Focus. I needed to focus.
Evelyn was a fighter. She’d hold until Ethan got there. Right now, there were five people inside that building who could shut down this whole operation if we didn’t move fast. I nodded to Flynn and Rafe, our shadows stretching long against the equipment building’s wall. Three fingers up, two, one—and we were through the door, the world condensing to the next five seconds of controlled violence.
The door gave way under Rafe’s boot, the electronic lock shorting out. Light flooded over us, harsh fluorescent strips that turned the narrow hallway into an overexposed photograph. My pupils contracted painfully as we pushed forward, weapons up, moving in the staggered formation we’d practiced a thousand times.
“Contact right!” Flynn barked as we rounded the corner.
Two guards in HighPlains tactical gear stood from a break table, coffee mugs shattering on the floor as they scrambled for their sidearms. Behind them, through an open doorway, I spotted three figures in lab coats hunched over computer terminals. The tech team’s faces drained of color as they registered our presence.
Everything happened at once.
The first guard cleared his holster faster than I expected, squeezing off two rounds that cracked past my ear and thudded into the wall behind me. I dropped to one knee, returning fire with three controlled shots, center mass. He folded backwards over a chair, weapon clattering to the ground.
The second guard was better—ex-military by his stance. He’d already taken cover behind a metal cabinet, his weapon trained on Flynn, who’d rolled left behind a desk.
“Down!” Rafe shouted, already throwing himself sideways as a burst of automatic fire tore through the space we’d just occupied.
The confined space turned gunfire into physical pain, each shot a hammer blow against my eardrums. Shell casings pinged against the tile floor, the smell of cordite thick in my nostrils. My world narrowed to angles and threats, the part of me that was still thinking about Evelyn locked away behind combat instinct.
Flynn popped up from behind the desk, firing two quick shots that forced the guard back into cover. I used the distraction to slide forward, getting a better angle on his position. Just as I lined up my shot, Rafe moved to flank from the other side.
The guard spotted him at the last second, swinging his weapon toward the new threat. I heard the distinctive thwack of rounds hitting body armor, saw Rafe stagger backward, his breath leaving him in a pained grunt. But his vest held, stopping the rounds from penetrating.
“Son of a bitch,” Rafe wheezed, still managing to keep his weapon up despite the impact.
Flynn seized the opening, rising from cover. Two shots in quick succession, and the second guard dropped, a red stain spreading across his chest.
“Clear!” I called, already moving toward the room with the technicians. “Flynn, check Rafe.”
“I’m fine,” Rafe insisted, though his voice was thin with pain. “Bruised ribs, maybe cracked. Nothing broken.”
The three techs had their hands raised before I even reached them, fear etched across their faces. None of them looked like fighters—two men and a woman, all with the soft physiques of people who spent their lives in front of screens.
“Please,” the woman said, her voice high and tight. “We’re just contractors. We didn’t know what this was for.”
“On your knees, hands behind your heads,” I ordered, not bothering to acknowledge her plea. They complied instantly,practically falling over themselves to follow directions. Flynn appeared beside me, zip ties already in hand.
“Secure them,” I said. “I need to see what they were working on.”
CHAPTER 18
TRENT
While Flynn boundthe technicians and Rafe recovered his breath, I examined the computer setup. What I found made my throat go dry.
This wasn’t just transmission equipment. The main console sprawled across three workstations, each screen displaying different data streams. One showed a satellite view of Garnett, overlaid with blinking dots—blue for controlled subjects, red for “resistant” individuals.
Another screen displayed biometric data: heart rates, body temperatures, neural activity patterns, all tied to individual subjects. They weren’t just controlling these people. They were monitoring them like lab rats, collecting data on their responses.
The third screen showed security feeds from the mining facility. My stomach turned as I watched the images cycle through holding cells. Men and women strapped to hospital beds, electrodes attached to their heads, some thrashing against restraints while others lay unnaturally still. Among them, I recognized faces from town: Beth Morris and others who must have resisted the initial control attempts.
This wasn’t just mind control. This was torture disguised as science.
“Jesus,” Flynn breathed, looking over my shoulder. “How many people do they have?”
“At least twelve by my count.” I pulled a data drive from my pocket and jammed it into a port on the main system. “Downloading everything. Oz and Kate will need this.”
The feed switched to a larger room, where white-coated technicians moved between beds containing more townspeople—these ones docile, staring at the ceiling with the same vacant expression I’d seen on Beth’s face. One technician adjusted an IV bag that was infusing clear fluid into a teenage boy’s arm. Another checked readings on a tablet connected to electrodes on an elderly woman’s head.
