The quiet of the night was shattered by the distant hum of the helicopter blades cutting through the air.
In the safe house, the group was gathered around a large table, covered with maps, laptops, and photos of various targets.
The tension was palpable, everyone on edge, waiting for the signal to move.
Grant's mind was racing. Every step they had taken had led them here—to the eve of a confrontation that would determine the future of not just their lives, but the stability of global powers.
The Black Hand was more than just an organization; it was a shadow, and they had been walking in its darkness for weeks. But now, they were finally ready to strike back.
"We need to keep this tight," Grant said, his voice low and commanding. "We hit them hard and fast, and we do it before they realize we've moved. Isabelle, you're sure about the location?"
