He looked at Brenna. She met his eyes. No fear. Only focus.
They nodded.
Colt stepped in first, weapon raised.
And then a gunshot shattered the silence.
----- ? ----
Chapter Eighteen
----- ? ----
The door creaked open with a groan that scraped down Brenna’s spine. The interior of Timberline swallowed them whole, thick with shadows and stale heat.
Colt moved in beside her, silent and solid, and the door closed behind them with a softclick. The darkness pressed in like a weight.
She couldn’t see squat. Not the floor, not the walls, not the nightmare that lived in this place.
Her breath hitched. Just for a second.
The scent was the first trigger—old wood, rusted metal, something sour underneath it all. Then the sound of a pipe groaning above them brought another wave crashing in. She was back in the compound, crouched behind crates, heart about to blow through her ribs, Zachary bleeding out beside her.
No. Not now.
She clenched her fists and focused on Colt’s steady shape beside her. He pulled out the small flashlight, clamped it between his teeth, and clicked it on. The narrow beam carved a path through the dark. He kept it angled down, sweeping slow and careful.
She knew why.
IEDs.
The kind that didn’t care who you were.
Every step felt like a test. Her boot met the floor with a feather-light press, and still her heart pounded like a drumline in her chest.
A shot cracked from somewhere deep in the building. Sharp. Close.
She flinched. Colt froze.
A muffled shout followed, low and unintelligible.
Her comm crackled. “I’m in the back,” Harlan’s voice said. “Making my way toward you. Do we know who fired?”
Brenna whispered, “No.” Her voice barely scraped past her throat.
Colt’s jaw clenched around the flashlight. He moved again, methodical, steady. She followed, eyes locked on the floor, on his boots, on the light that showed every splinter, every nail head, every inch of risk.
Another groan from the walls. A scuff from somewhere to the left.
Her pulse jumped.
Colt raised a fist. They stopped. Waited.
The silence clawed at her. Her skin prickled. No footsteps. No voices. Then, another shot. Closer.
And this time, a scream. Cut short.
Brenna’s breath left her in a rush. She met Colt’s eyes in the narrow beam. No words. Just the look they’d both worn too many times.
