Five klicks.
Five fucking klicks.
My mind spins through the map automatically: terrain, routes, cover points, and extraction options. I push off the floor, staggering to my feet with a guttural groan. Every part of me protests, but adrenaline drowns the pain. With gritted teeth, I pull my vest over my head and cinch it tight. I shove spare mags into it, my fingers clumsy from exhaustion and tremors I can’t control.
Jagger steps beside me, catching my arm. “Hawk, slow down?—”
“I’m not slowing down.” I keep grabbing gear, loading weight onto a body that can barely carry itself.
“You’re not up for this?” He gives me a sidelong look as he slides a fresh mag into his rifle.
“We move now. If there’s even a chance that’s her, we’re going now.”
“Hawk… Chris… Listen to me.” Jagger’s tone hardens, the officer in him surfacing. “You can’t even stand straight. You’ll be a dead weight out there.”
“I’d rather die out there than sit here doing nothing.” The words come out as a snarl, mostly—but not entirely—from the pain. “You think I can wait here, twiddling my fucking thumbs and listening to the comms while she’s out there, scared and alone?”
Jagger takes a deep breath, and I can see the war raging behind his eyes: the soldier who knows he’s right and the friend who knows I won’t listen.
Mattis’s voice crackles through the phone, cutting through the tension. “I’ll ping coordinates directly to your HUD and keep the feed up. If the signal strengthens.”
“Do it,” I bark.
Jagger curses under his breath but doesn’t stop me as I sling the rifle over my shoulder.
Outside, Gunnar and Damon are already at the Humvee. The engine is rumbling, and the headlights are nearly blacked out. When they see me limping toward them, theirexpressions fall somewhere between concern and grim determination.
“Mattis still on comms?” I ask.
Gunnar nods, tapping his headset. “Got him patched through to the dash. The feed is flickering in and out, but the thermal ping is still active.”
“Then we move.”
No one argues. We pile into the Humvee, the doors slamming shut behind us. With Mattis on comms, it’s almost like old times. The ride is rough, the uneven terrain unforgiving in my wounded state. The vibration runs through my ribs like fire, but I grit my teeth and stare out the window, scanning the darkness for any hint of movement.
Mattis’s voice cuts through the static. “I’m getting a heat spike—just off the ridge, old supply depot, marked defunct on the grid. Minimal power draw, no heavy guard movement. Could be a ghost site.”
Could be her…
“Could also be a trap,” Damon warns from behind the wheel.
The Humvee jolts to a stop as we crest the ridge. Below us, the structure sprawls low and long, the metal siding faded and windows cracked. A rusted chain-link fence sags around the perimeter, more for show than security. “Looks too easy,” Gunnar says, peering through the sight of his rifle.
“Nothing about this is easy,” I snap, gripping mine tighter.
We move out on foot, the crunch of gravel the only sound in the desert. I motion with two fingers toward the building. Damon peels right, Gunnar left, Jagger stays close to me.
“Two guards, east corner,” Jagger whispers into the comms. “Low alert.”
“Take them.”
He doesn’t hesitate. Two silenced pops crack through the stillness. The guards drop before they can so much as register the threat.
We keep moving like ghosts in the dark. My ribs ache with every breath, but I push through it, focusing on the goal. The closer we get, the louder my heart pounds.
Mattis’s voice crackles in our ears again. “Thermal’s solid now—same position. Lower level, central structure. Can’t make out specifics through the interference.”
“Copy that,” I reply. “We’re breaching.”
