(Author’s POV)
The night was cloaked in thick humidity, every breath heavy with tension. The moon cast a pale sheen over the looming silhouette of the Soi 42 warehouse, the stronghold of Chiang Duan’s operations, where Helios weapons were stockpiled like war trophies, and shipments fueling black market chaos were prepared.
But tonight, it would be no sanctuary. It would be a tomb.
Selene Zhao stood atop a shipping container, her dark silhouette bathed in silver moonlight, surrounded by her elite task force, black-clad, armed, eyes like razors. Wind whipped through her hair as she gazed down at the compound, jaw tight, expression carved from stone.
She wasn’t just leading a mission. She was unleashing judgment.
“No survivors. No witnesses. This is not a strike, this is an execution” H
