"Recent updates?" Winter's voice cut through the hum of computers as she stepped out of the inner chamber of the bunker.
The tallest man in the room swiveled lazily in his chair. Benjamin, thirty-five, lanky, bald, and perpetually dressed like a man who had long since given up on dignity, looked up from his glowing monitors. Tonight's attire was particularly ridiculous: a cartoon-printed jumpsuit covered in tiny fairies flying around pizzas. Deborah is his assistant.
"Nothing, ma'am. With everything I've been pulling from the system… there's nothing reasonable. I haven't been able to get in at all."
"Duh. You're dealing with one of the most secure networks in the country. The army. And you expect it to be easy?" The dry remark came from the corner of the room. Louisa leaned against a weapons rack, golden hair cropped short, a pistol in her hand that she was casually reattaching. Once, she had been an assassin, her name whispered in underground circles but she had grown bored of contract killing. Guns, however, were still her art.
Benjamin puffed his cheeks in mock annoyance. "If we could just get someone from the inside to grant us access, I'd be sipping martinis in their mainframe by now." He reached for his box of dried grapes only to find the container suspiciously empty.
"Hey! Who ate my grapes?" His whine rang out like a child denied candy.
The rest of the team looked at him blankly, offering no confession. Winter didn't even glance his way.
"Is there any other way?" she asked, her tone clipped, efficient.
"Yeah… there is." Benjamin sighed, spinning back toward his monitors. His fingers flew across the keyboard, streams of green code racing down the screens. A file popped up, glowing ominously. "The military is developing a new encryption tech. Supposed to keep classified information locked away tight. Designed specifically to prevent the same kind of breach that happened twelve years ago... "
He froze.
The room fell into suffocating silence. Every gaze shifted to Winter.
For a heartbeat, even the hum of the computers seemed to stop.
Winter's face was stone. "It's fine. Continue."
At once, the others moved again, as though she had pressed play on a paused film.
Benjamin swallowed and went on. "I was able to piece together fragments of data. The prototype, right now, is under the custody of Admiral Major General Axel Luther."
"My crush!" Lyla squealed suddenly, clutching her novel to her chest like a schoolgirl. She was the medic of the group, sweet-faced, emotional… and paradoxically, the deadliest of them all. Her crushes were legendary, and fleeting.
Winter ignored her. To Winter, every soldier was tainted, every uniform a reminder of the system she despised. The very word "General" scraped against her soul.
"So," she said flatly, "how do we get this Major General?"
Benjamin tapped a few more keys, pulling up a grainy surveillance photo of a tall, man stepping into a hotel. "He's currently in town. Zilla Five-Star Hotel. A meeting. He'll leave the next tomorrow morning."
"I'll go get him."
The voice boomed from the entrance. A hulking young man strolled in, gold chains glittering, designer brands clinging to every inch of him. Raymond. The "useless" son of a powerful tycoon, second-generation rich boy, poster child of extravagance. But beneath the Versace and arrogance was a trained martial artist whose skill was unmatched. He was also the group's financial backer and he never let anyone forget it.
The team's reaction was instant: sneers, eye-rolls, muffled laughter. Everyone except Winter.
"Ma'am, take me with you," Raymond pleaded, stepping forward with rare sincerity. "I promise I won't be distracted."
Winter didn't even look at him as she turned toward the corridor. "We leave tomorrow night. Get prepared."
Raymond's face lit up like a child handed candy. "Yes, ma'am! Thank you!" He stuck his tongue out at the rest of the room before bouncing away, practically dancing.
"Childish," Benjamin muttered under his breath.
Every head turned to stare at him.
"What?" Benjamin raised his hands defensively and spun back to his keyboard. "Don't look at me like that."
The room's energy settled again. The only person absent from the gathering was Ella, the team's explosives expert. She had left earlier that week for her grandmother's burial, leaving her side of the chamber eerily silent, the workbench still littered with beer bottles and scribbled blueprints.
Winter walked deeper into the shadows of the war room, her mind already moving three steps ahead.
Tomorrow night would be the first move.
And she hoped to pull it off at once.