Page 4 of Cold Ignition

“Yeah,” Keanu said softly.

Kael stepped deeper into the canyon, scanning the shadows. “Keep moving.”

Keanu followed, carrying Niko between the towering rock walls.

The canyon twisted ahead of them, narrowing as it cut deeper into the earth.

And then Keanu saw it. Headlights. Cold white beams igniting the darkness ahead. Vehicles. A whole line of them. Engines rumbling low.

Waiting.

Luca swore under his breath. “Tell me that’s not what I think it is.”

The first vehicle door opened, and men stepped out. Not the same soldiers who had chased them across the desert.

Different gear. Different insignia. More disciplined. More dangerous.

Kael stopped walking. For the first time that night, he didn’t give an order. Keanu slowly lowered Niko to his feet, rifle sliding back into his hands. Across the canyon, one of the men stepped forward.

Even from fifty meters away, Keanu could see the smile, and then the man lifted a radio.

And Black Tides handler’s voice came through their comms.

Clear. Calm. Smiling.

“Black Tide,” the handler said softly. “Glad you could make it.”

Keanu felt the cold realization settle in his gut. They hadn’t escaped the trap. They had just walked into the second one. Behind them, the soldiers from the desert appeared at the canyon entrance.

Ahead of them, the convoy engines roared to life.

Black Tide was surrounded.

And Niko was bleeding out in the middle of it.

Chapter Two

Present Day

The abandoned building had once been a hotel.

Rangi Te Aho could still see the bones of it in the way the hallways opened into wide communal spaces and the shattered marble reception desk that leaned drunkenly against one wall. Time and neglect had stripped the place down to concrete, rusted pipes, and broken glass. The wind pushed through the empty structure with a hollow whistle, carrying the smell of dust and old smoke.

It was the kind of place people forgot about.

Which was exactly why they were hiding there.

Rangi sat on the cracked tile floor with his back against a support pillar, one leg stretched out in front of him while the other bent enough to keep pressure off the bruise blooming along his ribs. Blood had dried along the edge of his sleeve where a shallow cut had split the skin earlier that evening. Nothing life threatening, but enough to remind him how close things had come.

Across from him, Alexios Petrakis, his best friend since they were twelve and his lover since they were eighteen, leaned against the wall near the broken windows, one boot braced against the concrete as he checked the magazine of the pistol resting in his hands.

Click.

Slide back.

Click.

Routine.