Dawn crept slowly over the Albanian mountains.

Cold light spilled across the jagged ridges. Thin mist clung to the valleys like smoke that refused to leave.

Dante crouched behind a line of rocks halfway up the slope.

Below them, Viktor Kozlov’s compound sat carved into the mountainside. Old stone. Thick walls. Built to survive a siege.

And today, it would get one.

Twenty one operators spread across the hills. Three teams. Moving like shadows through the gray morning.

No one talked.

Boots barely touched the gravel.

Safety switches clicked quietly.

In Dante’s ear, Franz’s voice finally broke the silence.

“Team Alpha in position. North side.”

A second later Catarina came...