Slivers of the dawn's earliest light trickled into the blinds of the safehouse, refracting across the frayed planks of the floor. The atmosphere was heavy with stale air, perspiration and the slight coppery odor of tension. James standing by the window, his bright eyes watching the empty street down below, looking for any signs of life. He kept his hand gingerly resting on the grip of his sidearm, muscles tensed, as if at all times expecting a threat to crash through the door.
Sarah hunched over the laptop behind him, her fingers flying over the keyboard with grim resolve. The flash drive had given up its secrets, and the decrypted files glowed ominously on the screen, redaction lines parting like curtains to reveal names, locations, cryptic terms of art associated with Project Ashfall. S
