The headlights cut through the darkness as Jeremiah raced down the familiar streets with a singular focus—his daughter’s safety. Memories of his military operations flooded back, where precision and timing were everything. His heart pounded not from fear, but from the adrenaline of a man ready to protect what mattered most.
As he pulled up to the house, the scene that greeted him was all too familiar from stories he had heard—a group of men gathered around, their voices boisterous and unchecked under the influence of too much alcohol. The door opened slightly, and there was Shane, silhouetted by the porch light. His laugh died in his throat when he saw Jeremiah step out of the vehicle, flanked by two of his closest Marine buddies.
Jeremiah’s presence was commanding, the years of discipline etched into his every movement. “Where’s Emily?” he demanded, his voice low but carrying unmistakable authority.
