Chapter 8 - THE STINGThe warehouse exploded in a roar of flame and twisted metal. Thorne’s men were disoriented, scrambling for cover.

I wasn't alone anymore.
A fleet of black tactical SUVs crashed through the warehouse walls—Admiral Bennett’s personal strike force. They hadn't followed me; they had been tracking the helicopter's flight path all along.
The firefight was short, violent, and clinical. Within minutes, Thorne was in cuffs, staring at me with a mix of hatred and begrudging respect.
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"You played the long game," he hissed.
"I learned it from you," I said.