"Yeah. I'm here."
"Good. Because we're not done yet."
He's right. We just blew up their operation's headquarters. Exposed their network. Killed one of their operators.
They'll come for us. Hard. Fast. Organized.
And we need to be ready.
"Viktor Petrov," I say. "They took him from the hospital for a reason. Either to eliminate him or to use him."
"Or both." Rhys turns onto Ridge Road. "If he saw something at the facility, if he can identify who's running the operation?—"
"Then they'll interrogate him. Get everything he knows. Then kill him."
"Unless we find him first."
My phone comes out, security footage already queued. Fast-forward to this morning, watch the timestamp when we were checking the access points.
There. A vehicle entering the compound. Dark SUV. No plates visible. Drives straight to the equipment shed where we found Viktor yesterday.
Someone was there while we were out checking fence lines. Someone who knew exactly where to look.
It has to be inside access.
"Someone at the company is working with them," I say. "One of the six people with administrative access. They knew we found Viktor. Knew we'd be investigating. They probably called in the tactical team to clean up."
"Can you identify who?"
The footage won't give me that—resolution too low, windows tinted. "Not from this. But I can cross-reference who was on-site this morning. Who had access to the security system to see where we were."
Rhys nods. "Do it. We need a name."
Ahead, Wells's patrol SUV appears, lights flashing. He pulls across both lanes, gets out with weapon drawn, scanning for threats.
Rhys stops the truck, rolls down his window. "Clear. For now."
Wells approaches, takes in the cracked rear window, the damage to the truck, to us. "What the hell happened?"
"Trafficking operation tried to eliminate witnesses," Rhys says. "We declined."
"How many?"
"Four confirmed at the site. One deceased. Three still active." Rhys kills the engine. "We need to coordinate with state police. Get tactical support. These aren't amateurs."
"I'll call it in." Wells moves back to his vehicle.
Rhys looks at me—really looks, checking for injury, for shock, for signs of collapse.
He won't find any. Crisis negotiation taught me how to function through trauma. How to compartmentalize fear and keep moving. How to do the job even when every instinct screams to run.
"You did good back there," he says.
"So did you."
We hold each other's gaze. Something passes between us—recognition maybe, or respect. Two people who've been in the fire and came out the other side.
Two people who aren't done fighting yet.
