53. Rook
ROOK
One week later, Cutter’s warehouse was quiet.
Not empty.
Never quiet enough to qualify as peaceful.
But no alarms echoed across the harbor.
No gunfire erupted near the dock.
Nothing had exploded in almost three days.
A new Shadow Division record.
The evidence recovered from Black Site Theta covered the operations wall.
Photographs.
Financial records.
Mission reports.
Eight names.
Rear Admiral Thomas Grayson.
Director Alan Madow.
Senator Richard Vance.
General Robert Sheffield.
Deputy Intelligence Director Walter Graves.
Commander Jerry Rhodes.
Mac Stenson.
Major General David Thornton.
Madow was in our holding room.
Reeves occupied the cell beside him.
Rhodes was reported dead.
Six names remained active.
Mac Stenson remained uncertain.
We had more questions than answers.
But we also had witnesses.
Evidence.
Jack Parker’s original archive.
For the first time, Project Nightfall could bleed.
Wade entered the warehouse with Sarah and Jack beside him.
He moved slowly.
The doctors had ordered rest.
Wade had interpreted that to mean he should walk around until someone caught him.
Sarah caught him often.
“You’re supposed to be in bed,” she said.
“I was in bed.”
“For how long?”
“Long enough.”
“That isn’t a measurement.”
“It is to me.”
Jack looked toward me.
“You see what I’ve dealt with?”
Sarah and Wade answered together.
“We learned it from you.”
Sniper laughed from across the warehouse.
Sam stepped out of his office.
“What are you doing here?”
Wade looked around.
“I wanted to see it.”
The memorial table stood beneath the Silver Sword emblem.
Six photographs waited beneath the light.
Hammer.
Ghost.
Viking.
Tex.
Ridge.
Bishop.
My brothers.
The men Madow and Reeves had sent to die.
Wade approached the table.
He studied each face.
“I’m sorry.”
I stood beside him.
“For what?”
“Your team came to that mountain because of what mine found.”
“No. They came because powerful men were afraid of the truth.”
“We were the reason.”
“You were prisoners. Not perpetrators.”
Wade’s gaze remained on the photographs.
“I know what empty funerals do to families.”
“So do I.”
He looked at me.
For a moment, neither of us needed words.
Different teams.
Different ambushes.
The same mountain.
The same betrayal.
We had both left brothers behind.
Wade reached inside his jacket and removed three photographs.
Price.
Brooks.
Walsh.
He placed them beside my fallen men.
“Nine,” he said.
I looked at the memorial table.
Nine operators taken by Project Nightfall.
Nine reasons we would never stop.
Sarah joined us.
Then Jack.
One by one, the rest of Shadow Division gathered around the table.
Sniper.
Fathom.
Falcon.
Shark.
Cobra.
Reef.
Sam Cutter stood at the edge.
No speeches.
No military ceremony.
No empty promises.
Only names.
Faces.
Memory.
Wade broke the silence.
“They didn’t break.”
“Neither did yours,” I said.
He nodded.
“Then we finish it.”
Sarah looked toward the evidence wall.
“We will.”
For the first time since Black Site Theta fell, Wade smiled without pain behind it.
Not a big smile.
But real.
Then a mechanical crash came from the loading area.
Everyone froze.
Sam slowly closed his eyes.
“Cobra.”
Cobra looked offended.
“I’m standing right here.”
A second crash followed.
Fathom’s voice came through the warehouse speakers.
“Minor problem.”
Sam’s eyes opened.
“What did you do?”
“Reef and I were moving the evidence cases.”
“With what?”
Silence followed.
Sam’s expression darkened.
“My forklift?”
“It may need attention.”
Sam started toward the loading bay.
“That was a brand-new engine!”
Cobra hurried after him.
“I can fix it.”
Every member of Shadow Division shouted together.
“No!”
Wade started laughing.
Sarah joined him.
Then Jack.
The laughter spread through the warehouse.
Even I gave in.
For the first time, the memorial table didn’t feel like an ending.
The dead were still with us.
But so were the living.
And Shadow Division had finally remembered how to be both.