31. Blake
THIRTY-ONE
Blake
The ready room door swings open under my touch, the familiar click of the latch echoing in the sudden silence. Every eye in the room turns to me. Exhaustion and determination fill their faces. The air is thick with tension and the acrid smell of too much coffee.
Alpha team huddles around one end of the long table, Max’s imposing figure bent over a stack of reports. At the other end, Brady and his Bravo team pore over a map, their hushed whispers a constant undercurrent. My team is scattered throughout the room, each lost in their preparations.
I make my way to an empty chair, greeting Gabe and Walt. The dark circles under their eyes mirror my own, a testament to the sleepless nights we’ve all endured. As I sit, I catch sight of Mitzy and her tech team in the corner. Stitch’s fingers fly over her keyboard while Jeb’s eyes never leave the screens before them.
At the head of the table, Ethan stands with Sam and CJ, their hushed conversation breaking off as I approach. Forest Summers looms behind them, his presence a reminder of the gravity of our situation.
Sam straightens, his eyes sweeping the room. The low hum of conversation dies away as he clears his throat .
“Alright, people. Let’s get started.” His voice carries the weight of command, cutting through the tension. “We’ve been at this for days now, and I know we’re all feeling the pressure, but we can’t afford to rush this. We do this right, or we don’t do it at all. Understood?”
A chorus of affirmatives ripples through the room. I force myself to nod, even as impatience gnaws at my insides. Every moment we spend here is another moment Sophia’s in danger. But Ethan’s right. We can’t afford mistakes.
“Good. Now, status updates. Max, what’s Alpha got?”
Max pushes away from the table, his jaw set in frustration. “We’ve run down every lead on Greaves. Nothing. It’s like the bastard’s gone completely off the grid.”
“Europe’s not looking any better,” Brady chimes in, his fingers drumming a restless tattoo on the table. “Our contacts have been working overtime, but it’s all smoke and mirrors. Greaves is covering his tracks well.”
My fists clench involuntarily, nails digging into my palms. I force them to relax, focusing on my breathing the way Ethan taught me.
Control. I need to maintain control.
Ethan’s eyes find mine, a silent question in their depths. “Blake? Anything new on your end?”
I shake my head, the motion sharp despite my efforts to remain calm. “Nothing concrete. We’ve been through Sophia’s apartment, her locker, every place she frequented. No new messages, no hidden clues. Just—nothing.”
The word hangs in the air, heavy with all our collective disappointments. I see the same frustration mirrored in the faces around me. We’re all feeling it, this maddening sense of running in circles while time slips away.
But we can’t give up. Sophia’s counting on us. And I’ll be damned if I let her down.
Stitch’s eyes dart across her screen. She looks up, confusion etched on her face. “Mitzy, I’m receiving a data stream from one of our bumblebee drones.” Stitch’s fingers fly over her keyboard. “It’s sending video. ”
The room erupts in a flurry of movement. Chairs scrape against the floor as everyone surges forward, the air suddenly electric with anticipation.
Sam’s deep voice cuts through the chaos. “Find out where it’s transmitting from.”
The room falls silent, all eyes turning to the main screen as it flickers to life. A grainy image appears, and my breath catches in my throat. The main screen flickers to life, displaying a map with a blinking red dot.
“It’s in Montenegro.”
The atmosphere in the room shifts, tension ratcheting up another notch. Montenegro. We have a location.
“Show us,” Ethan commands, his voice tight with barely contained emotion.
Stitch nods, tapping her screen. The map disappears, replaced by grainy footage. My heart leaps into my throat as I recognize the figure on the screen.
Sophia.
Her face is gaunt, cheekbones sharp under sallow skin. She stands at one end of what looks like a courtyard, her body tense, poised to move.
As she takes a halting step forward, her body suddenly convulses. A collective gasp ripples through the room. My knuckles turn white as I grip the edge of the table, the metal digging into my palms.
“What the hell is around her neck?” Gabe’s voice is barely above a whisper.
Realization dawns, cold and sickening.
“It’s a collar. A fucking shock collar.
We watch in horrified silence as Sophia takes another step, then another, each accompanied by increasingly violent spasms. She’s moving toward a high wall, her progress agonizingly slow.
With each step, the intensity of her pain seems to increase. My nails dig into my palms, my whole body rigid with fury and helplessness .
Suddenly, a figure steps into frame. A short man in a rumpled suit with cold eyes that seem to bore through the camera.
Malfor?
Is it possible we’re seeing him for the first time, the phantom given physical form?
“Mitzy—” Sam starts.
“On it,” Mitzy interrupts, her fingers already flying over her keyboard. “Running facial recognition now. We’ll find this bastard.”
The footage continues, showing the same scene playing out day after day. Sophia, being led from a cell, forced to approach the wall, collapsing in agony each time.
“He’s conditioning her,” I growl, the words clawing their way out of my throat. “He’s training her not to try to escape.”
A low, rumbling cough cuts through the tension. Forest steps forward, his face grim. “That’s not what’s happening.”
I whirl to face him, anger bubbling up. “What do you mean?”
