Chapter Three
Kael Makani stood in the middle of the Black Tide command center, a mug of coffee cooling in his hand as he scanned the encrypted alert flashing on the holo-screen. The message was short—Obsidian Ridge Requesting Connection—Priority Channel.
When Bateman sent a call like that, it wasn’t for small talk.
He took another sip of the bitter brew and set the cup aside, letting the warmth sink into his chest. The command center was silent except for the hum of the servers and the faint vibration of the cooling systems beneath the floor.
Even though the garage below was alive with motion—engines revving, tools clanging, voices trading instructions—the sound never reached him.
The glass walls surrounding the room were built to military-grade specifications, bulletproof, blast-resistant, and entirely soundproof.
The whole structure gave the illusion of transparency, yet it was a fortress of tech and engineering.
Even the glass itself was reactive, able to tint opaque at a touch or project tactical overlays during ops.
It was sleek, intimidating, and exactly how Kael wanted it.
This was what safety looked like—controlled, calculated, contained.
A fortress they’d built to their own very specific guidelines.
A sanctuary disguised as steel and glass.
Every line of code, every welded beam, every sensor grid carried their fingerprints.
It wasn’t just a command center—it was proof that they’d survived and adapted.
He turned toward the console on the desk and punched the intercom button. “Reef! Command in five!”
Niko appeared a moment later, still toweling sweat from his hair after a run, the edge of a grin curling his mouth. “You get a ping?”
Kael nodded. “Bateman wants a word.”
Niko’s grin faded. “You think this is about what happened here in Hawaii?”
Kael shrugged, expression neutral. “Could be. Or maybe it’s Kai checking in about the wedding plans.”
Reef gave a dry laugh as he fell into step beside him. “Yeah, right. The day Bateman uses a priority channel to talk about floral arrangements is the day I retire.”
“You are not wrong there,” Kael muttered with a smirk. “That man is a walking billboard for doing things by the book.”
Black Tide had been busy lately—running drills, upgrading their tech, building a home that could stand against anything. But there was always room for something new to go wrong.
As they waited, Kael’s gaze caught on the far wall—an etched map of the island coastline, illuminated by embedded LED lights. It had been Reef’s idea, a reminder of where they came from. The shape of home, forever anchored in the walls of their war room.
The command console, the heart of the center, sat like the bridge of a warship in the center of the room.
The center itself held holo-displays, multiple feeds, and encrypted communications terminals.
The air smelled faintly of ozone, steel, and roasted coffee and the faint blue light of the screens cast reflections across the polished floor, flickering like water.
Kael and Niko took their places at the main table as Kael keyed in the Ridge frequency.
The holo-projector pulsed once before blooming to life.
Bateman appeared first—clean-cut, squared shoulders, tight black t-shirt and his normal half-grin in place.
Behind him, Kai and Hogan came into view.
Kai’s dark hair was pulled back, his usual smirk firmly in place.
Hogan stood beside him, arms crossed, wearing that casual grin that always made trouble feel like an option.
“Bruh,” Kai greeted, flashing a smile. “That setup looks better than here at the Ridge. You out building us now?”
Kael chuckled, leaning his hip against the table. “You know me, Kai. Can’t help it if I build things right.” His gaze softened briefly. “Good to see you, brother. Hogan.”
“Always a pleasure, Surge,” Hogan said, raising a hand in salute. “Heard your coffee’s still terrible.”
Kael smirked. “Still better than yours.” He leaned back, folding his arms. “So, Bateman—what’s the urgency?”
Bateman’s face stayed calm, but there was a tension in his voice that made Kael straighten.
“We’ve got a developing situation in Newark.
Viktor Sokolov—the Bratya head we’ve been talking about and had eyes on since that blowup out there in Hawaii.
The bastard is setting up operations stateside.
He’s running distribution through the port.
Drugs, weapons, human smuggling, you name it.
He’s buying out the docks and locking down the city one crew at a time. ”
Niko leaned forward, arms braced on the table. “That’s a heavy play for one man. The Bratya must be spread thin for him to make a move that bold.”
“Exactly,” Bateman said. “He’s consolidating control of the East Coast routes. We’ve intercepted internal chatter and movement manifests that line up perfectly with satellite imaging. Whoever’s behind this knows what they’re doing.”
