Blue and red lights from the Metropolitan Police Force lightning in the distance, casting flashes across the dockyard wreckage. It would take time for the flames to die down, but their aftermath painted everything in scorched ash and soot. Ahead of them was past the loading gate that John expected to find Hailey in the scene. 

She was seated on the back step of an ambulance, her skin pale under the lights as a paramedic shined a small penlight into her eyes. Her clothes were partially dirty and her long brown hair clinging to her damp forehead. A mylar blanket was wrapped around her shoulders, but it did nothing to hide how shaken she was.

John slowed his pace as he approached, followed by Gaz and Ghost. Roach moved past them as he gave her a quick smile and stood a distant away from her and the paramedic, already watching them.

"John," Hailey called when she finally found him coming forward.

"Hailey," He stepped forward and stopped. "Are you alright?"

She nodded, but it wasn't convincing. "Yeah... I think so. Just... I've had worse." Her attempt at a shaky smile didn't land.

"What the hell happened?" John asked, went straight to the point.

She started at him before wrapping the blanket tighter.

"It was Harkin," she swallowed and wetted her lips before continuing. "He—his men. They took me. I didn't even see it coming. It was in the afternoon. I was on campus, waiting for Charlie when she gets off her last class. I told her I'd be at the parking lot waiting for her."

John stiffened at the mention of Charlie, but he kept his composure still. Allowing her to continue speaking.

"I—I don't know how Harkin have found me or Charlie or both of us. Maybe he must have followed one of us when we were traveling to the campus. And the last thing I remembered was that someone grabbed me before I could scream. I don't know how I was blacked out... and I heard him. Harkin. He was talking to someone over a radio or something. I couldn't hear everything, but..." She paused, frowning at herself as she tried to remember bits of fuzzy pieces of her memory that whatever drug was injected her, must have made it harder for her to regain back her strength and her memories.

"But what?" John pressed gently.

"...he said he was gonna take her next."

His blood turned to ice.

"I thought maybe he was bluffing. But since you rescued me, you weren't with her. I knew something was wrong," Hailey said it straight.

John wasted no time.

He whipped out his phone from his pocket, his gloved fingers move to navigating through Charlie's texts and contact info. There was nothing. No new message, no voicemail, no missed call. She had promised to inform him once she returned to his flat after spending time with Hailey after school. When he pressed the call button. The phone rang once.

Twice.

Then a voice came on the line, saying, "Fancy hearing from you, John."

The voice on his end made his blood boil into heat, pressing his lips tight. He scrunched his nose and tried to calm himself—a hint of throaty groan released through his chest.

"Harkin," he growled.

"You called just in time," Harkin said casually. "Your girl's safe with me. Sweet little thing. Brave too."

"What do you want?" he asked, his tone full of devoid.

"You," Harkin answered simply. "But don't bring your friends unless if you do, I'll kill her tonight."

His hand clenched around the phone. The thought of Charlie being held hostage by Harkin have made his mind reel into savage thoughts of wanting to drop the call, find her on his own (with the backup location the dock manager had with him of where Harkin was located) and put a hole through his head. That was his initial thought, almost a calculated plan to execute.

Focus, Price.

"If you touch her—"

"You'll what?" Harkin interrupted, amused. "Come charging through the shadows like a hero? Burn another port to the ground? You should know by now, Price. You did a real good job on fucking up my job and my reputation since Zakharov will have my head on a silver platter, if I don't get the crates to move. But since you screwed up the delivery. Might as well cut either your head or hers as pay back. Just so he can forgive me and buy me more time. The choice is yours: you either do as I say or she's dead. I'll be expecting you."

Then the line went dead.

The rage simmering beneath his skin boiled over in silence as his free hand trembled—not with fear, but wrath. Clenching his teeth hard like it would crack, if pressing together hard enough as John sees red all over his vision.

Fuck!

"Boss?" Ghost called.

John turned his head around and saw his men were looking back at him.

"What's the call?" Gaz asked solemly.

John huffed through his nostrils as he pushed his phone back to his pocket.

"He got her and my hands are fucking tied," he growled.

Gaz appeared surprised for just a second before his expression turned resolute. "Then we'll bring her back. What else did he mention?"

"He'll kill her if I bring with you to our target," John answered grimly.

"Then, we'll have to play his game," Gaz said as if he had a solution.

"I'm listening," John stared straight at Gaz.

"We are bringing you in, Captain. But not how he thinks," Gaz paused, letting his words reach to John and Ghost as the grim reaper operator hummed.

"Cut bait?" Ghost guessed.

"We'll have too," Gaz admitted and looked at Ghost and John. "Think about it, if we let him think he's coming in alone. Which he won't but he'll have me and you, Ghost. We'll shadow him, no comms chatter, no tech interference. Just tactical insertion."

John hummed and took his suggestion into consideration.

"We'll clear the perimeter, take out any guards Harkin has on his disposal before Price gets to his objective. This is a hostile rescue, and he'll deal with Harkin on his own."

