Page 295 of Broken Oath

No arguments.

No planning session that lasted until sunrise.

The clock had run out.

Gear cases slammed onto tables.

Weapons were checked.

Magazines loaded.

Maps folded.

Operators moved with the controlled urgency of men who understood exactly what failure would cost.

I stepped out of the operations room.

The mountain still glowed on the monitor behind me.

Black Site Theta.

Wade’s prison.

Or his grave.

Everything depended on how fast we moved.

“Thirty minutes.”

The warehouse froze.

Every head turned toward me.

“We leave in thirty.”

The room erupted again.

Chairs scraped backward.

Equipment disappeared into packs.

Helmets were grabbed.

Body armor fastened.

The rescue had begun.

Sarah entered from the far side of the warehouse.

No one missed her.

Tactical vest.

Rifle.

Sidearm.

Combat boots.