Druid Hill Park Trail, Baltimore


    The sun hammered down, relentless. Sweat trickled down Alex Dugan''s temple as he ran, his Nikes striking the dirt in a steady, controlled rhythm. The Druid Hill Park Trail wound through towering trees, a brook murmuring somewhere beyond the bush. Scenic—nothing like the war zones he used to navigate.


    He''d been on this trail every morning for the past month. Knew its bends. The footbridges. The places where the trees broke just enough for the sun to spill through. A good place.


    His breathing stayed measured as he slowed near a clearing, pulling out a water bottle. He tipped it back, letting the cool relief spread through him. His shirt clung to his skin, soaked. Good burn.


    Jogging again, he pushed toward the trail''s end, where the dirt gave way to asphalt. Cars rolled lazily down residential streets. Suburbia. A world that felt foreign but necessary. By the time he reached his apartment complex, his legs were screaming. He checked his watch.


    17:12.


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    Not a PR, but close.


    Inside, he nodded at the receptionist and headed for the elevator. Seventh floor. A small apartment, but it was enough. Flatscreen. Couch. A bed. A kitchen. Simple. Functional.


    He stripped off his shirt, cranked the shower, and let the water run hot. Minutes later, he emerged, scrubbing a towel through his hair. And then pulling on a gray muscle shirt and jeans.


    Then—the SIG.


    He dropped onto the couch, picking up the SIG P226 MK25 from the table. Standard issue for SEALs, and the past piece of his past he still carried. He grabbed a SureFire X300, slid it onto the rail, and locked it in place.


    Flick. momentary burst. Another flick. Constant beam. No flicker. No lag. Good.


    He racked the slide. Full mag. Smooth chambering. Muscle memory. He could field strip, clean, and reassemble a SIG Sauer blindfolded—and had. His weapon was his lifeline.


    Then—his phone buzzed.


    He glanced at the name. Ryan Alden.


    He answered. "Ryan."


    "Got a client meeting for you."


    Dugan grabbed a protein shake from the fridge. "Yeah? What''s the job?"


    "Security detail. Construction site manager—just secured a spot for a family-run bakery. Wants to make sure nothing goes sideways."


    "Bad neighborhood?"


    "Could be. He''s not saying much over the phone. We''ll get the details on location."


    Dugan downed the shake in three gulps, rinsed the bottle. "Alright. I''ll be there."


    "Good. Sending you the address now."


    The call ended. A text followed. He read it once, then locked his phone.