**Gary, Indiana – Abandoned steel mill, 3:08 a.m.**
Snow swirled over the rusted rooftops as three black SUVs skidded to a stop outside the gate. Arthur, Sophie, and their strike team fanned out fast.
“Ghost Team, take the east scaffolding," Sophie barked into her comms. “Shield, go left. Torch—when I say blow the lights, you blow the lights."
Arthur loaded a magazine into his rifle. “We go in hard. He took our daughter."
Sophie's eyes were ice. “And he'll regret it."
---
**Inside the mill**
Rows of silent machines stood like metal corpses. Torchlight glinted off oil-slick floors. Vargas's men paced above, weapons slung low.
In a makeshift cell near the blast furnace, six-year-old Leah lay on a cot, wrists zip-tied, eyes wide.
A man leaned over her—Marco Vargas himself, smirking.
