37. Granger
GRANGER
T he words slide off my tongue like honey: "What makes you think that's my only mission?"
I savor the way Sloane Carter's face drains of color, her bravado crumbling like sand between my fingers. There's something beautiful about watching hope die—the way it starts in the eyes, spreads to the lips, settles in the shoulders like lead.
I've seen that look before, in targets far more seasoned than this girl playing at being a martyr.
How predictable.
They all think the same way, these idealists with their noble sacrifices. As if throwing themselves on the sword somehow saves everyone else. As if death is the grandest gesture of love.
But death is just an end.
Clean. Final. Useless.
No, what I need is something messier. Something that lingers .
Snow drifts around us in lazy spirals, coating the forest in pristine white. The laser sight from my rifle paints a scarlet dot over her heart—steady, unwavering.
Just like the oath I took. The one Logan forgot.
"Then why are you here?" Her voice barely trembles. I'll give her that much—she has steel in her spine.
"Silencing you is only secondary." I let each word land like stones in still water. "My primary mission is to bury everything related to Echo-13. Everything ."
There it is—the flash of understanding in her eyes. The realization that spreads like poison.
Everything means more than files. More than evidence. It means the men who carry the memory. The brotherhood that betrayed its purpose.
The Forge.
"I'm glad you came to me," I say, and I mean it. "You'll be the reason Logan and his brothers die."
My former brothers.
The thought stings more than it should.
Once, we were forged in the same fire. Carved from the same steel. I remember the way Logan would clasp my shoulder before a mission, the weight of trust in that grip.
The way Knox's silence spoke volumes. How Caleb's discipline pushed us to do more. Eli's steady hands. Asa's quiet efficiency. Ryker's raw power.
We were magnificent .
Until Logan broke rank.
Until he chose a stranger's life over the mission.
Until he made me choose between loyalty and brotherhood.
Something flickers in my peripheral vision—Sloane's hand, diving for snow.
Amateur move .
She flings it at my face like a child throwing sand, desperate and uncoordinated.
I move before she finishes the arc.
Three steps, two breaths:
First, sidestep the snow.
Second, trap her leading arm.
Third, sweep her legs.
She hits the ground with a shocked gasp. I lock her joints with practiced precision—the same holds we drilled for years. The same techniques that kept us alive in places where mercy meant weakness.
"Sloppy," I mutter, pressing until she stops struggling. "Is that what passes for training these days?"
She tries to buck me off, but there's no technique behind it. Just panic and pride. I apply more pressure—not enough to break, just enough to remind her who's in control.
Her consciousness fades like a dimming light.
Good .
Unconscious targets are easier to transport.
I bind her wrists and ankles with zip ties—military grade, tested in worse conditions than this. The snow is falling harder now, obscuring our tracks almost as fast as we make them. Perfect cover for what comes next.
Slipping her limp form over my shoulder, I start the trek to my secondary position. It's a long walk through dense forest, hovering just inside Iron Hollow's border. Far enough to stay hidden, close enough to keep watch.
Speaking of watching...
I check my surveillance feeds as I walk. Multiple cameras positioned around The Forge's perimeter, each one streaming data to my tactical tablet. My special modifications keep them invisible to Asa's systems.
Right now, they're probably discovering her absence. Logan will be the first to notice—he always was annoyingly observant.
I imagine his face when he finds the empty bed. The cold sheets. The silence where her breath should be.
Will he panic? Or will he fall back on training?
Either way, it won't matter.
Because I've been planning this since the moment I learned she was in town.
Every contingency. Every possible reaction.
The beauty of knowing your enemy is anticipating their moves—and Logan? He's beautifully predictable when it comes to protecting people.
That's always been his weakness.
I could take her to the abandoned ranger station—let him find us there, use the high ground and natural choke points. Classic sniper strategy.
But that's too easy. Too clean.
No, I need something more... personal .
The firewatch tower looms ahead through the trees, a skeletal finger pointing accusingly at the sky. It's perfect—high enough for visibility, remote enough for privacy. The kind of place where echoes get lost in the wind.
Option one: Use her as bait. Draw him in alone.
But Logan won't come alone. He'll bring the team. They'll have planned for this.
Option two: Rig the approach. Make him choose between her and them.
Better, but still too simple. I need him to feel it.
Option three: Make him watch.
Make him witness every moment of fear in her eyes. Every flinch. Every silent plea. Make him remember what happens when you put civilians before the mission.
Then, when he's broken—when he's ready to beg—I'll give him a choice.
Mission or mercy.
Only this time, there won't be any walking away.