Chapter 10
TEN
CHASE HEADQUARTERS – ANN ARBOR
He stepped close, fingers brushing the back of her hand. Not taking, not demanding, only grounding. “You good?”
She drew in a breath and lifted her chin. “Ask me again in an hour.”
Reid stepped into the muted hush of the twelfth-floor lobby. He scanned the thick carpet, the paneled walls with artwork, and the soft LED light.
Tuck was waiting in a suit, tie, and polished shoes. His hair carried more silver than Reid remembered, but the posture was the same as always. His uncle was solid and unshakable.
They’d already spoken briefly at the gala, just minutes carved out in the swirl of noise and people, enough for a handshake and a look that said more than words. Now it was just them.
“Reid.” There was no surprise, no formality, just certainty.
Reid stepped forward, his grip firm as their hands clasped. For a second, it was like he was a boy again, trailing after this man who had raised him and Samantha when their mother couldn’t, the man who’d shown him what service really looked like.
“Uncle Tuck.”
The faintest crease touched Tuck’s eyes, almost a smile, but instead of words, his hand shifted to Reid’s shoulder, solid and grounding. He gave just one squeeze, then he let go and stepped aside. “They’re waiting inside. Your room now, kid.”
Reid gave a short nod, the old instinct and something deeper tightening in his chest, before he crossed the threshold. He stayed standing, shoulders squared, as Killian and Noah regarded him from across the table. There was no ceremony here, no wasted breath—just the transfer of weight.
Killian moved first, circling to stand closer.
“You’ve worn responsibility before, Hanlon.
You know what it costs. But this…” he gestured to the seal etched in the wall, “…this is different. You’re not just taking men and women into fire.
You’re building a house. One squad becomes two, then four.
What you decide now sets the pattern for every team that follows. ”
Reid let that settle, feeling the echo of Tuck’s hand on his shoulder minutes earlier. The burden was familiar, but the shape of it was new. It was strategic, long-game, not just survival.
Noah spoke next, precise as ever. “You won’t answer to us for the details. Your day-to-day is yours. You shape their rhythm, their cohesion, their discipline. But understand—every success, every mistake will carry your name attached to it.”
Reid met his eyes. “Then I’ll make sure we succeed.”
Noah studied him a beat longer, then inclined his head in the faintest mark of approval.
Killian folded his arms. “Tree Town One is watching you, Reid. They don’t want speeches. They want proof. Give it to them. Lead them into something worth bleeding for.”
The room stilled again, heavy with expectation but charged.
Reid nodded once, voice steady. “I won’t let them—or you—down.”
Noah glanced to the door, then back. “Good. Because they’re ready for you.” He shifted a stack of files in front of him. “You meet them at 19:45. Pick an XO.”
TREE TOWN ONE CONFERENCE ROOM – 1945 HOURS
The door at the far end opened, and the quiet murmur of boots on carpet filled the room. Eighteen operators filed in with practiced discipline, no wasted movement, and no chatter. They filled the chairs without needing to be told, eyes forward, still.
Reid remained standing where Killian and Noah left him, their words hanging in the air. He looked at the faces arranged before him—soldiers, sailors, airmen, marines, coast guard. Operators. Each one marked by their own fire, each one carrying their own scars.
Killian didn’t take the head seat. He stood off to the side, arms folded, eyes on Reid. Noah followed, hands clasped behind his back.
“This is Tree Town One,” Killian said evenly. “Your team. Your responsibility. Eighteen of the best we pulled, and now they’re yours.”
Noah’s voice followed, clipped and final. “Introduce yourself, Anchor.”
Reid stepped forward. “Reid Hanlon. Call sign Anchor because I hold the line when things break. Last Navy op was the Sahel. Comms blackout. Three hostages. I led the walkout.”
He let that sit for half a breath, meeting each pair of eyes in turn. “Ian Chase and Martin Bailey don’t roll dice. And I don’t lead ghosts. You show up; I’ll carry the weight. I’ll be first through, but there are no passengers.”
