Dawn mist clung to the ground as Fenix's team approached the Richter compound through terrain that offered more concealment than comfort. Fifteen shadows moving with professional silence, weapons ready, breathing controlled despite nerves that made hands want to tremble.
Fenix raised his fist—the signal to halt. His team froze instantly, perfect discipline born from days of brutal drilling. Through the thinning mist, the compound's outline emerged: stone walls fifteen feet high, guard towers at each corner, a single main gate reinforced with steel bands that gleamed dully in the weak morning light.
Thirty defenders, intelligence had said. Maybe thirty-five if they were unlucky.
