The injured and the missing

As the clock ticking got louder, Jason tapped his fingers on the edge of his desk, his patience wearing thin. Each second felt like an hour.

He had expected an update by now, something to confirm that the plan had gone off without a hitch. Instead, there was nothing but silence, and it was gnawing at him.

“Where the hell are they?” he muttered under his breath, standing up abruptly.

The silence in the room felt suffocating, the only sound was the rhythmic thud of his boots against the hardwood floor as he began pacing.

He tried to distract himself, focus on something else—anything—but his mind kept circling back to the same question: 'Why hadn’t they called?'

Anxiety was creeping in, an uncomfortable itch he couldn’t shake. His gut told him something wasn’t right, but he shoved the thought aside.

He had learned to trust his instincts in this business, yet today, his nerves felt raw, and exposed. His jaw clenched. It was supposed to be a simple job. Why the hell was it taking so lo