The bolts are deep.
Industrial anchors.
But the floor?
The floor is old.
I rock again.
Harder this time.
The chair scrapes a fraction of an inch.
Pain flares through my ribs, but I don’t stop.
I don’t need hope.
Hope gets people killed.
What I need…
Is one mistake.
Just one.
And when it comes—
I’ll take everything from her.
32
Trigger
The processing plant looks dead.
Which means it isn’t.
Three stories of concrete rise out of the fog, rusted catwalks hanging like broken ribs along the sides of the structure. Most of the windows are dark.
But not all of them.
One generator is running.
Which means someone wants power.
Which means someone expects company.
Two heat signatures move along the second floor.
Guards.
And one more.
Lower.
Still.
“That’s him,” Wolf murmurs beside me, studying the thermal feed on the tablet. “Basement level. Center structure.”
