Chapter 12
The sprawling, snow-covered lawns of the Vale estate transformed into a brutal, chaotic battlefield. The freezing winter wind whipped through the bare oak trees, carrying the sharp, deafening cracks of suppressed gunfire. Tristan moved through the shadows of his own property with terrifying, fluid grace. He knew every blind spot, every angle, and every tactical advantage of the estate. A squad of four Shaw mercenaries, dressed in heavy winter combat gear, attempted to flank the main portico. Tristan stepped out from behind a massive stone pillar, entirely exposing himself to the freezing elements. He did not seek cover. He raised his weapon and fired with robotic, surgical precision. The suppressed rifle coughed rapidly. All four mercenaries dropped dead into the snow before they could even aim their weapons. "East flank is secure," Tristan stated coldly over his encrypted comms. "Push them toward the main gate. Box them in." The Vale operatives, highly trained and fiercely loyal, executed the tactical maneuver flawlessly. The invading strike team, expecting a disorganized defense, found themselves pinned down and systematically eradicated in the snow. Tristan walked slowly across the battlefield, his polished leather shoes crunching on the bloodstained snow. He approached a wounded mercenary attempting to crawl away toward the breached gate. Tristan stopped, pressing the hot barrel of his rifle against the back of the man's neck. "Who gave you the security codes to bypass the outer sensor grid?" Tristan demanded, his volume incredibly low. "Go to hell," the mercenary spat, coughing blood. Tristan didn't hesitate. He pulled the trigger, neutralizing the threat instantly. He holstered his weapon, his sharply defined jawline locking into stone. A breach of the outer grid meant one thing: the treason was internal. Someone inside the house had opened the door.
