Harlan slipped inside a few seconds later, low and quiet, his face tight.
“I’ll help,” he said.
Brenna gave a short nod and turned to the next hostage. She knelt, pulled the gag loose, and cut the ropes binding him to the wall. The man whimpered but stayed still.
Harlan moved beside her, working fast on the others.
The hostages looked dazed. Pale. Some were crying. One was praying under his breath.
Brenna checked their hands. Their eyes. Looked for anything off. One of them could be part of this. She had to be sure.
But no one had a weapon. No sudden movements. Just fear.
Real fear.
Another gunshot rang out. She flinched again, this time hard enough to make her knife hand jerk.
Harlan looked up, face grim. “Far east room. That’s where they found some of the first hostages.”
She nodded. “That’s probably where Gary is. Naomi. Beck, too.”
Her chest squeezed tight.
She pushed faster.
The last rope fell away.
Brenna’s fingers were slick with sweat. Her pulse thudded in her throat as she looked over the group, six freed but shaken figures crouched along the wall.
Harlan straightened beside her. “I’ll lead them out,” he said. “Try to get them to safety.”
Before she could answer, the comm crackled.
“Garrett and I just got here,” Cal’s voice came through, low and urgent.
Brenna’s breath hitched. Reinforcements.
Harlan responded fast. “Move in. We’ve got six hostages ready to go. I’ll need backup to get them out.”
Brenna crouched by the older woman with the head wound and helped her to her feet. The woman swayed but stayed upright.
Colt stepped back, still guarding the doorway. His face was stone.
Harlan moved down the line, lifting, steadying, whispering calm words that seemed to help.
Brenna tightened the grip on her knife and her fear. They couldn’t fall apart now.
She helped the next man up. He clung to her shoulder, legs shaking.
Gunfire echoed again, louder now, deeper in the building. She glanced toward the sound. Toward the east.
Probably where Beck was.
Time was running out.
The beam of Garrett’s helmet light cut through the dark as he stepped into the bay, rifle up, face grim beneath the gear. Cal followed close behind, checking corners with smooth, practiced sweeps.
Colt slipped his flashlight into his pocket and raised his weapon again.
