Ronan looks up instantly. “What kind of something?”
“Operational,” I say. “Not names. Not locations.”
“Thinking,” he says.
“Yes.”
I pull up a comparative map—old movement patterns versus new.
“He’s tightening security aroundroutes, not sites,” I continue. “Which means he knows how you’d approach extraction.”
Ronan’s expression hardens.
“Jonah.”
“I don’t know.”
I swallow hard. “But it’s not enough to stop you.”
He studies the data. “No.”
I zoom in farther, isolating anomalies.
“There,” I say suddenly.
Ronan leans in.
A supply depot—unimportant on paper. No guards were increased—no visible interest.
But the traffic pattern is wrong.
“He thinks you’ll avoid it,” I say. “Because it looks like bait.”
Ronan stares at the screen.
Then smiles.
Slow. Dangerous.
“That’s where we go first,” he says.
I meet his gaze. “You’ll find one of them there.”
He doesn’t ask how I know.
He trusts me.
“Malenkov made his mistake,” I say quietly. “He assumed breaking one man would make the rest collapse.”
Ronan’s voice drops to a vow. “It won’t.”
I reach for his hand.
“He just started the clock.”
Outside, the sun rises over the water like nothing in the world is wrong.
But somewhere underground, men who believe they’ve been forgotten are still holding on.
