six hostiles. Heavy weapons.”

“We’re moving to flank them,” Raphael adds, steady despite the chaos. “Ezra’s hit, but it’s superficial.”

The warehouse erupts into a full firefight, muzzle flashes illuminating the space in strobe-like bursts. I catch glimpses of our opponents, professional, well-equipped, moving with tactical precision. This isn’t the typical security detail for a trafficking operation. These are mercenaries.

I signal to Cassian, and we move in tandem, leap-frogging from cover to cover as we push deeper into the warehouse. Caleb provides covering fire, his shots methodical and precise. Through my earpiece, Lena calmly reports as she engages targets through the high windows, providing what support she can from her position.

We reach a junction of crates, and I signal for Cassian to take the left path while I cover the right. He hesitates, reluctant to leave my side.

“Go,” I hiss, and he finally complies, disappearing into the maze of containers.

I advance with caution, weapon raised, every sense hyper-alert. The concrete floor vibrates with running footsteps, and the air tastes of gunpowder and dust. A figure appears at the end of the aisle, and I drop him with two center-mass shots before he can raise his weapon.

“Movement on your three, Avery,” Lena warns in my ear, and I pivot just in time to see another hostile emerging from between stacks of pallets.

Time slows. I bring my weapon to bear, but he’s already firing. The burn of a bullet grazes my arm, tearing through the sleeve of my turtleneck. I return fire, and he goes down hard.

“I’m hit,” I report, though the wound is minor, a scratch that bleeds but doesn’t impede movement. “Continuing to advance.”

“Fall back,” Cassian commands, tight with concern.

“Negative. Keep moving. We need to find the holding area.” I push forward, following the blueprint we memorized.

The central section of the warehouse opens up, crates giving way to an open floor where forklifts and pallets are arranged. Across this exposed area is the reinforced door that should lead to where the Omegas are kept.

Gunfire continues to echo through the building, but it’s less intense now, pockets of resistance rather than coordinated defense. I spot Raphael and Jace advancing from the eastern side, moving in sync despite their earlier hostility. Professional, even in crisis.

---