Martinez’s POVThe basement holding room was cold and smelled of damp concrete. A single bulb hung from a black wire in the center of the ceiling, casting a harsh glare over the man tied to the heavy chair. His face was pale, his dark tactical shirt torn at the shoulder where Team Alpha had pinned him down in the dirt. Gustavo stood in the shadow behind the chair, his arms crossed over his chest, his face completely expressionless.I walked into the room, leaving the heavy wooden door slightly open. I had not put on a shirt; my bare torso was still exposed. I didn't carry a weapon in my hand. I didn't need one. The sheer weight of my presence inside these four walls was enough to change the pressure in the room.The scout looked up, his eyes wide and bloodshot as my boots clicked against the concrete floor. He swallowed hard, his jaw trembling."Name," I said, my voice a flat, low rumble that bounced off the bare walls.The man swallowed again, shaking his head. "I don't... I’m just
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