By the time midnight drew near, the squad had combed through every record, every document, every shred of evidence on the facility. Vex Mercantile Holdings ran a tight ship, but someone had found a way to loosen the bolts. They just couldn't pin down how.

  They reviewed the security protocols once more.

  The shipment was due at 00:15. Ayla's team would sweep the loading bay, inspect the shipment, and move it to the central vault. Then, they'd hold position until the automated systems cleared the shipment. Only then would the delivery make it into the broader warehouse inventory.

  It was in that limbo state where things went sideways.

  Clare, who was slumped on a folding chair, cradling her rifle, summed it up. "So we need to catch whatever happens between security sweeps."

  "Or..." Warren suggested, "we could bypass it. Let the shipment be 'stolen', and track it back to its source." He waved at the database he was combing through, adding, "I've installed tracking devices in the shipment itself. If we don't interfere tonight, maybe whoever is doing this will lead us right to them."

  "We’re not risking the shipment. No way. You track, fine. But you do your job," Ayla countered. "Your boss promised results; this is your chance to deliver."

  "Fair point," Warren said. "We'll run with what we've got."

  Geneve sighed, checking the edge of her daggers. "This job just keeps getting better and better, doesn't it?"

  Lyssa nudged her. "Cheer up. Think of it as a mystery dinner."

  Geneve snorted. "If dinner tries to kill us, I swear—"

  "—you'll stab it back?" Warren finished.

  "Damn straight," Geneve grinned.

  Byron checked his sidearm, ensuring the magazine was loaded. "Let’s focus. We have a job to do."

  Ayla's eyes lingered on him for a moment, and then she stood. "It's time. Let's get into position."

  ***

  The loading bay doors hissed open, revealing a sleek, black airtruck hovering a foot off the pavement. Its engines whined down, and the bay lights flickered on, casting harsh white glare over the scene.

  Byron watched from an overhead catwalk as Ayla's team swarmed the vehicle. They moved with practiced efficiency, clearing the cab, securing the perimeter, and beginning their inspection of the cargo. The driver sat patiently as they worked, his face hidden under a hood.

  Even from this distance, Byron could see the man was tense.

  "Something's up," Warren said over the radio. He was positioned by a stack of crates on the far side of the bay, within range of the shipment's manifest panel. "The codes on this manifest are already marked as 'pending.'"

  "Someone’s got a finger on the trigger," Ayla's voice crackled. "Everyone, eyes up."

  Ayla's guards finished their sweep of the cargo, nodding to her. She returned the gesture.

  "Truck’s clear," Ayla said. "Starting the scan."

  As she punched in the command, the bay was suddenly plunged into darkness. Not just the lights, but the entire power grid. Even the distant hum of the HVAC shut down. The only illumination came from the faint glow of handheld torches and the dim, orange gleam of the city beyond.

  "Warren, status," Byron barked, unclipping a flashlight from his belt and flicking it on.

  Warren's voice crackled, static lacing his words. "Main power is down, emergency power isn't kicking in. Either the breaker’s failed, or it's been deliberately cut."

  On the floor, Ayla's guards were moving, weapons drawn, flashlights stabbing the dark. "Hold your fire," she shouted. "This could be a brownout."

  But it wasn't. That much was obvious.

  A muffled thud echoed through the bay, followed by a strangled cry. One of Ayla's men went down, a dark shape looming over him for just an instant before vanishing back into the shadows.

  "Contact!" Byron shouted, his light sweeping across the space where the shape had been. Nothing. "We have hostiles in the bay!"

  More shouts rose from the floor, punctuated by the occasional burst of gunfire. Flashlight beams darted wildly, searching for targets that seemed to materialize only long enough to strike before melting back into the darkness.

  "I can't see them!" one of Ayla's guards yelled, panic edging into his voice. "They're—"

  His words cut off with a wet gurgle.

  "Geneve, Clare," Byron called into his comm. "Converge on my position. Warren, Lyssa, maintain coverage of the exits."

  The radio crackled with acknowledgments as Byron descended the catwalk stairs, shield raised. His flashlight beam cut through the darkness, revealing glimpses of movement, but nothing substantial. It was as if they were fighting shadows.

  Geneve appeared at his side, knives ready. "I can't get a read on them," she whispered. "It's like they're—"

  "Not there," Byron finished. "I know."

  A flash of movement caught his eye, and he swung his light toward it. For a split second, he thought he saw something—a distortion in the air, like heat rippling off pavement—before it disappeared again.

