Dylan POV Collins was waiting by the perimeter post when I reached the edge of the camp.
His arms were crossed over his chest, his jaw clamped tight enough to crack a tooth.
”You’re up early,” Collins said, his eyes scanning my face.
”Power was out,” I said.
“Nothing else to do.” ”Right.
The power.” Collins let out a short breath, his shoulders dropping a fraction of an inch before his posture stiffened again.
“I hear you spent the night making sure our civilian guest didn’t freeze to death.” ”The room was cold.” ”Naturally.” Collins cleared his throat.
“I suppose you’ll be wanting a full breakdown of the outer grid, then?” ”Well, that’s if you are willing, given how you’re more concerned about my night.
Should I give you a full report instead?” ”No sir.
I’m all good.
What would you like to hear first?” ”Give me the sweep report first.” ”First sweep came back clean,” Collins said, falling into step beside me as we walked toward the tree line.
“No cut wires, no fresh tracks in the snow.
Nothing to indicate a physical breach on the main fences.” My radio chirped on my chest, cutting through the morning quiet.
”Perimeter Team Two to Command,” a voice crackled through the speaker.
“We have unknown signatures moving through Sector Four.” I unclipped the radio.
“How many?” ”Unclear,” the operator replied, static humming under his words.
“Sensors are picking up multiple heat blooms.
They crossed the outer line three minutes ago.” ”Identified?” ”Negative.
No transponders.
They aren’t ours.” ”Weapons?” ”Sensors show metal signatures.
High-density.
Could be blades or suppressed firearms.” ”Which section did they cross?” ”Four-B.” I clipped the radio back to my belt and adjusted the straps of my jacket.
”Sir,” Collins said, his eyes dropping to my empty holster.
“You aren’t taking a rifle?” ”I have one.” Collins stared at my hands.
“You’re going out there bare-handed?” ”Stay here,” I said, turning toward the path leading into the pines.
“Keep the compound perimeter sealed.
Nobody gets through this line.” ”I should bring a squad with you,” Collins insisted, his hand hovering over his sidearm.
“If it’s an organized team—” ”If you leave this post, the flank will be left open,” I cut him off.
“Keep your men on the barricades and protect everyone.” ”And if you get pinned down?” ”You won’t need to come looking.” I left him at the edge of the clearing and entered the treeline.
The wind had died down, leaving the forest dead silent.
No birds moved in the high branches.
No squirrels chattered in the brush.
The air smelled of morning dew.
My boots made no sound against the frozen dirt.
Ten yards in, the air shifted.
A faint scraping sound came from the high branches to my left—a bootsole shifting against pine bark.
A second later, the brush thirty feet ahead rustled out of time with the breeze.
I kept walking, keeping my stride steady and unhurried while waiting for them to come out of hiding.
Three men stepped out from behind the trunk of an old tree.
Four more dropped from the lower limbs of a cedar behind me.
Within ten seconds, figures emerged from the shadows of the ravine until thirty masked men surrounded the clearing.
They wore unmarked black uniforms.
No badges.
No unit patches.
No identification marker on them.
”That’s him,” the man in the front said, pulling a short combat knife from his chest rig.
“The Apex Hunter.” ”He doesn’t have a rifle,” another called out from the left.
”Doesn’t matter,” the leader said.
“Orders are to take him down.” The first two rushed me together.
The man on the right lunged with a straight knife thrust aimed at my chest.
I stepped inside the arc of his arm, caught his wrist, and drove my elbow directly through his windpipe.
Bones crushed under the impact, and he crumpled lifelessly into the snow.
The second man swung a bat at my head.
I ducked beneath the arc, drove my palm upward into his chin with enough force to snap his neck backward with a sharp crack, then grabbed his vest to hurl his limp body into a third attacker charging from the side, knocking them both down.
Before the third could recover, I stepped over and stomped down hard on his neck, ending him instantly.
”Don’t go one at a time!” the leader yelled.
“Swarm him!” Five men rushed at once.
One went low, aiming a tackle at my knees.
I jumped back, caught him by the back of his collar, and slammed his face into the frozen earth with enough violence to fracture his skull.
A blade flashed near my ear.
I tilted my head sideways, letting the steel scrape past my collar, then grabbed the attacker’s wrist, twisting it until the bone snapped, and slammed the heel of my palm into his temple, killing him instantly.
I caught his knife before it hit the dirt.
”He’s got a blade!” someone shouted.
”Move in!” The remaining men surged forward.
I moved through the cluster without stopping to think.
Sweep low.
A lethal slice across a carotid artery.
Step pivot.
Drive the blade directly into a temple.
A boot caught me from behind, glancing off my shoulder blade.
I spun, seized the man’s throat, and drove him backward into the trunk of a tree, crushing his trachea until his eyes rolled back and his body went slack.
”Fall back!” a voice screamed from the rear.
“Fall back!” The organized line broke.
The few men who remained turned to run toward the trees.
I closed the distance behind the nearest runner, caught his shoulder, and swept his legs out from beneath him.
As he hit the snow hard, rolling onto his back with his hands raised in panic, I thrust the blade down into his chest before he could speak.
Two more men tried to flank me from the left.
One swung a short iron pipe at my collarbone.
I blocked the strike with my forearm, wrenched the pipe from his grip, and brought it down hard across his skull.
The last attacker lunged with a double-handed knife grip, his hands shaking as he thrust toward my stomach.
I caught his forearms, reversed the blade into his own chest, and slammed him down onto the packed earth.
Silence fell over the clearing.
Twenty-nine bodies lay scattered across the snow and frozen dirt, blood already freezing dark against the white.
Only one man was still alive—the squad leader.
He was dragging himself backward against the base of an outcrop, his right leg bent at an unnatural angle.
His hand fumbled wildly at his chest rig, pulling a small silver capsule from a hidden pocket.
I walked over and stood over him.
”Who sent you?” I asked.
The man didn’t answer.
He jammed the capsule toward his mouth, his jaw opening wide to bite down on the glass casing hoping for an easy escape.
I reached down, caught his jaw with one hand, and forced his mouth open before his teeth could crush the vial.
With my other hand, I popped his jaw out of its socket with a swift lateral push.
The silver capsule rolled out of his mouth and fell harmlessly into the snow.
The leader gasped, tears of pain welling in his eyes as he clutched his dislocated jaw, unable to speak or swallow.
Few minutes later, footsteps crunched through the snow behind me—fast, heavy, and frantic.
Leila burst through the treeline, a hand on her unholstered pistol, six hunters trailing close behind her.
She stopped dead at the edge of the clearing, her eyes wide as she took in the scene.
Thirty men on the ground—twenty-nine dead and one restrained.
Blood stained the snow red.
I stood in the middle of it with a bloodied borrowed knife in my hand.
Leila looked from the fallen men back to me.
“Who are they?” ”We’re going to find out soon enough,” I said, pointing down at the squad leader groaning at my feet.
“He brought poison.
They weren’t meant to come back alive.” Leila knelt beside the man, checking his pulse and examining the silver capsule sitting in the frost.
Her face paled as she recognized the mark stamped into the metal.
”This is a high-grade military neurotoxin,” she whispered, looking up at me.
“Sir…
these aren’t mercenaries.” ”I know.”