Kael frowned. “That’s detailed work, Bateman. Who gave you this intel?”
Bateman’s gaze sharpened. “Came from a ghost.”
Niko blinked. “Ghost? No way in hell. Ethan’s still recovering—”
Kael cut him off, one brow raised. “You keeping tabs on him again?”
Niko froze, instantly defensive. “Not keeping tabs. Just... you know, checking in. Occasionally. On socials and the like.”
Kael folded his arms, amused. “So, you’re cyberstalking him.”
Niko sighed, shoulders sagging. “You make it sound so creepy when you say it like that.”
Kai laughed from the screen. “That’s because it is creepy.”
Even Bateman cracked a smile. “Focus, gentlemen.” He cleared his throat. “It’s not Ethan. This came from someone else—call sign Wraith.”
Kael’s posture stilled, his pulse tightening. “Wraith? The same Wraith who dismantled that trafficking ring in Serbia two years back? Alone?”
“The same,” Bateman confirmed. “He contacted me directly. Dropped full operational data, including logistics, payroll, and surveillance footage. Cross-checked through the Ridge tech and two independent systems. It’s airtight.”
Niko gave a low whistle. “That’s insane. I heard he went into that compound with a knife, a sat-phone, and a grudge. Fifteen traffickers down. Eight hostages out. No camera footage, no trace. Ghosted before the authorities even knew he was there.”
Kai nodded. “Not a myth. Pathfinders tracked the aftermath. He’s the real deal.”
Kael let the name roll through his mind, feeling it like an echo through time. “So, Wraith wants us to take out Sokolov.”
“That’s right,” Bateman said. “He’s been monitoring the operation for weeks. The evidence is solid. You’re the best team for a quick, surgical takedown.”
Kael nodded once. “Then, we move. No point sitting on clean intel. Our path is clear, our code intact.”
Niko adjusted the screen overlays. “We’ll need transport plans, port schematics, dock traffic, and flight clearances.”
Bateman gestured off-screen. “All of it’s in your drop folder. You’re wheels up as soon as you’re ready. Wraith’s package is encrypted to your systems.”
Kael’s tone stayed even. “We’ll handle it. You’ll hear from us when the job’s done.”
Kai stepped forward, his tone softening. “E mālama pono, bruh. Keep safe.”
Kael’s mouth lifted at one corner. “Always, kai aloha.”
The holo-display flickered once and faded, leaving the command center bathed in the quiet blue glow of the screens. The silence returned like a living thing, humming through the glass.
Niko exhaled slowly. “Wraith, huh? Can’t decide if that’s comforting or terrifying.”
Kael didn’t answer right away. He walked to the far window, gazing out at the tree line and the waterfall’s glint below.
The morning sun struck the glass and fractured into light across the floor.
Down in the garage, the team was already moving—engines roaring to life, voices echoing faintly in the distance.
The hum of purpose vibrated through the structure, a heartbeat he could feel in his bones.
He could see his reflection in the glass, the calm face of a man who’d been through hell and learned to stand in the ashes. The word Wraith still echoed in his thoughts, stirring something deep he couldn’t name. Ghosts didn’t just resurface for nothing.
“Trouble or trustworthy,” he murmured. “Maybe both.”
Behind him, Niko was already on comms, calling the others, issuing orders. Keanu’s laughter crackled through the channel, followed by Luca’s grumble about needing more time and Tane’s calm efficiency. The garage came alive with purpose, a living organism of motion and unity.
Kael stayed by the window, coffee forgotten, watching sunlight spill over the camp.
He thought of the path that had led them here, the men who’d followed him through fire and back again.
Whatever this new ghost wanted, whatever Sokolov was building—it didn’t matter.
They’d face it the same way they always had.
Together.
****
Five days after the Ridge briefing, Newark smelled like salt, rust, and summer heat that settled thick in the air.
Kael leaned over a cluttered table inside their temporary base—a converted warehouse overlooking the docks—and watched cargo feeds loop across Tane’s monitors.
The space was wide enough to hold the team and their equipment, its concrete floors still stained with paint from whatever business had been here before.
The bay door had been reinforced with steel, the windows blacked out.
They’d made it their own—quickly, efficiently, the way they always did.