While three soldiers held me against the lockers on my first morning in the barracks, the biggest man in the squad switched on a pair of electric clippers and leaned close enough for me to hear him laugh. ""By the time I'm finished, you'll either beg us to stop or you'll learn who owns this room."" I calmly lifted my chin and told him to keep going. His smile disappeared when he realized I wasn't afraid of losing my hair. A few minutes later, the barracks door opened and the man standing there looked at what was lying on the floor, then looked at me—and suddenly nobody in the room was laughing...

The data from her stolen staging buffer pointed directly to Bay 14—a restricted logistics terminal officially designated for decommissioned heavy armor transport. But the rumbling sound echoing off the steel walls wasn't machinery being decommissioned. It was heavy crates being loaded onto unmarked civilian flatbed trucks.

Riley crept closer, utilizing the dense labyrinth of stacked containers for cover. Through a narrow gap between two crates, she saw a terrifying tableau unfold.

Sergeant Cole Mercer was directing a crew of men in civilian gear, loading reinforced steel crates stamped with the exact serial number sequence matching tag 317. Assisting them was Specialist Aaron Pike and Tyler Brooks.

"Move those crated munitions faster," Cole barked, lifting a heavy manifest tablet. "Major Lawson wants the entire inventory cleared before dawn inspection. If CID so much as sniffs around this sector tomorrow, we're all doing hard time in Leavenworth."

"What about Quinn?" Tyler asked, heaving a wooden crate onto the flatbed. "She's been poking around Barracks C all evening. Hale looks like he's ready to back her play."

"Hale's out of his depth," Cole sneered, tossing the tablet onto a stack of pallets. "By morning, Quinn's transfer orders will be officially amended. She'll be reassigned to a listening post in the middle of the Mojave Desert—indefinitely. And if she refuses the transfer... well, accidents happen in logistics transport units every day. Just ask Castillo."

Hearing Emma Castillo's name spoken so casually as collateral damage sent a cold fury through Riley's veins. She reached down, gripping the tactical knife she had secured from the supply locker. She wasn't just observing anymore. The perimeter had been breached.

Before she could formulate an extraction plan, a heavy hand clamped over her mouth from behind, and an arm banded around her waist, yanking her violently backward into the narrow, pitch-black recess between two containers.

Riley reacted on pure reflex, driving her elbow backward into her attacker's ribs and pivoting to sweep their legs out from under them.

Her boot connected solidly, but a familiar voice hissed in the darkness. "Hold your fire, Sergeant! It's me!"

Riley froze. Captain Nathan Hale emerged from the shadows, wincing as he clutched his side, his breath misting in the freezing air.

"Captain?" Riley whispered fiercely, lowering her knife. "What the hell are you doing here? Your own command staff is running illegal arms out of Bay 14."

"I know," Hale breathed, his face grim. "I tracked Lawson's access logs to this sector twenty minutes ago. This operation goes higher than we thought, Quinn. It involves battalion logistics, black-budget procurement, and contraband trafficking funneled through civilian fronts."

"And tag 317?"

"It's the inventory ledger number for stolen tactical guidance chips," Hale explained rapidly. "Worth millions on the black market. Castillo discovered the discrepancy in the supply manifests three months ago, tried to blow the whistle, and they silenced her."

Hale pulled a encrypted satellite communicator from his vest. "I've got federal investigators twenty miles outside the installation perimeter. If we can secure the manifest tablet on Cole's desk inside the trailer office, we'll have enough hard evidence to arrest Lawson and dismantle the entire ring."

Riley looked past Hale toward the brightly lit operations trailer at the edge of Bay 14. Cole Mercer was walking toward it now, holding the manifest tablet in his hand.

"We don't have time to wait for reinforcements," Riley said, her eyes locked on Cole. "Cole is heading inside to log the final manifest. If he locks that terminal, the digital trail vanishes."