?Chapter 1600:


    “Too long.” Maia nced up at the guarded windows above, her expression darkening. “Five minutes. I can’t risk dys.”


    “Understood. I’m pushing it.”


    She ended the call, palms slick with sweat.


    Chris was under armed watch. A direct extraction was impossible. Dominic’s men obeyed only one authority. Her only choice was to outwit them.


    The n was reckless—but clean. She would replicate Dominic’s voice and issue a release order. It was a bold gamble, but Maia couldn’t afford any other path. She refused to let Chris rot in a cell.


    Her phone vibrated. A message from her subordinate: “Voice patternplete. Ready for deployment.”


    Maia exhaled slowly and slipped the phone into her pocket, eyes lifting to the illuminated third-floor window. Chris was right there.


    ?????????????? ???????????? ???????????????????? ???? ??????????????????.??????


    “Hold on,” she whispered. “I’ming.”


    On the outskirts of Wront, Route 103y silent under the night sky.


    Grayson led his unit through an abandoned auto repair yard. There it was—the massive ck truck, hidden deep inside thepound, and beside it, unmistakably, the missing patrol car.


    “Found it,” Grayson muttered, a lethal glint shing through his eyes.


    He sent a swift update to Chris, then straightened. His hand lifted, forming a crisp military signal. Behind him, more than a dozen members of The Mask raised their weapons, spreading out in a precise fan-shaped formation.


    “Breach positions.” A beat of silence. “Move.”


    They surged forward.


    Along Wront’s northern fringe, where the city thinned into neglect and shadow, a forsaken auto repair shop stretched across a weed-choked lot, its skeletal frame resembling the lifeless remains of some iron giant left to decay in silence.


    A bitter wind tore across the empty ground, dragging rust kes and loose dust into the air before hurling them against the warped metal walls, their tortured groans scraping harshly through the night.


    Then, without warning, the suffocating stillness ruptured. A thunderous impact tore through the silence as the iron gate buckled inward beneath the savage force of a battering ram.


    Through the swirling haze of disturbed dust, a dozen dark figures surged forward, their movements swift and soundless, like wraiths emerging from the void. They belonged to Grayson’s elite team—the most lethal unit under hismand.


    “Team One, break left. Team Two, cover the right. Take the elevated positions and lock them down.”


    Harsh tactical beams erupted to life, slicing through the workshop’s suffocating darkness, their intersecting rays exposing every drifting particle suspended in the stale air. Each operative stilled their breathing, weapon poised, fingers resting against triggers with lethal restraint as tension coiled through their bodies.


    .


    .


    .