Chapter 17 - Dawn at the Marina
The morning mist rolled thick off the surface of the private harbor forty miles north of the estate. The docks were silent, save for the rhythmic lapping of dark water against the hulls of luxury yachts and abandoned cargo vessels.
A sleek, black-hulled motor yacht sat moored at the far end of the pier, its windows glowing with faint amber light. That was where Victor Thorne was currently overseeing the digital asset transfer.
Damian moved through the shadows of the shipping containers like a phantom, clad in all-black tactical gear, his face smeared with camouflage paint. Marcus flanked him to the left, carbine raised, scanning the catwalks above.
"Two guards on the foredeck, one near the bridge," Marcus whispered through the encrypted comms earpiece.
"Take the bridge," Damian replied softly. "I'll handle the deck."
Before the guards could register the movement, Damian vaulted onto the stern of the yacht, moving with terrifying speed and absolute silence. His combat knife flashed once in the dim light before the first guard crumpled silently to the teak deck. The second operative turned just in time to catch the butt of Damian’s carbine across the temple, dropping unconscious before he could draw his sidearm.
Damian didn't break stride. He kicked open the sliding glass door leading into the main salon.
Victor Thorne sat at the mahogany conference table inside, a laptop glowing brightly before him, the transfer progress bar ticking upward: 94%... 95%... 96%...
Victor didn't look up immediately. He assumed it was one of his own men returning with coffee.
"Is the perimeter secure?" Victor asked casually, his eyes fixed on the screen.
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"The perimeter is gone, Victor," Damian said, stepping into the warm light of the cabin.
Victor froze. Slowly, he raised his head, staring down the barrel of Damian’s rifle. For a brief second, a flicker of genuine shock crossed the older man's granite features, before smoothing back into a cold, calculated smirk.