Ghost nodded before crossing arms. "I've got thermal optics and a suppressor with his name on it. If Harkin's got patrols or spotters, I'll ghost 'em before they blink."

"That'll work," Gaz said before glancing at John. "Once we get you cleared, you go in solo. Harkin wants a face-to-face? Let him have it. But we'll be covering your six, just like what Ghost said, no one fights alone."

It took some heart for John to nod, only to agree with his teammates. Narrowing his eyes, he pressed his lips and processed his words before he said, "and Charlie?"

"If she's in the same room where Harkin is, let's hope she doesn't get traumatized by you executing him as a show," Gaz quipped.

"I was already counting on it," he replied back coldly.

Ghost scoffed and said dryly, "Typical."

"Then we're in agreement." Gaz smiled last.

"She's in the secondary location Harkin set up," John said gruffly after a long pause. "Dock manager handed off the map before we sedated him. Old maintenance tunnel, used to lead into the dry dock systems underneath the east gravel yard. Narrow, dark. Only a few exits."

"Perfect for an ambush," Ghost added.

"Or a death trap," Gaz agreed.

John looked between them, checking the mental map in his head. "I'll go in through the front. Loud enough to keep Harkin's attention. You and Ghost—silent sweep from the secondary drain entrance. You'll clear as we go, take out his men one-by-one, if you see any."

"We keep it clean," Ghost added.

"Extraction point will be prepped outside the tunnel exit—same route his smugglers may be using under Tilbury. There's a junction behind the canal wall. That's our fallback," John explained.

Ghost added, "He'll be watching one direction. You'll give him what he wants—a chance to gloat. Meanwhile, Gaz and I'll carve the edges off his operation like ghosts in the dark."

John glanced between them—his trusted men. And for once, he wasn't the one leading them into hell.

He exhaled slowly.

"Alright," he said calmly, retrieving the location map from his vest and passing it to Ghost. "Have Knocks pinpoint the location before we make our move. This might be his final day on earth. Gear up."

"Speaking like a true soldier," Ghost said before stepping back and pushing his earcom as he reached out to Gabby.

Gaz followed, calling for Roach to prep their suppressed load outs and thermal gear at their exfiltration van, which was parked much farther from the Metropolitan Police and the Ambulance, while a few news reporters began to arrive to cover the scene for their story outlet.

John stayed where he was for a second longer.

The weight of everything—Charlie's absence, Harkin's voice, the burning image of her tied to some chair in a room—settled heavy in his chest like an old wound reopening.

He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, letting out a long breath. The world around him moved—flashing sirens, boots crunching on ash—but in that moment, everything became still.

Don't take her from me.

The same thought he had when his mother was dying.

When he held Cam's hand in that hospital bed in Germany and felt like the world had folded in on itself.

The same thought he'd bury down every day since Charlie walked into his life and rewired everything inside him.

It wasn't a spoken prayer. Not out loud. Just a thought—a silent plea in a man who hadn't believed in anything but his own hands and the weight of a loaded rifle. At some point, he doesn't know who he was praying to. God? Jesus? Diana always talked about Jesus like she'd known him personally—like He was someone who showed up for coffee and calmed storms in his spare time. She used to tell him, "When you've got nothing else, you still got Jesus."

He never believed it.

Didn't see the point but right now? He'd kneel right here if it meant Charlie came back alive.

Because this wasn't a mission anymore.

This was her.

She was more than a girl who made him feel again. She was the reason he hadn't collapsed under the weight of his burden. She was the only light left in the corners he kept locked up.

He opened his eyes and lifted his gaze above the dark, starless sky.

Let me bring her home. Don't take her from me—like you did with my mother. I don't pray. Never have. But I'm giving you one shot. If you're real... if what Diana said about you was true—prove it. Push me one last time. Let me get to her. Let me be the one to end him. Just this once. I won't ask again.

Then it stirred in the back of his mind. Not his voice. Not even Diana's. But a memory sharp at once—of the day he'd brought Cam out from the hospital, broken and silent in that wheelchair before traveling back to London.

He was drowning, and Diana had put her hand on his shoulder and whispered a prayer in a verse he'd never forgotten but never understood what it meant then.

Come to me, all who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.

But now, standing in the aftermath of another fire, on the verge of losing the only person he'd ever wanted to keep?

It hit him.

He was tired.

Tired of war, blood, and losing the people who mattered most.

But he wasn't done yet.

Maybe God knew his time is not up yet. His time is not up yet to drop his rifle and to step out of war. Not until Charlie was safe. Not until Harkin stopped breathing. Not until he finish what they had started. Not until he stops them from starting another world war. He would rather finish the job before choosing life—if God would give him a final push and more time on earth to be with Charlie until his final breath.

John looked away from the sky and turned back toward the scene. He exhaled through his nostrils before he began stepping forward.

Tonight—he wouldn't be asking for peace.

He'd be delivering judgment.