Chapter Four
The Ridge looked different at night.
Floodlights carved long shadows across the training yard, their pale cones breaking the dark into sharp edges. Beyond them, the pines whispered under the weight of the wind, the air crisp enough to bite.
Dale adjusted the strap on his bulletproof vest and scanned the map pinned to the hood of the Humvee.
“Three targets,” he said, tapping each red X.
“One in the main warehouse, two in the south module. Objective is to retrieve the package without tripping the alarms. We’ve got motion sensors, sound traps, and a couple of Marsh’s lovely surprise tripwires. The team have gone all out to test us.”
Ty smirked. “Translation: they want us to fail.”
“Translation,” Dale corrected, “They want us to think like a unit, and I’m going to lead us to victory. I’m not pulling punches because you’re both pretty.”
Oren arched a brow. “You’re only with us cause we’re pretty?”
Dale’s eyes swept over him slowly. “You’re dangerous, too. That’s certainly part of the attraction.”
Ty rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitched. “All right, fearless leader. How are we playing this? I want to get to the part of the evening where you feed us.”
“Good plan. Silent entry from the east,” Dale said, flipping the map closed. “Ty takes point on locks and, Oren, you’re our eyes on elevated positions. I’ll sweep anything ground level. We stay on comms, but keep chatter minimal.”
Dale loved the comms devices they all wore, simple adhesive dots, skin colored so that they blended in.
Place one against the jaw and one under the ear and you were on.
A simple touch to either and you were live, and if anyone wanted to get word out to all of them, they could activate them all remotely. They never left home without them now.
The three of them moved out, boots whispering over gravel. The first fence loomed before them. Ten feet of chain link crowned with a lazy curl of barbed wire. Ty dropped to one knee, gloved fingers checking the base. “Loose gravel at the base of the fence. We’ve got a crawl space.”
Oren crouched beside him, sliding under first. His breath fogged in the cool night air as he scanned the yard beyond. “Clear. But someone’s been through here before us. Fresh prints.”
“You sure they aren’t ours?” Dale asked over comms.
“Nope. Smaller size, heavier tread, not something we would wear, they would be loud as fuck on this gravel,” Oren said, voice clipped. “Looks like they didn’t care about noise.”
Ty’s gaze met Dale’s briefly. It was just a drill—but the unease was real.
They fanned out, moving toward the warehouse.
The shadows swallowed them, the crunch of gravel replaced by the muted thud of boots on packed dirt.
Dale’s mind catalogued every movement—Ty’s deliberate pace, Oren’s restless scanning—and found a strange satisfaction in the way they naturally adjusted to each other.
Ty reached the warehouse side door, crouching over the keypad. “It’s an older model,” he murmured. “Give me thirty seconds.”
Oren took a knee nearby, rifle raised, scanning the roofline. “There are two vents open on the roof that shouldn’t be.”
Dale’s voice came low from behind them, having just joined them at the door. “Noted. Ty, status?”
“Done.” The lock clicked, and Ty eased the door open.
Inside, the dark smelled of machine oil and dust. The metal shelves rose like monoliths, casting deep shadows. Dale signaled right, Ty took left, and Oren ghosted up the metal stairs to the catwalk.
Minutes ticked by. The tension was ... good. Productive. Dale caught glimpses of them through the racks—Ty’s measured movements, Oren’s silhouette gliding above, rifle always at the ready. This was how it was supposed to feel—three operators watching each other’s six, working as a unit.
“Package secured,” Dale said finally, tucking the weighted training satchel he’d found beneath one of the storge shelves under one arm.
That’s when the alarms blared.
Not the Ridge’s usual drill tone. This was sharper. Real.
“Motion sensors just tripped in south module,” Marsh’s voice cut in over the general comms. “Not one associated with the training exercise.”
The change was instant. No more training pace—now it was live.
“On me,” Dale ordered. They regrouped at the warehouse door, Ty already checking his sidearm, Oren flipping the safety off his rifle.
They moved low and fast toward the south module, floodlights throwing long spears of light across the open ground. Dale’s gut tightened—too much exposure.
