It was a pass-through.
Ghost’s voice crackled softly in my ear. “Wrecker. Found something.”
I doubled back just long enough to see what he was pointing at. A burner phone smashed against the wall, casing cracked but not destroyed. Ghost knelt, carefully lifting it with gloved fingers.
“It’s Scout’s model,” he said quietly. “Same batch.”
My vision tunneled.
“Can you pull anything?” Cap asked.
Ghost nodded. “SIM’s gone. But there’s a partial number burned into the casing. Same prefix Scout used.”
Scout had been here.
Alive long enough to carry a phone.
Alive long enough for them to take it from him.
I forced myself forward before the rage could root me to the floor.
I took the stairs down two at a time. Concrete under my boots. Cracked walls closing in tighter the farther I descended. The air grew colder, heavier, like the building itself was holding its breath.
Halfway down, I heard it.
A cry. Female. Sharp and terrified.
Not Amanda.
I ran anyway.
The door at the bottom was half-hinged. I slammed into it, sending it crashing inward.
Chaos.
Two girls. One crumpled on the floor, clutching her arm, blood soaking through her sleeve. Fear radiated off her in waves, eyes glassy and unfocused. The other was standing.
Amanda.
Blood smeared across her shirt. Hair wild. Eyes burning with a fury I’d never seen before.
A man twice her size had her pinned against the wall, forearm jammed across her chest.
She wasn’t screaming.
She wasn’t begging.
She was fighting.
A shard of metal flashed in her hand, slashing across his cheek as he tried to overpower her. Her arm shook with exhaustion, breath coming in sharp, ragged pulls, but she didn’t stop. Didn’t give him an inch.
For one terrifying second, I thought I was too late.
Then her eyes locked on mine.
Recognition flared there.
She didn’t freeze.
