Page 97

37

Havoc

We breach from the west side.

No lights.

No noise.

Just shadows.

Blaze cuts the lock like it’s nothing.

Ace slips inside first.

I follow.

Weapon up.

Eyes scanning.

The warehouse smells like something crawled inside and died.

Crates stacked high.

Too organized.

Too clean.

This isn’t some back-alley operation.

This is infrastructure.

Wolf’s voice comes low over comms.

“Two guards down. Perimeter clear.”

“Copy.”

We move deeper.

Blaze gestures toward a row of crates.

“Jackpot.”

He pries one open.

Inside—

Weapons.

Military grade.

Unregistered.

Clean.

“Tank was right,” Ace mutters.