<b>Chapter </b><b>70 </b>
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Ryan and Xavier burst through the door, faces grim.
“Boss, Ryan said, breathing hard. “Zach’s gone too. He went with that Connor guy to check out the mining operation.”
93
My jaw tightened. The situation was worse than I’d thought–both Connor and Zach inn’s hands. My first instinct was to call Ethan Haxton, but I dismissed the thought immediately. This wasn’t the
time for phone calls and exnations.
“These idiots can’t track worth shit,” I muttered, scanning the room for the most capable technician.
<b>I </b>spotted a pale, heavyset man with a thin beard hammering away at a keyboard, muttering in Russian. Without hesitation, I walked straight, to his station, grabbed him by the cor of his tactical
shirt, and physically lifted him from his chair.
“What the fuck-” he started in heavily ented English.
<i>“</i><i>зamkнucь</i>,” I snapped in perfect Russian. <i>Shut </i><i>up</i>. I slid into his seat, eyes already scanning the
screens. “I need ess to your tracking system.”
The tech operator’s face flushed crimson. “You crazy bitch, you can’t just—”
“I said shut up,” I repeated in English this time, fingers already flying across his keyboard. “Your
encryption is shit, by the way.”
Two security personnel moved toward me, but Ryan and Xavier stepped between us. The room’s temperature seemed to drop ten degrees as everyone realized we were seconds away from a physical
confrontation.
‘Do you people have any idea what you’re doing?” The monitoring station chief stormed over, face purple with rage. “You’re in Transcendent Military Alliance territory. You don’t give orders here.”
I didn’t bother looking up from the screen. “Your men are missing. I’m finding them.”
“If anything happens to Mr. Haxton’s assistant because you interfered with our rescue protocols, yourbined lives won’t be worth enough topensate,” he snarled.
The man who’d brought me shuffled nervously. He knew my skills but weren’t sure if backing me against their own organization was the right y.
<b>8:00 </b>Fri<b>, </b><b>Sep </b><b>19 </b>
“Miss Morgan,” he said cautiously, “maybe we should-”
“Got him,” I announced, cutting through the tension. The main screen lit up with a pulsing dot.
“Connor Haxton is in the trunk of an SUV heading north on Highway 17.”
The tech whose seat I’d stolen gaped at me. “That’s impossible. We’ve been trying to <b>locate </b><b>that </b>
signal for almost an hour.”
“You were doing it wrong,” I said simply, already typing again. “Send three teams to these coordinates. And make sure my guy is safe.”
“Your guy?” the station chief said incredulously.
“Zach. If he’s hurt, someone’s going to pay.”
<b>93 </b>
Nobody noticed the tall figure who had silently entered the monitoring center and was now standing at the back of the room, watching the scene unfold with calcting green eyes. But I felt his presence immediately—a subtle shift in the room’s energy that my heightened senses couldn’t <b>miss</b>.
Ethan Haxton had arrived.
I didn’t acknowledge him. Instead, I focused on bypassing Ian’s phone security, my fingers dancing
across the keyboard in a blur. The room fell silent except for the click of keys and my asional
mutteredmand.
“Holy shit,” breathed one of the techs, watching over my shoulder. “Are you actually—”
“Yes, I’m hacking his phone remotely,” I confirmed. “And yes, I’m nting a monitoring virus despite his signal jammers. And yes, it’s technically impossible, and yes, I’m doing it anyway.”
On the main screen, a call interface appeared–Ian’s phone connecting to someone listed only as ‘A.‘
“Put it on speaker,” I ordered, and someoneplied.
A panicked voice filled the room: “-following us! How the fuck did Transcendent find us? You said
this was clean!”
“Calm down,” camen’s measured reply. “They must have better tracking than we anticipated.”
“This wasn’t <b>the </b>deal! Where’s Dr. ckwell? I need their skills now more than ever if Transcendent
<b>is </bing after us.”
<b>8:00 </b>Fri<b>, </b><b>Sep </b><b>19 </b>
:
The station chief frowned. “Dr. ckwell? The micro–surgeon?”
I nodded, the pieces clicking into ce. The Apex Tactical leader needed the surgeon to repair his hands–the hands I’d deliberately mangled.
“She’s being brought in tomorrow,” Ian replied. “But first we need leverage against Haxton. His
assistant will provide that.”
“I see a helicopter!” the Apex leader suddenly shouted. “Fuck, they’re-”
The call disconnected abruptly.
From the back of the room, Ethan’s voice cut through the silence. “How long until our teams intercept?”
“Three minutes to visual contact,” a tech reported, seemingly relieved that someone with actual
authority had arrived.
I didn’t turn around. Instead, I refocused on Ian’s phone, bypassing his security again. This time, I
wasn’t just listening–I was taking control.
On my screen, a connection established. I hit the speaker button.
“Who is this?” Ian’s voice was cold, controlled. “How did you ess this number?”
*H<i>, </i><i>pendejo</i>,” I replied in wless Spanish, my voice dripping with contempt. “You targeted the wrong people. That camp you hitst month? I’m the one who blew it up.”
A sharp intake of breath from Ian. “You’re lying.”
“Am <b>I</b>? When Night had you pinned down in Southeast Asia,” I continued, “he should’ve taken both your eyes instead of just scarring one.”
I turned then<b>, </b>meeting Ethan’s stare directly. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes burned with intensity. For a moment, I worried I’d revealed too much–but who would believe in a soul’s rebirth? They’d assume I was connected to Shadow’swork, not that I was Shadow herself.
“We have visual on the target vehicle,” a tech announced. “Helicopter in position.”
<b>93 </b>
On the main screen, thermal imaging showed an SUV racing down a remote road. A ck helicopter swooped into view, spotlight illuminating the vehicle.
8:00 Fri, Sep 19
“Take the shot,” I ordered. “Disable the vehicle.”
0:0
No one moved for a beat, all eyes turning to Ethan. He gave a single nod.
“Fire authorized,” the station chief confirmed.
??
<b>93 </b>
On screen, a missile streaked from the helicopter, striking the road directly in front of the SUV. The vehicle swerved violently, then flipped, rolling several times beforeing to rest on its roof.
“Recovery team moving in,” someone reported. “Two heat signatures still active in the vehicle. One
in the trunk.”
I nodded, satisfied. “Bring Ian back alive. I want him to understand exactly who he’s dealing with.”
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