“Now, here’s the layout of Port Manuel,” Mr. Drails announced.

  He pressed a button, and the lights dimmed slightly as the central screen buzzed to life. A satellite image of a rugged island appeared—grainy at first, then sharpening as it zoomed in toward the eastern coastline. The camera paused over a cluster of buildings marked in red.

  “First, we approach the front. Right here,” he said, gesturing to a blinking red dot. “That’s the gatekeeper’s tower.”

  “A gatekeeper tower?” Nikki asked, raising a skeptical brow. “What even is that?”

  “It’s a surveillance post,” Mr. Drails explained. “One of many. It’s manned 24/7 by WFS soldiers whose only job is to keep everyone—and I mean everyone—away from the Armonk. They are cleared to use lethal force. No warnings. No second chances.”

  “Charming,” I muttered, folding my arms. “You sound like you’ve been there.”

  “I haven’t,” he replied, eyes never leaving the screen. “But I’ve been thoroughly briefed. That said, this operation doesn’t run through me. We’re not WFS. We won’t have their authorization, which means we won’t have their support.”

  “So how are we supposed to get clearance?” Nikki asked, leaning forward.

  Mr. Drails turned to us fully, expression sharp. “We’re not.”

  I blinked. “Wait, what? You’re saying we’re going in unauthorized?”

  “Exactly. Once we recover the Armonk, we’ll relocate it to a secondary site. Something obscure. The goal is to convince the TSA that the scientist misled them. If we muddy the trail, we buy ourselves time.”

  “Hold on,” I said. “If they’re armed and don’t recognize us, we could be gunned down before we even get a word out.”

  “They’re soldiers,” he said, brushing it off. “Disciplined, but not equipped like us. We’ve got more tech, more knowledge—and Perks.”

  Malachi grinned. “Now that sounds like a plan.”

  Mr. Drails returned his attention to the screen, zooming in again to reveal a web of entry points, small structures, and checkpoint symbols. The map was crawling with potential obstacles.

  “Step one is getting onto the island,” he said. “Once we’re there, we’ll move toward the inner research compound.”

  “What do you mean by ‘move toward’?” Nikki asked cautiously.

  “We’ll pose as military contractors,” he said. “Full disguises—tactical suits, coded masks, forged IDs. It’ll give us the ten minutes we need to get inside.”

  “So we need fake identification,” September said, already tracking ahead.

  “Exactly. Just temporary credentials,” Drails said. “Enough to make us look official, nothing more.”

  “I can take care of that,” Nikki said, pulling out her phone with a smirk. “Give me a few hours.”

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  “Good. But remember, the main goal hasn’t changed: we infiltrate, identify the researchers, gain their cooperation—or improvise if we must.”

  “We already know where the Armonk is,” I pointed out. “Why involve them at all?”

  “Because,” he replied, “if we get caught without clearance or credentials, it won’t matter how close we are. The second we’re flagged as outsiders, we’re dead.”

  That shut us up. The room went quiet, the weight of the mission settling over us like storm clouds.

  Tisiah broke the silence. “Actually… I might know someone who can help.”

  We all looked up. Even September’s guarded expression softened with curiosity.

  “He’s a former contact,” Tisiah continued. “We worked together before your promotion,” he added, gesturing to me. “He’s not exactly field-ready anymore, but he still does… off-the-record work. Kind of a ghost, but useful.”

  “What’s his name?” I asked.

  “Devon Coach.”

  I raised a brow. “Sounds like he belongs courtside.”

  “Is he reliable?” Nikki asked, folding her arms with skepticism.

  “If he wasn’t,” Tisiah snapped, “I wouldn’t bring him up.”

  “What’s his specialty?” Mr. Drails asked, now interested.

  “Credentials. Passports. Military IDs. Financial clearances. He can forge anything.”

  “Perfect,” Drails said. “Find him. If he’s willing, we move tomorrow. But make sure he understands—this isn’t a light job. We need perfection.”

  Tisiah nodded. “Understood.”

  “When the scientist confirms the location,” Drails continued, “I’ll go in with you and Malachi. Nikki and September will provide backup. When we breach the compound, Nikki, you’ll create a distraction using your Perk. It’ll buy us our entry window.”

  “Sounds fun,” Nikki said, cracking her knuckles.

  “We’re assuming the Armonk is mobile—or at least compact. If it’s a large device, stealth becomes our best asset. Once we find it, we’ll exfiltrate through my portal.”

  “And if we’re followed?” I asked.

  “We’ll deal with it,” Drails said. “We’ve faced worse.”

  Malachi clapped me on the back. “Relax. We’ve got Perks. We’ll be fine.”

  I tried to nod, but unease pulled at the edges of my thoughts.

  “Alright,” Drails said. “Tisiah—go. The rest of you, gear up. We leave soon.”

  The briefing ended, and we spilled into the hallway. Tisiah moved quickly, already dialing his contact. I jogged to catch up.

  “Hey,” I said, tapping his shoulder. “I’m coming with you.”

  He gave a crooked grin. “Didn’t know you cared so much.”

  “Let’s just say I don’t like sitting around waiting for answers.”

  “Fair enough.”

  We left the academy together, following the winding path that led into town. The sun was high in the sky, a brilliant blue stretching overhead like it had no idea what kind of plans we were making beneath it.

  “So,” I asked as we walked, “how do you know this guy?”

  “Years ago,” Tisiah said, hands in his pockets. “We worked the same floor—covert surveillance division. He was the best at slipping through the cracks. Reminded me of Malachi.”

  I snorted. “Except smarter?”

  “Way smarter,” he confirmed. “But he never showed it. Had that whole ‘bad-boy-who’s-secretly-fragile’ thing going. Scared of his own shadow, but always five steps ahead. Made him dangerous.”

  “He sounds like someone who wouldn’t betray us,” I said.

  “He wouldn’t,” Tisiah replied with certainty.

  We reached a quiet corner of the city. It felt normal here—people walking dogs, kids playing in the park, couples holding hands. The air smelled like fresh coffee and grilled food, the kind of comfort you forgot existed when you were neck-deep in chaos.

  The café stood just beyond a row of trees, modest and clean, with a red-and-blue exterior and a sign that read The Limit.

  Inside, the atmosphere was bright and modern. A man stood behind the counter, muscular and stone-faced. He looked up. “Can I help you?”

  Tisiah shook his head. “Just looking for someone.”

  We scanned the tables.

  Empty.

  “Maybe he’s out back,” I offered, glancing toward the hallway behind the counter.

  Then, the door behind us creaked open.

  A man stepped through—blond, lean, sharp eyes and a scar under his left one. Neatly trimmed facial hair and an aura that screamed, I don’t make mistakes.

  As soon as he spotted Tisiah, his eyes lit up.

  “Well, well,” he said, smirking. “Look what the cat dragged in.”

  Tisiah grinned. “Devon Coach.”

  With that, our infiltration plan gained a new player. And the mission to steal the Armonk had officially begun.