Viktor Kane stood in his mobile command center, staring at thermal imaging that showed forty-seven empty spaces where Enhanced Protocol operatives should have been.
Not dead. Not wounded. Not captured.
Gone. Erased from reality like they'd never existed in the first place.
"Sir?" Captain Rodriguez approached with the kind of careful movement that belonged to someone delivering catastrophic news to a superior who might decide to kill the messenger. "Analysis teams have completed their assessment of the tactical failure."
"Define failure," Viktor said, though his voice carried the kind of cold precision that usually preceded someone getting shot.
"Complete dimensional displacement of all affected personnel. No biological traces, no equipment remnants, no electromagnetic signatures." Rodriguez swallowed hard. "Sir, according to our physicists, what happened to those operatives violates several fundamental laws of reality."
"The Montenegro girl."
