Arlo
We gear up and head out, the tension palpable. Samuel Taggart’s safe house is supposed to be in the country, a remote location that we’re hoping will be less fortified. My mind is a storm of emotions: anger, determination, and a gnawing worry for Maisie.
The drive is tense, the silence in the van only broken by the occasional crackle of the radio. Camden is beside me, his face set in a grim mask.
"We’re close," he mutters, checking his GPS. "It’s just up ahead."
I nod, my grip tightening on my gun. "Stay sharp, everyone. This could be a trap."
We pull up to the house, a dilapidated building that looks abandoned. But I know better than to trust appearances. As we approach, something feels off. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
"Hold up," I say, signaling for the team to