  "Cloaking tech," he muttered. "Advanced stuff."

  "Great," Geneve replied, her voice taut. "How do you fight what you can't see?"

  As if in answer to her question, the air around them suddenly shimmered with a faint, ethereal glow. Small orbs of bluish light began materializing throughout the warehouse, hovering at various heights. They pulsed with an inner luminescence, casting an otherworldly radiance over the scene.

  "What the hell?" Ayla's voice called from somewhere in the darkness.

  The orbs weren't just providing light. As they spread throughout the bay, they began to illuminate shapes that weren't there before—human-sized silhouettes outlined in faint blue light, moving with purpose through the darkness.

  "The boss came through," Warren's voice crackled over the comms. "Those are his scrying eyes."

  The enemies were revealed now—spectral outlines moving through the warehouse, their cloaking technology rendered useless against Zark'thul's eldritch sight. Byron could see five, no, seven attackers, their forms still transparent but unmistakably visible in the ethereal light.

  "I see them," Byron said, raising his sidearm. "Engage!"

  The warehouse erupted in a frenzy of activity. With their advantage of invisibility lost, the attackers abandoned stealth for speed. They moved swiftly, their silhouetted forms darting between crates and equipment, returning fire as they sought new cover.

  Byron tracked one attacker with his flashlight, the beam passing harmlessly through the ghostly outline revealed by the Eyes. He fired three shots in quick succession, and the figure stumbled, its silhouette flickering as the cloak's systems struggled to compensate for the damage.

  "They're wearing some kind of exo-armor under those cloaks," he called. "Aim for the joints!"

  Across the warehouse, Clare had taken up position on a stack of crates, her rifle's report echoing through the space. Each shot found its mark, striking the faint blue outlines where their armor was weakest.

  Geneve moved like water through the fight, her knives flashing in the ethereal light. She slipped between two attackers, her blades finding the seams in their armor. One went down with a strangled cry, the other staggered back, firing wildly.

  The driver.

  Byron suddenly remembered the driver, spinning to locate the truck. The cab was empty, the door hanging open. "The driver's gone!" he shouted into his comm. "Lyssa, Warren, check the cargo!"

  "On it," Lyssa's voice came back.

  Warren was already at the back of the truck, his light sweeping across the opened cargo doors. "Byron, you need to see this," he called.

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  Keeping his shield raised, Byron backed toward the truck, his eyes never leaving the battle raging across the warehouse floor. Ayla and her remaining guards had rallied, using the Eyes to target their invisible foes.

  When he reached the truck, he understood Warren's urgency. The cargo hold wasn't filled with crates or containers. Instead, it contained a complex array of equipment—power dampeners, signal jammers, and what looked like a miniature teleportation pad.

  "It's a Trojan horse," Warren said, his voice tight. "The whole shipment was a setup. These dampeners killed the power, and I'm betting they teleported in reinforcements."

  "Or they were already here," Byron replied, examining the equipment. "Look at these," he pointed to a series of hexagonal panels lining the walls of the cargo hold. "Quantum fold chambers. They could have had a dozen men hiding in these, dimensionally compressed until the right moment."

  A burst of gunfire interrupted them, bullets pinging off the truck's frame. Byron spun, raising his shield as one of the silhouettes charged their position. The attacker moved with inhuman speed, clearly enhanced by some kind of tech.

  Warren fired, his shots going wide as the attacker zigzagged. The blue outline lunged, a vibro-blade extending from its forearm. Byron met the charge head-on, his shield absorbing the impact. He drove forward, slamming the attacker against the side of the truck with enough force to crack ribs.

  The cloak flickered, revealing glimpses of black armor underneath. Byron pressed his advantage, pinning the attacker with his shield while bringing the butt of his pistol down hard on the helmet.

  Once, twice—on the third strike, the visor cracked, and the attacker went limp.

  "Got one," Byron called, pulling back the broken helmet to reveal a woman's face, blood trickling from her nose and mouth. She was unconscious but breathing.

  Warren was already securing her hands with zip ties. "I'll see if she's carrying any ID," he said.

  The sounds of combat were dying down. As Byron turned back to the main bay, he saw that most of the ghostly silhouettes had been neutralized. Ayla's team moved among the fallen attackers, securing weapons and removing cloaking devices.

  "Clear on the east side," Clare's voice came over the comms.

