Night reached,
Black vans, silent engines, The convoy rolled up quiet to a warehouse.
Damian led the way. His boots made no sound on the cold stone. He checked his men with looks simple signs, quick nods.
Only one thing burned in his chest: find her. Get her back. Kill Andrew.
They hit the gates. Locks opened.
The first line of security fell, surprised and stunned.
Damian was the cleanest fighting thing there.
He moved fast, every hit exact. He broke a man's forearm with a twist and a shove.
A guard swung a baton. Damian caught the wood, turned it, and the man was on the floor.
Andrei moved beside him He smashed a guard into a table, knocked a radio away, kicked a man down the stairs.
The two of them were a storm.
They split teams to cover rooms.
A quiet team were in and out, cutting locks, finding doors.
At the far end, Damian forced his way into a room.
He stepped through.
There Andrew stood, cigarette in his mouth. He wasn't with his men.
