Page 75 of Rescued By the Alpha SEAL
The town.
Mytown.
Around me, the team snaps into action with practiced efficiency. Knox and Ryker are already at the weapons locker, pulling tactical gear. Asa's fingers fly over his tablet, likely trying to trace the signal. Eli's shouldering a med kit while Caleb checks comms.
I turn to the map spread across the central table, my eyes finding Iron Hollow Books. It sits at the edge of the town square,a cornerstone of the community. Dana's been there for fifteen years, selling paperbacks and keeping secrets.
She doesn't know what's coming.
Movement catches my attention—Sloane, stepping closer to study the map. Her eyes are sharp, focused. There's no fear in her stance, just coiled readiness.
Our gazes lock, and something passes between us. Understanding. Trust. The weight of what's about to happen.
She doesn't flinch when I reach for my backup piece—a compact Sig P365 I keep for situations exactly like this. The metal is cool and familiar in my palm as I check the magazine, chamber a round.
"Ever handled one of these?" I ask, offering it grip-first.
She takes it without hesitation. "My father taught me. Before."
The word hangs between us.
Before.
Before he vanished. Before the truth became her shield. Before everything went to hell.
"Show me," I say quietly.
Her movements are smooth, practiced. She checks the safety, demonstrates proper trigger discipline, runs through a basic press check.
Not perfect, but skilled enough to stay alive.
"Good," I nod, fighting the urge to tell her to stay behind. To keep her safe in The Forge while we handle this.
But I know better. She'd never agree, and I respect her too much to ask.
Trust her.She's survived this long for a reason.
"Comms check," Asa calls out, tossing encrypted units to each team member. "New frequency. Pattern Delta."
The familiar weight settles in my ear as I catch the one he throws me. "Copy that."
Within minutes, we're loading into the trucks—two matte-black Ford Raptors, reinforced and modified for exactly this kind of operation.
Knox takes shotgun in my vehicle while Sloane slides into the back with Asa. Caleb's driving the second truck with Ryker and Eli.
The engine rumbles to life beneath us, a low growl that matches the tension humming through my veins. Dawn's just breaking over the mountains as we roll out, painting the snow-dusted peaks in shades of gold and shadow.
Iron Hollow wakes slowly, unaware of what's coming.
The drive into town is eerily normal. Shop owners flip their signs to "OPEN." The corner café fills the air with the rich scent of fresh-ground coffee. A few early risers trudge along the sidewalks, bundled against the morning chill.
But something's off.
I've spent years learning to read a scene—first in the Navy, then in places where missing details got people killed. My eyes catch every shadow, every subtle shift that doesn't quite fit.
The newspaper stand's empty. Usually stocked by 6 AM.
The diner's lights are on, but no movement inside.
