Raven stood at the long war-room table, palms flat on the cool surface, eyes moving across the fresh intelligence spread in front of her.
The lamp overhead cast a hard white circle. Outside the tall windows the sky was still black, but the room already smelled of strong coffee and tension. Twelve new pins on the map. Red. Foreign. No family crest. Just coordinates and timestamps.
Mercenaries.
Not Caruso's usual meat. These were professionals. No blood ties, no old loyalties, no grudges that could be bought or twisted. Twelve ghosts with clean passports and heavy bank accounts.
Gabriel's voice cut through the quiet. "Confirmed movement. Three continents in fourteen months. Six high-value kills. All clean. No survivors left to talk."
