The town lay in silence, its streets deserted save for the faint shuffle of leaves in the cool night breeze.
On the rooftops of three separate buildings, Elias, Mara, and Tanner crouched like shadows, each with their eyes fixed on the warehouse below.
The air was thick with tension, the kind that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand on end.
They were connected by a means of communication that might, to a modern observer, resemble an outdated walkie-talkie. The devices were small and battered, with faint, intermittent crackles of static that whispered across the quiet.
But these were no ordinary radios—they operated on a frequency known only to their squad, immune to interception.
When Elias recounted this tale to Marie and Celia, he called them "ancient relics," though Tanner had pointed out that they seemed indestructible, which was more than he could say for their nerves.