  "Clear on the west," Geneve added. "These guys were good. Military training, top-tier gear."

  "All targets neutralized," Ayla called out, her voice echoing in the now-quiet warehouse. "Someone get the damn lights back on!"

  Warren was examining a control panel near the truck. "I think I can reroute around the dampeners," he said, fingers flying across the interface. "Give me a minute."

  While he worked, Byron knelt beside their captive, examining her armor. It was advanced, sleek and form-fitting, clearly designed for stealth ops. And there, on the shoulder plate, partially obscured by damage but unmistakable, was a logo: a silver shield with a diagonal red slash.

  "Argent Shield," Byron muttered, recognition dawning. "These aren't just any mercenaries. They're Argent Shield operatives."

  Ayla appeared at his side, her face grim in the blue light of the hovering Eyes. "Argent Shield? That's impossible. They're the most prestigious security firm in Avalon. Why would they be stealing from Vex?"

  "Good question," Byron replied, standing as the overhead lights suddenly flickered back to life, Warren having bypassed the dampeners. "Let's ask her when she wakes up."

  With the warehouse now fully illuminated, the extent of the battle became clear. Three of Ayla's guards were down—two injured, one dead. Five attackers lay on the floor, secured and unconscious.

  The hovering Eyes remained, their blue glow now fainter in the artificial light, still outlining two attackers who had managed to re-engage their cloaking devices despite being incapacitated.

  "Clever," Warren said, examining one of the fallen attackers. "Their camo systems are designed to stay active even if the user is disabled. Makes cleanup easier, I guess—no bodies to explain if things go wrong."

  Lyssa moved among the injured, her medkit open as she administered first aid. "This one's going to make it," she said, nodding to one of Ayla's guards. "Stab wound missed anything vital. But we need to get him to a proper medical facility soon."

  Geneve was examining the weapons they'd confiscated. "High-end stuff," she commented. "Pulse rifles, vibro-blades, shock grenades. Not exactly standard issue for a simple heist."

  Clare approached, her rifle slung over her shoulder. "I've secured the perimeter. No sign of additional hostiles, but we should assume they called for backup."

  Byron nodded, turning to Ayla. "We need to move quickly. Your injured need medical attention, and we need to secure our prisoner before Argent Shield realizes their operation failed."

  Ayla's face was a mask of controlled rage. "Argent Shield," she spat. "Vex and I have been paying those bastards for 'security consulting' for years. All this time, they've been what? Scoping us out for a hit?"

  "Looks that way," Byron replied. "But the question is why. What's in these shipments that's worth this kind of operation?"

  Warren was already checking the manifests. "According to this, tonight's cargo was mostly high-grade aetheric components. Expensive, but nothing extraordinary."

  "Unless that's not what was really coming in," Byron suggested. "The manifest could have been falsified."

  Ayla shook her head. "No, Vex personally verifies all manifests for high-value shipments. If there was something special in that truck, he knew about it."

  The implications hung in the air, unspoken but clear. If Vex knew, and Argent Shield was involved, the conspiracy might run deeper than a simple theft ring.

  "We need to talk to Vex," Byron decided. "Right now. And we need to secure our prisoner somewhere safe for questioning."

  "The auxiliary office," Ayla suggested. "It's reinforced, limited access. We can hold her there while we sort this out."

  Byron nodded, then turned to his team. "Geneve, Clare, help get our guest to the secure room. Warren, I want you to crack open her gear, see what you can learn. Lyssa, stay with the injured until medical arrives."

  As they moved to carry out his orders, Byron's eyes lifted to the still-hovering Eyes. Their presence was oddly comforting—a reminder that even here, far from the Tower, Zark'thul was watching over his Agents. The Eyes blinked once, as if acknowledging his thought, then began to fade one by one, their task complete.

  "Thank you, sir," Byron murmured, too quiet for anyone else to hear.

  The truck driver's body was discovered behind some crates—throat cut, execution-style. Not a collaborator, then.

  Just another victim. Ayla's men wrapped the body while she called in the situation to Vex Mercantile headquarters.

  "Vex is on his way," she announced, pocketing her comm device. "He's bringing company lawyers and security consultants. Should be here within the hour."

  "Good," Byron replied. "That gives us some time with our prisoner."

  The woman from Argent Shield had been secured in the auxiliary office, strapped to a chair with industrial restraints. Her armor had been removed, revealing a black bodysuit underneath. Without her helmet and tech, she looked almost ordinary—short brown hair, sharp features, a small scar across her left eyebrow.

