Page 23 of Controlled Drift
He watched the first clash unfold in clean, brutal efficiency.
The men didn’t even have time to react.
Ethan tracked the takedown frame by frame, impressed despite himself.The speed was ruthless.Efficient.No wasted motion, no hesitation, no need for correction.Five armed men neutralized in seconds, bodies hitting the ground before the next breath could be drawn.
You’re pissed,he thought as he watched Niko move through them like a blade.And you’re still exactly who I remember.
A corner of his mouth lifted despite the knot tightening in his chest.
He saw it clearly on the feed—the split-second pause at the threshold, Niko’s eyes snapping to the lock on the door, the immediate flare of irritation when he realized it hadn’t been forced.
That it was unlocked.
Ethan felt a flicker of grim satisfaction.You noticed,he thought.Good.
The second team appeared right on schedule, coming in from the south.Professionals again.Too confident.Too late.
Ethan split his screens, tracking both fights at once.
Tane and Victor hit the southern group hard and fast, funneling them exactly where Ethan’s terrain modeling said they would.Drew and Kael closed from angles that left no escape.It was textbook Black Tide—and terrifyingly effective.
The southern engagement collapsed almost as quickly as it began, bodies dropping out of frame one by one until only stillness remained on that feed.
Ethan barely registered it.Because Niko breached the house.Ethan felt it like a physical thing.
He watched Niko pause just inside the door, shoulders tight, eyes sweeping.
He saw the confusion next.
Niko moving through the space like a man trying to reconcile memory with reality.Taking in the concrete floors, the steel beams, the sterile perfection.
The look on his face twisted something in Ethan’s chest.
“Yeah,” Ethan muttered under his breath.“I know.”
Because this place wasn’t home.It was a stage.Ethan had never even slept here.Not once.The house existed for one reason only—to be found by his father.
A decoy dressed up as permanence.
His real life—his real home—was three hours south, tucked into terrain no one would think to search, shielded by distance, anonymity, and layers of misdirection that had nothing to do with architecture magazines.
And Poppy was nowhere near this place.
He would never have put her here.Never risked her for convenience or ego.This house was a magnet for violence by design.
Time compressed.
The teams converged fast.
Ethan watched the last of the attackers drop outside, the property momentarily still.Black Tide regrouped inside the house, weapons up, adrenaline humming.
Then his alerts flared red.
A third wave.
Larger.Heavier.Coming in from the east.
“Of course,” he murmured.“You boys really don’t know when to quit.”
