I tapped the map, selecting a vector so quiet it barely registered.
“We move like we’re already inside,” I said. “Shadow his timing. Mirror his pace.”
Russ’s voice dropped. “And Scout?”
A muscle jumped in my jaw.
“She’s the anchor,” I said. “As long as she holds, he can’t run.”
Boone’s console chimed again—this time sharp.
“Logan,” he said. “New internal routing just opened. He’s shifting assets closer to her.”
I nodded once.
“Good,” I said. “That means he’s afraid of what she might do next.”
I grabbed my gear and headed for the door.
“Lock us into silence,” I ordered. “No chatter. No ghosts.”
Because Sentinel thought he was dangling bait.
What he didn’t understand—
Was that Scout Fallon wasn’t prey?
She was theline.
And the moment Sentinel crossed it.
The hunt was over
15
Scout
The cost comes quietly.
No alarms. No guards rushing in.
Just the lights dimming another fraction—and the temperature dropping enough that my breath fogs when I exhale.
Sentinel is tightening the environment.
I sit on the concrete floor this time, back against the wall, palms flat beside me. Grounded. Present. Listening.
Then the door opens.
Not Sentinel.
A woman this time.
Mid-thirties. Medical fatigues. Her hands are shaking despite the calm face she’s trying to wear.
“Don’t,” I say softly before she can speak. “Don’t apologize.”
She swallows. “I—I was told to administer—”
