He took off to the left, disappearing into the tree line with barely a sound.
Colt turned toward the front entrance. Brenna already moved ahead of him, steps light, body low. She used the trees for cover, blending into shadow and brush. He followed, every nerve stretched tight. The scent of sunbaked dirt filled his lungs. Timberline loomed ahead, all cracked stone and rusted metal, a graveyard full of ghosts.
And one of them had come back to finish what they’d started.
Colt froze mid-step. His eyes narrowed on the patch of ground just ahead. The dirt looked off. Too loose. Shifted, like it had been dug up and covered again.
Brenna stopped beside him. She saw it too.
Colt crouched, scanned the spot, and caught the faint glint of metal just below the surface.
“IED,” he said quietly. “Partially buried. Looks pressure-triggered.”
They backed off slowly, careful where they stepped. Every inch mattered now.
Through the comm, Harlan’s voice came sharp. “Got an IED on the west side, too. Same setup.”
Colt’s jaw locked. Booby traps. Classic misdirection. Meant to slow them down, maybe herd them where the killer wanted them.
“I’m approaching the rear of the building now,” Harlan added. “The door’s wide open.”
“Be careful,” was all Colt could say because he knew without a doubt that Harlan would be going in. And that someone would no doubt be waiting for him.
The open door wasn’t an invitation. It was the beginning of the trap.
Colt and Brenna kept moving, weaving through the last stretch of trees, steps slow and deliberate. Sweat rolled down Colt’s back, but he didn’t feel the heat. All his focus was on the path ahead.
“Noah,” Brenna whispered, “we’re approaching the front.”
His response came back fast and low. “Garrett and Cal just arrived. They’re coming up behind you.”
Good. But Colt didn’t feel any safer.
They reached the edge of the tree line. No more cover beyond this point. Just open ground and the entrance to Timberline. Half-collapsed steps, rusted-out doors. All of it waiting.
Colt raised his weapon and scanned the roof. Then the trees to the side. Nothing. No gleam of glass, no shadow that didn’t belong.
But that didn’t mean someone wasn’t out there.
He looked at Brenna. She gave a single nod.
They stepped out.
Colt moved with Brenna across the last stretch of ground, eyes sweeping every inch for more IEDs. The dirt near the entrance looked undisturbed, but that didn’t mean it was safe. Nothing about this place was.
The front door loomed ahead. Metal, dented and rusted, but still solid in its frame. A scarred relic from the last time evil lived here.
Colt shifted to the right. Brenna took the left. They moved like they had a hundred times before—silent, in sync.
He reached for the handle, half expecting it to be locked, wired, or both. But the moment he touched it, the thing creaked open. Slow. Loud. The sound scraped against his nerves.
Beyond it, nothing but black.
It hit him hard. The way the dark swallowed everything past the threshold. Like a mouth waiting to close around them.
The cave.
His chest tightened. He pushed it back. This wasn’t then. But it felt too damn close. God, don’t let it be another cave-in.
