Chapter 6 - The Iron Ring
The heavy thud of a tactical boot slammed against the cabin’s wooden exterior wall, splintering the aged cedar boards just inches from the front door.
"Lights out! Get down!" Elena hissed, diving across the dusty floor toward the back room where Callie—operating under the name Lena—was hidden.
My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. Three years of numb grief vanished in a single microsecond, replaced by a cold, protective rage that burned hotter than any fire. I didn't reach for a pen or a blueprint anymore; I reached for the heavy iron fireplace poker leaning against the stone hearth, gripping the cold metal until my knuckles turned white.
"Jack, they've got thermal optics," Elena whispered back from the doorway, her voice trembling as she pulled a rusted bolt-action rifle from a wall mount. "If we stay in the main room, they'll punch through these walls in seconds."
Boom.
A shotgun blast blew the exterior door's deadbolt clean out of the frame. The heavy oak door swung inward with a crash, letting a rush of freezing lake wind and swirling snow sweep into the cabin.
Silhouetted against the gray snowstorm stood two massive figures clad in black tactical gear, their faces hidden behind matte-black gas masks. The one in the lead swept a suppressed submachine gun across the room, the red laser sight painting the dust motes dancing in the air.
"Clear," the first mercenary grunted through his comm-unit, stepping over the threshold.
He didn't see me standing in the shadowed blind spot beside the stone fireplace.
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As he crossed the threshold, I swung the iron poker with every ounce of fury and strength I possessed. The heavy iron struck the side of his helmet with a sickening metallic ring, dropping him instantly to the floor like a felled oak.
The second mercenary reacted with terrifying speed, raising his rifle toward my chest.