  But her eyes, when they finally opened, were anything but ordinary. Cold, calculating, utterly without fear.

  "You know," she said, her voice surprisingly calm, "this isn't going to end well for any of you."

  Byron stood across from her, arms folded. "Funny. I was about to say the same thing to you."

  She smiled, the expression never reaching her eyes. "Do you even know who I work for?"

  "Argent Shield," Byron replied. "The question is, who does Argent Shield work for in this particular operation?"

  A flicker of surprise crossed her face, quickly suppressed. "Smarter than you look," she conceded. "But it won't matter. My team has a check-in protocol. When I miss it, they'll know something went wrong."

  "Your team is down," Geneve said from where she leaned against the wall. "All of them. So whatever cavalry you're expecting, they're going to be a while."

  The woman's eyes narrowed slightly, the only indication that this news affected her. "There are always more where we came from."

  "Why target Vex Mercantile?" Byron asked. "What's so special about these shipments?"

  The prisoner said nothing, just stared back with that same cold smile.

  "The gear you're using," Byron continued. "It's military-grade. Experimental, even. Not the kind of thing a security firm gets through normal channels. So who's your real employer?"

  Still nothing.

  Byron sighed. "We can do this the easy way or the hard way."

  "Oh please," the woman scoffed. "Spare me the clichés. You're not going to torture me. You're not the type."

  "You're right," Byron agreed. "I'm not. But I don't need to be." He nodded to Warren, who stepped forward with a small device in his hand. "This is a neural scanner. Crude, but effective. It won't read your thoughts, but it will tell us if you're lying. And it will hurt. A lot."

  It was a bluff—the device was actually just a modified aetheric multitool—but the woman didn't know that. A flicker of uncertainty crossed her face.

  "Now," Byron said, leaning forward, "let's try again. Who are you working for?"

  Before she could answer, the door to the office burst open. Jullian Vex stood in the doorway, flanked by two security guards. His face was flushed with anger.

  "What the hell is going on here?" he demanded.

  Ayla stepped forward. "Mr. Vex, sir. We captured one of the thieves. She's Argent Shield."

  Vex froze, his eyes darting to the prisoner. Something passed between them—recognition, Byron realized. And something else. Fear.

  "Release her," Vex said, his voice suddenly tight. "Now."

  "Sir?" Ayla's confusion was evident. "She's part of the team that's been hitting our shipments. We caught her red-handed."

  "I said release her," Vex repeated, more forcefully. "This is a misunderstanding. A training exercise gone wrong. Argent Shield was testing our security protocols at my request."

  The lie was so transparent that even Ayla balked. "Sir, that's not possible. They killed Merrick. They disabled our entire security system. This wasn't a drill."

  Vex's face hardened. "Don't question me, Ayla. Release her now, or you're fired. All of you." His eyes swept over Byron and his team. "That goes for your contract too. We're done here."

  The prisoner's smile widened. "You heard the man," she said. "Training exercise. Sorry about your guy—collateral damage happens in these simulations."

  Byron stared at Vex, seeing the sweat beading on the man's forehead, the slight tremor in his hands. This wasn't a man in control. This was a man under duress.

  "Sir," Byron said carefully, "if you're being coerced—"

  "I'm not," Vex snapped. "This is my decision. My company. My rules." He turned to his guards. "Get her out of those restraints. Now."

  As the guards moved to comply, Byron caught Warren's eye and gave a subtle nod. Warren's fingers moved across his pad, activating one of the tracking devices he'd prepared earlier. With a casual motion, he brushed against the prisoner as the guards helped her up, slipping the tiny tracker into a fold of her bodysuit.

  "This isn't over," Byron said quietly as the woman passed him.

  "For you, it is," she replied, her voice equally low. "But thanks for the workout."

  Vex couldn't meet anyone's eyes as he ushered the prisoner and his guards out of the office. The door closed behind them, leaving Squad 1 alone with Ayla.

  "What the hell just happened?" Ayla demanded, pacing the room.

  "Vex is compromised," Byron said simply. "Argent Shield has something on him—or they're threatening him somehow."

  "But why? What do they want with our shipments?"

  Warren held up his pad, a small dot blinking on the screen. "Let's find out, shall we? Our friend is on the move, and we know exactly where she's going."

  Byron nodded, a grim smile forming. "The night's not over yet."