I looked at Raine one last time, her eyes locked on mine, unflinching. My chest tightened. She didn’t belong in this world, not really. But she rescued people from floods and other disasters. She has seen horror up close.
And if hell waited behind those clinic doors, I’d make sure it swallowed me before it ever touched her.
“Move,” I said.
The doors opened in unison, boots hitting the asphalt, as the desert night swallowed us whole as we fanned out toward the clinic.
64
Raine
The clinic door creaked as Adam eased it open, his Glock raised, every movement silent and precise. I followed half a step behind, my pulse hammering so hard it drowned out the hum of the old fluorescent lights.
The front lobby looked like any small-town doctor’s office—faded magazines, a row of plastic chairs, a fish tank with cloudy water and no fish. A receptionist’s desk sat empty, the computer screen still glowing.
It was too normal. Too staged.
I scanned the counter, my fingers twitching against the butt of my pistol. A coffee cup sat half-full, steam still curling faintly from the rim. Someone had just been here.
Adam’s hand came up—halt. He angled his head toward the hallway.
Voices.
Low, muffled, male.
I strained to hear. The words sent a chill racing down my spine.
“…transfer tonight. Keep the samples chilled until pickup.”
Samples.
Another voice, sharp, irritated: “They weren’t supposed to be moved yet. We’re behind schedule. Tell them preservation only holds for seventy-two hours—”
I swallowed hard, bile rising. They weren’t talking about medicine.
Adam met my eyes, his expression carved from stone. He gestured Blade forward. Silent as a shadow, Blade slipped down the hallway, knife glinting in his hand.
We followed. The air grew colder as we moved deeper, a hum vibrating faintly through the walls. Refrigeration.
The voices grew clearer, coming from a door markedSTORAGE – AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.
Adam pressed me back against the wall, his body shielding mine, his voice a whisper rough against my ear. “Stay behind me. No matter what.”
I nodded, my throat too tight to speak.
Hawk’s voice crackled softly in comms.“Rear entry clear. Two staff secured. Russ is pulling records.”
Adam gave a sharp nod, then motioned. Blade moved to one side of the door, Adam to the other. He counted down with his fingers—three, two, one—
The door burst open.
I expected shelves of medical supplies.
Instead, the freezing air hit first, sharp and sterile. Then the sight.
Rows of stainless steel refrigerators, each one marked with coded tags. Clear storage containers stacked neatly inside, condensation fogging the lids. Bags of saline. Medical trays.
And in the center—two men in lab coats, one holding a clipboard, the other reaching into a fridge. Both froze when they saw us.
