Page 144 of Shadowed Hearts: Frost
That's why he's Ghost.
Something changes in Tatiana's posture. She pauses, her head turning toward the west wing. Security immediately tightens formation.
"Target changing direction."
I compute the new trajectory.
"Moving toward secure corridor B instead of conference room."
My finger hovers near the trigger, not touching, but ready.
Through my earpiece, I hear Vanessa's breath catch. Keyboard clicks speed up.
"She's made us," I report, voice cold as ice.
The rain intensifies, requiring a micro-adjustment to my scope settings.
Vanessa's typing sounds frantic through comms. "Rerouting security protocols. Need forty seconds."
A bead of water traces down my scope. I wipe it away with economical movement, never losing sight of the target.
Slate breaks from character, moving quickly to intercept Tatiana. I adjust my directional mic, capturing their exchange with crystal clarity despite the rain.
"I need to show you those new encryption protocols before your flight—I mean, these firewalls aren't gonna build themselves, right?" Slate's voice is higher than normal but injecting enough techy confidence to pause Tatiana's retreat.
Her security detail doesn't relax. The primary guard's hand slides toward his holster. A Glock 19, easily accessible with a tactical shoulder rig.
I map three possible shots, factoring in the increasing rainfall, the 12-degree angle from my position to the courtyard, and the 4.7-knot crosswind. My breathing slows further until each exhale barely registers.
"Diversion failing. Primary security moving to defensive position."
I note the guard's fingers brushing his weapon.
"Contingency Charlie required." I keep my voice level despite the escalating threat. "Blade, prepare for system override on my mark."
"Copy that, Frost," Cole responds. "Systems prepped for override."
Tatiana's security reach for his weapon, the calculation already complete in my mind.
The world narrows to my scope as I inhale a controlled breath. Rain trickles down my face, but I don't blink. The mathematics transforms to instinct—distance, wind, angle, precipitation—all variables solving themselves in the quiet corner of my mind reserved for the perfect shot.
"Taking the shot."
I exhale halfway and squeeze. The rifle's recoil is minimal, absorbed by my balanced stance. Through the scope, I watch the security guard's shoulder jerk backward as my round finds its target—exactly where I intended. Clean through soft tissue, avoiding arteries, incapacitating without killing.
Before anyone can react, I adjust my aim fractionally upward.
Second shot fires. The overhead lights shatter, plunging the courtyard into shadow and confusion.
"Lights out."
I change position, each movement smooth and calculated. The rain creates a silver curtain through my night vision, target signatures glowing against the darkness.
"Moving in." Kade's voice is as calm as death.
I track his approach through my scope. A shadow among shadows, closing distance with Tatiana while her security stumbles in confusion.
Jax's voice cuts through comms, engine noise in the background. "Getaway prepped and purring. South exit route compromised, police response detected."
