(LANCE )
The pine woods around the fishing shack whispered with night wind, carrying the sharp scent of resin, damp earth, and distant saltwater. Inside, the air was heavy with tension, gun oil, strong coffee, and the lingering metallic trace of blood that still clung to our clothes. The single wood stove crackled softly, casting flickering orange light across the rough walls and the faces of the eight remaining ghost team members. Eliona sat close beside me on the worn couch, her hand never leaving mine, the bruise on her cheek a dark reminder of how close we had come to losing everything again.
Nine hours and twenty minutes remained on the Salazar ultimatum.
I stood at the center of the table, maps and satellite images spread out under the dim bulb. The RICO plea deal papers lay nearb