Forest holds up a hand, silencing me. “Watch closely. It’s not about the wall.”
On screen, Sophia reaches out, her hand trembling violently, and touches the wall. Malfor’s face fills the frame, his satisfaction palpable even through the poor quality of the video. He dangles something in front of Sophia—a scrap of fabric.
“He’s breaking her, piece by piece.” Forest crosses his arms over his chest.
And then we see it. The ghost of a smile tugging at her lips as she accepts the meager reward.
“Oh God,” Ethan breathes, the horror of understanding dawning on his face.
Forest nods, his voice heavy. “This isn’t about the wall. It’s about fulfilling Malfor’s demands, no matter how cruel or pointless. He’s conditioning her to find joy in compliance, to crave his approval.”
The room falls silent as the weight of Forest’s words sinks in. This is beyond physical torture. This is the systematic destruction of a person’s will and sense of self.
“It’s the worst kind of dehumanization,” Forest continues, his eyes never leaving the screen. “Because eventually, the victim begins to participate in their degradation. They find pride in pleasing their tormentor.”
The room erupts in a cacophony of voices, but I barely hear anything. All I can see is Sophia’s face, contorted in pain, yet still pushing forward.
Still fighting.
I stare at the image of Sophia, clutching that scrap of fabric like it’s the most precious thing in the world, and feel something break inside me.
“We need to move,” I say, my voice low and dangerous, barely recognizable to my own ears. “Now.”
Ethan’s hand lands on my shoulder, a steadying presence. “We will, but we do this smart. We do this right.”
I force air into my lungs. Ethan’s right. We can’t let emotion cloud our judgment. Not when the stakes are this high.
“Stitch,” Sam’s authoritative voice cuts through the thick silence. “What else did the drone send us?”
Stitch tears her eyes away from the screen, visibly shaken. “Coordinates. And a rough map of the compound’s interior. The drone’s been gathering data this whole time.”
“Good.” Ethan nods, his jaw set. “That’s our starting point. Mitzy, I want a full analysis of that compound. Brady and Max start working on infiltration scenarios. We need options.”
As the room springs into action around me, I force myself to focus.
We have a location.
We have intel.
Now, we plan.
And then, we move.
Hang on, Sophia. We’re coming for you.
As for Malfor? He’ll pay for every second of pain he’s caused. That’s a promise I intend to keep.
The initial shock of the footage fades, replaced by a tense silence.
Gabe is the first to break it, his voice tight with skepticism. “How do we know this isn’t some elaborate setup? Malfor could be forcing Sophia to lead us into a trap. He knows we’ll come for her.”
Walt nods, his brow furrowed. “It wouldn’t be the first time someone’s used a hostage as bait.”
My jaw clenches, a retort on the tip of my tongue, but Ethan beats me to it.
“Valid concerns.” Ethan scans the room. “But let’s think this through. What are the chances Malfor could have hijacked one of our drones?”
Mitzy shakes her head, her multi-colored hair swaying. “Next to impossible. The encryption on those things is state-of-the-art. Plus, the data signature matches our protocols perfectly.”
“Could be a perfect forgery,” Brady suggests, arms crossed over his chest.
Jeb clears his throat. “Unlikely. The drone’s been sending sporadic bursts of data for days now. We’d have spotted inconsistencies by now if it were a forgery.”
Sam steps forward, his presence commanding attention. “Let’s not forget, Sophia left us messages before she disappeared. She warned us about a potential trap. This could be her way of giving us the information we need while maintaining that warning.”
The room falls silent as we all consider this.
Forest’s gravelly voice cuts through the tension. “In my experience, the most effective traps often contain elements of truth. If this is a setup, it’s a damned good one, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t act on it.”
CJ nods, his expression resolute. “Forest is right. Trap or not, we can’t afford to ignore this opportunity.” He straightens, his posture shifting into what we all recognize as command mode. “Alright, people. We’re moving forward with this, but we’re doing it smart. Here’s how we’re breaking this down.”
Sam turns to Mitzy and her team. “I want every scrap of data from that drone analyzed. Location, layout, security measures—anything that could give us an edge. Stitch, see if you can establish two-way communication with the drone. If Sophia’s controlling it somehow, we need to know. ”
“She can’t.” Stitch shakes her head. “It’s operating in full-autonomous mode. I doubt she’s been in contact with it for days.” She doesn’t wait for a response, turning back to her computer as if that conversation’s over.
“Alpha, Bravo, and Charlie teams, I want working infiltration scenarios. That compound looks like a fortress—I want options for every possible entry point.” Sam turns to CJ and Mitzy. “I need the two of you to coordinate with our contacts in Montenegro. We’ll need local support and potentially a cover story for why a team of American operatives is suddenly very interested in a private villa.”
“On it,” CJ confirms, already pulling out his phone.
Sam’s gaze sweeps the room one last time. “Remember, people—Malfor threatens everything we stand for. Taking him down is a priority. Let’s move.”
We have direction now. We’re going no matter what Malfor has planned or what traps he might have set.