Page 6 of Rescuing Ally: Part 2
Professional. Precise. Military-grade gear. Gas masks. Tranq rifles.
“Timestamp?” I ask.
“Ninety minutes after you left for the meeting.”
It was a distraction.
The mission. The briefing. All of it.
To get us out of the way.
The feed switches to the hallway. Women being dragged out, unconscious. Ally. Jenna. Mia. Rebel. Malia.
Gabe’s face hardens, comprehension dawning in his eyes. “This wasn’t about intel or assets,” he says, voice cold. “Malfor went after what matters most. He took our women.” His fists clench at his sides, knuckles white. “A direct attack. Personal.”
Ethan starts barking orders: “We need to get Max stabilized. Blake and Walt, secure the perimeter. Hank and Gabe, sweep the building. Mitzy, we need every feed you can give us.”
Gabe moves beside me. His face is stone.
Charlie team locks eyes. One by one. No need for speeches.
This is war.
They took our women.
And now?
We’re going after them.
The rage is white hot now. Purposeful.
Relentless.
We’re bringing the war to Malfor’s doorstep.
TWO
Survivors’ Account
GABE
The kids arethe worst part.
Luke’s eyes are vacant—a thousand-yard stare on a five-year-old face. He hasn’t made a sound since we found them. Just clutches his stuffed dinosaur with white knuckles and burrows deeper into Sophia’s side whenever someone moves too fast.
Zephyr’s different—won’t stop crying. Silent tears track down her cheeks, and she hiccups when Violet tries to soothe her. The crying strips you raw because there’s no tantrum in it. Just pure, distilled fear.
And I want to fucking kill someone for putting tears in Zephyr’s pretty eyes and that vacant stare in Luke’s.
Techies swarm Jenna’s apartment, cataloging blood spatter and retrieving tranq darts. The scene’s gone clinical—evidence markers dotting the wreckage like toxic yellow flowers. Max is on a stretcher, still unconscious but stable. Carter crouches beside him, hand resting on the dog’s flank, his face carved from stone.
He hasn’t said a word since we told him about Jenna. Not a goddamn sound. Just nodded once, jaw so tight I thought I heard something crack, then went straight to Max.
The hollow look in Carter’s eyes—it’s worse than if he’d broken down. This ain’t no storm. It’s the calm before something apocalyptic.
I pace the perimeter, calculating blast radius, entry points, tactical advantage—the shit that keeps my brain from short-circuiting.
Five steps. Turn. Five steps. Turn. Repeat.
