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“After tonight, it’s over. All of it.” She stepped back, checking her reflection one last time. Dark pants, fitted black shirt, boots that hid the knife. She looked capable. Not like someone walking into her nightmares. “I’m ready.”

Brock’s radio crackled to life. “All teams, this is Reaper. Final comms check. Sound off.”

Elena listened as the team confirmed, their voices calm and focused. Jade. Reza. Eden. Nick. Griffin. Max. Nate. Cal. Her family, such as it was. The people who’d kept her alive when she wanted to die, who’d taught her to fight when she’d forgotten how.

“Phantom copies.” Brock’s voice was all SEAL now, emotion locked down tight.

“Warlock confirms Elena is en route,” Cal’s drawl came through. “Elena, you reading me?”

She touched the tiny device tucked into her ear. “Five by five.”

“Good. Once you’re inside, I’ll be monitoring but you can’t respond verbally without tipping them off. Touch your bracelet if you need immediate extraction. Otherwise, I’ll track the virus upload and keep Phantom updated on your position.”

The bracelet Brock had bought her in Playa del Carmen caught the light. She’d thought it was just a gift. Should have known better. With Cal, everything had dual purpose.

“Understood,” she said.

“All teams, we are go in fifteen minutes. Phantom, Prophet, Nightshade—you’re on the clock. Elena, Warlock will drive you to the temple. You’ll arrive at twenty-two hundred hours exactly. Not early, not late. Toro’s expecting you.”

Elena picked up her purse, checking the flash drive one last time. Such a small thing to hold so much destruction. Cal’s virus would copy every byte of data from the cartel’s network before destroying it. Bank accounts, operations, contacts across three countries—all of it sent to the DOJ and Dynamis servers, then permanently erased from Toro’s systems.

The end of an empire, hidden in two inches of plastic and circuit board.

“Let’s go,” she said.

21:45 Hours—Southern Perimeter

The jungle at night was a living thing, all sound and movement and the wet-earth smell of things growing and rotting in the same breath. Brock moved through it with practiced silence, his night vision goggles painting the world in shades of green. Twenty meters to his left, Atticus matched his pace, both of them converging on the drainage tunnel entrance.

Behind them, the town of Xpujil glowed faintly. Ahead, the Temple of the Jaguar God rose dark and ancient against the stars. Somewhere inside, Elena was walking into the place that had tried to destroy her.

His hands wanted to shake. He kept them steady.

“Reaper in position,” Atticus’s voice came through the comms, barely above a whisper.

Brock crouched behind a fallen log, establishing his sight lines. The temple complex spread before him—stone and shadow, guard posts marked by the glow of cigarettes.

Two men at the main entrance, bored and complacent. Another pair on the western approach. The rotating patrol was exactly where Cal’s surveillance said it would be.

“Phantom in position, south perimeter.”

“Ghost confirms north perimeter.” Nick’s voice.

“Merlin has overwatch.” Griffin, crisp and British.

“Frost in position, eastern ridge.” Jade, six hundred meters out with her long-range rifle.

“Nightshade confirms entry point located.” Eden’s voice was calm. Somewhere in the darkness, she and Jade and Reza were approaching the drainage tunnel that would take them to Marguerite. “Beginning approach.”

“Warlock confirms Elena is en route,” Cal said. “ETA to temple, eight minutes.”

Eight minutes until Elena walked through those doors. Eight minutes until she faced the man who’d made her scream.

Brock’s jaw ached from clenching. He forced himself to breathe, to focus. His job right now was the infiltration. Getting Marguerite out clean and quiet, before Elena ever had to bluff her way through seeing her niece. Trust the team. Trust the plan.

Trust Elena.

“All teams, this is Cypher,” Cal’s drawl came through. “Security loop deploys in sixty seconds. Stay frosty.”