Halfway there, a figure darted from the shadows. Small, fast. Definitely not Ridge security.
Ty lunged, cutting off their path, while Oren covered from ten feet back. The intruder froze under Ty’s grip, a trainee badge flashing in the light, eyes wide.
“Kid,” Dale growled, “what the hell are you doing in here?”
“I—I was told to move gear from the barracks storage to the south module—” The trainee’s voice cracked, confusion genuine.
“By who?” Oren demanded.
The kid hesitated, glancing toward the dark beyond the floodlights. “I ... don’t know. Didn’t see a face, but they seemed like they knew what needed to be done. Had the same sense of authority all of you guys have.”
The three of them locked eyes. This wasn’t coincidence.
Dale handed the satchel to Ty. “Escort him to Marsh—he can have a little chat. Oren, with me.”
They cleared the south module in silence, moving with practiced precision. Nothing else moved, but Dale caught a flicker of movement at the very edge of the floodlight—a human shape, gone in an instant.
Inside, the air was still. No intruder. No obvious breach. Just a faint smell of fresh machine oil ... and a toolbox shoved half a foot off where it should have been.
“Clear,” Oren said, though his tone was tight.
They searched again and found nothing, then went back to the Humvee.
Ty was already there waiting for them, leaning against the hood. “Marsh has the kid. He’ll dig, but I don’t think he’ll find much, kid was scared shitless.”
Oren handed the satchel to Dale. “We good?”
Dale looked at them both—really looked. Sweat at Ty’s hairline, Oren’s steady hands despite the tension. They’d moved like a team tonight. Trusted without question.
“We’re better than good,” Dale said. “We’re solid.”
Oren smirked. “That your way of saying you’re proud of us?”
Ty snorted. “Careful, he might get emotional.”
Dale stepped in close, his gaze shifting between them. “I am proud. And if I haven’t said it—this works. The three of us. Not just when it’s easy but also when it counts.”
For a moment, none of them moved. The night seemed to hold its breath.
Then Ty grinned, slow and deliberate. “We should celebrate being solid. Someone promised me dinner.”
Oren’s laugh was low, dangerous. “I thought you didn’t mix work and pleasure.”
Ty looked at Dale. “Exception?”
Dale’s hand slid along the edge of Oren’s jaw, then to Ty’s shoulder, pulling them both in so close the floodlights haloed them in silver. “Yeah. Definitely the exception.”
The kisses they shared then weren’t gentle—they were a seal, a mark, a silent promise that whatever was stirring in the shadows, whatever came next, they’d meet it together.
When they broke apart, Oren was smiling. Ty was, too. And Dale—Dale just felt like maybe, for once, he was exactly where he was supposed to be.
“Go shower, and we’ll meet back at mine for dinner,” Dale said, anticipation thrumming through his blood
****
The south module was easy enough to slip into.
No one was watching the west approach—not at the exact moment he’d chosen.
Timing was everything. Carson crouched just inside the service entrance, listening.
The faint hum of the motion sensor he’d bypassed earlier that week was right where he’d left it.
He reconnected a single wire, enough to make it live, then laid a thin tripline across the shadowed aisle.
Two more minutes, and he’d shifted the position of a vent cover, slid a bolt from a lock housing, and swapped the markings on two crates in the corner. To anyone else, it would look like clutter. But in the right moment, that clutter could slow a response team, reroute them, or worse.
He kept his movements deliberate, careful. Left one toolbox just far enough out of place to make someone wonder—a breadcrumb for the observant, bait for the cautious.
And then he tripped the sensor himself, knowing exactly how far he could get before the first boots hit the door.
By the time Dale, Ty, and Oren swept in, he was pressed flat against the roof of the maintenance annex, invisible in shadow. He could hear them below—Ty’s voice sharp, Oren’s low, Dale’s clipped and steady.
They’d found nothing. Good.
As their footsteps receded, Carson smiled to himself. They were quick, disciplined, dangerous. But even the best could be steered.
And Oren? Oren still moved like a man who’d been hunted before. The same tells. The same wariness.
Carson eased down the back side of the module, slipping into the dark without a sound. The game had started. And they didn’t even know the rules yet.