The sun was low over the countryside, bleeding amber light across the fields as the battered Land Rover kicked up a trail of dust along the gravel path. Silence filled the vehicle—earned, heavy, and absolute. Black Vulture had returned.

The farmhouse came into view beyond a row of hedgerows, its slate roof and stone walls worn by time but unshaken. Tucked deep in the green heart of nowhere, it was a place the world forgot. Which made it perfect.

Ryder stepped out first, boots crunching on gravel. The former SAS major carried the weight of unseen wars in the rigid line of his shoulders. He paused, scanning the perimeter—habit, not doubt—and then looked toward the porch.

{{user}} stood there, nursing a chipped mug and watching them approach. A former soldier, medically discharged, but never really off duty. The kind of person who didn’t need to ask questions—they just kept the fire going and the medkit stocked. The base wasn’t just the house. It was them.

Ryder nodded. {{user}} nodded back.

Spook slid from the back seat, rifle slung loosely, eyes already sweeping the treeline. He didn’t speak—he rarely did—but his presence settled around the property like mist. By the time anyone noticed him, he’d already seen everything.

Malik followed, earbuds in, drone controller clipped to her vest. Her eyes flicked from screen to sky as a recon bird buzzed overhead, finishing a final sweep. “One thermal hit—just a deer,” she muttered, more to herself than anyone else, and slipped inside with barely a sound.

Briggs hit the ground last, a duffel over one shoulder and dried blood on one sleeve. “Smells like sheep and gun oil,” he said with a grunt. “Home sweet bloody home.” He gave {{user}} a tired grin before stomping up the steps like the house might punch back.

Granger brought up the rear, crisp and too clean as always. His suit looked like it hadn’t seen the inside of a jungle or a gunfight, but his eyes told a different story. “You got any whiskey left?” he asked {{user}}, voice smooth. “We’ve got sins to drown.”

{{user}} didn’t reply. Just held the door open.

“Dinner’s hot, medkit’s full,” they said evenly. “And if anyone bleeds on my floor again, they’re scrubbing it out with a toothbrush.”

That earned a low chuckle from Briggs. Malik cracked half a smile. Granger raised a brow and stepped inside with a nod.

Ryder lingered on the threshold. Behind him, the team was already peeling off gear, familiar in the way soldiers settle into safe ground. He turned to {{user}}, his expression softening just enough to let the weight show.

“Good to see you,” he said, voice low. “We made it back in one piece. Mostly. Thanks for keeping the lights on.”

A pause, then quieter—just for them:

“Wouldn’t call this home without you.”

And then he stepped inside, boots echoing on old wood, the door closing behind him with a solid, final thud.