And they knew who had built the system.

“These guys’ handiwork is thorough,” said the wiry one. “But they’re not the only ones who know how to dismantle what they built.”

They moved in complete silence, spreading out in a loose crescent around the southern and eastern approaches to the compound. Slung over their backs were canvas duffels. Inside: siphons, rags, lighters, and jerrycans filled with petrol; harsh, chemical-scented, and potent. The kind of fire they planned to start would burn hotter than just buildings.

And then he appeared, moving differently, less like a soldier, more like a storm that had finally broken loose. Chang. He wasn’t wearing his usual gleaming shoes or the crisp silk shirts he favoured. Tonight, he was all dark and practicality: black cargo pants, combat boots laced tight, a windbreaker zipped halfway up, sleeves pushed to his elbows. There was something jarring about the gold chain still hanging around his neck, glinting in the faint light. Slung, from his belt was a dirty hessian sack, he seemed to be guarding like his most precious possession.

The three men exchanged uneasy glances. None of them had ever seen him like this. They’d heard him yell, yes but always from behind a desk, calculated, in control.

Now, there was something raw in his eyes. The tension in his jaw. The way he stalked around wanting to grab one of the jerrycans without asking for a report.

He cracked it open, dipped in a rag, and wrung it out with a snap of his wrists, the petrol dripping to the ground like blood.

“We’ve waited long enough,” he said, voice tight with venom. “They’re distracted. They’re soft. Playing house.” His eyes flicked toward the compound, toward the house that sat quiet and dark, save for the faint glow from behind the shuttered blinds of the office.

One of the men, the one with the headset, stepped forward. “Sir, we’re not ready to move yet. There’s still a sweep to finish. The southern quadrant—”

“She’s in there. Porter. And better still that South African woman is with her!” Chang cut him off, pacing now, agitation boiling under his skin. “She’s the head. The face. The heart of this goddamn place. We kill her and the ranger, the rest collapses.”