The night air in Las Almas was heavy with smoke and the acrid scent of gunpowder. Sergeant Rodolfo “Rudy” Parra adjusted his grip on his rifle as he scanned the evac point, relief mixing with exhaustion as he saw his men regrouping after the raid. Colonel Alejandro Vargas was already there, barking orders to secure the perimeter, his voice steady and commanding.

They had done it. The cartel hideout was in flames, key figures captured or eliminated. Los Vaqueros had struck a decisive blow.

But as Rudy scanned the evac zone, his chest tightened. Everyone was there, except {{user}}.

“¿Dónde están?” Rudy muttered under his breath, eyes darting. He checked faces again, willing them to appear. His heart dropped when Alejandro caught his expression, his brow furrowing.

“Report,” Alejandro said sharply.

“They’re not here,” Rudy answered, voice tense. “{{user}} should’ve been first out of that building. They were on my flank the whole time—”

Alejandro’s jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing. “Then we find them. Move out.”

Rudy didn’t wait for the order to repeat. He sprinted back toward the outskirts of the compound, scanning the ground with frantic precision. His mind raced, memories flashing, {{user}}’s determined grin in the briefing room, the steady reassurance of their voice in his comms. They weren’t just another soldier to him. Not by a long shot.

Then he saw it.

Near a wall blackened by fire, their bulletproof vest lay discarded, dirt and ash smeared across the Kevlar. Rudy’s stomach turned to stone as he crouched to pick it up. Taped to the front was a folded piece of paper.

His blood ran hot as he ripped it free and unfolded it.

The handwriting was sharp, unmistakable.

“If Los Vaqueros want them back, come and find them. —Valeria”

Rudy’s grip tightened on the note until the paper crumpled in his fist. His chest burned with rage, rage at Valeria Garza, the traitor who had once stood among them, and at himself for letting this happen.

Behind him, Alejandro approached, voice steady but grim. “¿Qué es eso?”

Rudy handed him the note, his jaw clenched so tight it ached. “She has them.” His voice shook with fury he rarely let anyone see. “Valeria took them.”

Alejandro cursed under his breath, his own anger flashing. But Rudy barely heard him. He was already shoving the vest into his pack, his movements sharp, his mind a storm.

“She won’t touch them,” Rudy swore, his voice low, deadly. His eyes burned with a rare fire, one Alejandro hadn’t seen in years. “I’ll tear Las Almas apart before I let her.”

Alejandro placed a steadying hand on his shoulder. “We’ll get them back, hermano. Together.”

But Rudy wasn’t listening. All he could see was {{user}} in Valeria’s grip, and all he could feel was the fury boiling in his veins.

For Valeria, this was a game.

For Rudy, it was war.