Chapter 97
Havoc
We don’t go back.
Not to the Tavern.
Not to town.
Not to anything that looks like normal.
We push forward.
Because stopping?
Means they disappear.
And I don’t let that happen.
The first night—
We track them through the trees.
Boot prints.
Broken branches.
Signs of movement most people wouldn’t see.
But we’re not most people.
“They split,” Briggs says quietly.
I nod.
“Yeah.”
Smart.
Divide.
Disappear.
Regroup somewhere else.
But they made one mistake.
They didn’t have time to cover their tracks.
“They’re not running clean,” I say.
“No,” Briggs agrees. “They’re rushed.”
Good.
That means pressure.
That means we hit them where it hurts.
By morning—
We’ve got a direction.
Not a destination.
But enough.
The CIA stays with us.
Close.
Too close.
But useful.
For now.
“You’re burning time,” the agent says at one point.
I don’t even look at him.
“They’re bleeding time,” I reply.
Big difference.
Day two—
We find a second site.
Abandoned.
But not empty.
Not recently.
Food wrappers.
Fuel cans.
A map burned halfway through.
I crouch.
Pick it up.
Study what’s left.
Routes.
Different from the ones in the box.
Backup routes.
Contingencies.
Tunnels underground. Big enough for vehicles to drive in.
“They’ve got layers,” Briggs mutters.
“Yeah,” I say.
“And we’re peeling them.”
Day three—
We lose them.
Completely.
No tracks.
No signs.
Nothing.
Just…
Gone.
The team goes quiet.
Frustrated.
Tired.
But not broken.
Not yet.
“They’re ghosting us,” someone says.
“No,” I reply.
I stand.
Scan the horizon.
Think.
“They’re watching us.”
That lands.
Because it makes sense.
Because people like this?
They don’t just run.
They study.
They adapt.
They wait.
That night—
I sit alone for a minute.
Just a minute.
Weapon across my lap.
Fire low.
Team resting in shifts.
I pull the patch from my pocket.
Turn it over again.
Black Division.
Ghost unit.
No rules.
No oversight.
Perfect enemy.
I think about Aspen.
About the Tavern.
About Ace standing watch.
About the promise I made.
I’ll come back.
I tighten my grip on the patch.
Because I don’t break promises.
Not like that.
Not ever.
Day five—
We get lucky.
Or they get sloppy.
Same difference.
A signal ping.
Short.
Encrypted.
But not perfect.
CIA picks it up.
“They’re moving again,” the agent says.
I step in.
“Where?”
He turns the tablet toward me.
Coordinates.
Remote.
Mountain range.
Higher elevation.
More isolated.
More secure.
My jaw tightens.
“That’s not a hideout,” I say.
“No,” he agrees.
“It’s a stronghold.”
The team feels it.
That shift.
That moment where everything clicks into place.
This is it.
This is where they’ve been heading.
This is where it ends.
Or starts something worse.
“We need to move now,” I say.
No hesitation.
No debate.
Because we’ve come too far.
Because too many people are depending on this.
Because Tank didn’t die for us to stop halfway.
Briggs checks his weapon.
“About time.”
The CIA agent studies me.
“You realize what this is,” he says.
“Yeah,” I reply.
“A fortified position.”
“Good.”
“Defensive layers.”
“Better.”
“Kill zone.”
I finally look at him.
Meet his gaze.
Cold.
Steady.
“Perfect.”
Silence.
Then—
A slow nod.
Like he finally understands.
We’re not backing off.
We’re not circling.
We’re not waiting for permission.
We’re ending this.
We load up.
Engines start.
The mountain looms ahead.
Dark.
Unforgiving.
Hiding everything we’ve been chasing.
I glance once at the horizon behind us.
Where the Tavern sits.
Where she is.
Safe.
Because I left her there.
Because I had to.
And I make myself a promise.
One more.
The last one.
I finish this.
And I don’t bring this war home with me.
I look forward again.
Toward the mountain.
Toward Black Division.
Toward the end.
“Let’s go hunting,” I say.
And this time—
We’re not stopping until we find them.