He pulled a chair into the center of the arc, sat down deliberately, grounding himself in their circle. “Let’s start for real. Name. Call sign. Last time you got hit and stood up.” His gaze swept the room once more, steady. “Let’s go.”
One by one, they gave their names and call signs. Spartan. Shade. Blink. Apex. Stack. Flint. Relay. Ghostwire. Torch. Fuse. Lockjaw. Scope. Bluebird. Hush. Riot. Static. Trace. Drift.
Each carried their fire in different ways—scars, silences, sharp edges, or calm. Eighteen operators, proven in their own battles, now looking to him.
Reid stood, gaze steady. “Apex, you are my XO. You’ve all followed orders. Now you follow each other. No lone wolves. You move together or not at all.”
The room was silent. Not hesitation—alignment.
“First training is zero-six-hundred sharp.” His voice cut through the stillness. “Show up ready.”
No nods. No chatter. Just focus locking into place. Exactly what he wanted.
Chairs scraped softly against the floor as the operators filed out, quiet, efficient, already moving like a unit. Reid stayed where he was, watching their shoulders disappear through the door. The silence that followed was heavier than the meeting itself.
“Apex.”
Dean Kozlow paused mid-step, glanced back once, then peeled away from the rest without a word. He came to stand across from Reid, posture rigid, waiting.
Reid met his eyes. “You’re my XO now. That means we don’t waste time. We start tonight.” He gestured to the table, still warm from bodies and presence. “Sit. Let’s map the team.”
Dean pulled a chair without hesitation, lowering himself into it. Reid dropped into the seat beside him, already stripping the situation down to bones.
“Strengths first,” Reid said. “Who stood out to you?”
Dean’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes sharpened. “Spartan. Still carries the limp, but he doesn’t quit. Torch—burned but unflinching. Fuse—arrogant but sharp. Good points and liabilities both.”
Reid nodded. “Agreed. Relay and Ghostwire—tech minds. They’ll need to sync, or they’ll step on each other. Bluebird, Scope—eyes from above and distance. They’ll either complement or clash.”
“Stack, Riot,” Dean said flatly. “Frontline. Force and voice. Balance them right, and they break walls. Wrong, and they break each other.”
Reid leaned back, filing it all. Already, the picture was taking shape—threads weaving into structure.
“Zero-six, we test them,” Reid said finally. “Tonight, we set the ground. Roles. Rhythm. They learn each other, or they fail.”
Dean gave a single sharp nod. “I’ll hold the line with you.”
For the first time that night, Reid let out a breath that wasn’t tight in his chest. “That’s all I ask.”
Reid and Dean were still bent over the pad, ink and shorthand carving tomorrow into order, when the annex door opened. Noah Paulsen stepped through, pushing a small garment rack with the same quiet precision he carried into every room.
“Anchor. Apex.” His tone was calm, direct. “Yours.” He slid the hangers apart, showing two full sets of each. “Work uniform.” Dark tactical fatigues, Chase insignia stitched above the heart, sleeves reinforced.
“Casual uniform.” This set was a black shirt and jacket, charcoal-gray insignia distinct from the team’s charcoal-gray shirt with black insignia, and black BDUs. “Leads wear these. You’ll stand out, but only to the right eyes.”
“And dress.” Noah drew forward the last set—sleek black suits, lean cut, formal but functional. “For boardrooms and funerals. You’ll know which when the order comes.”
Reid’s gaze lingered on his, the sharp line of the jacket like a second skin waiting. Beside him, Dean’s fingers tested the fabric at the cuff, expression flat but approval clear.
“You’ll issue the rest in the morning,” Noah said. “Uniformity starts with you. Let them see who leads.”
Reid straightened. “Understood.”
“Good.” Noah’s eyes held his for a measured beat, then flicked to Dean. “Tree Town One is yours now. Make sure they wear it well.”
With that, he turned to leave. The sound of the door shutting left them in steel silence with the rack between them.
Reid let out a slow breath. “Zero-six. We don’t just break them in. We start building.”
Dean gave one short nod. “And it starts with us.”