Cam: Will do. How is she? Really?
I look down at Kiera's face, sleeping peacefully for the first time in days. The tension lines have smoothed out. She looks younger like this. Softer. Like the girl she might have been if Wade hadn't killed her mom and stolen her childhood.
Me: She's surviving. That's all any
of us can do right now.
Cam: That's not an answer.
Me: It's the only one I have.
I set the phone aside and close my eyes, just for a moment. Just to rest them.
I wake to darkness and the rich smell of coffee. Kiera is gone from beside me, the blanket still warm where she was. I find her in the main room, showered and dressed in tactical black, her wet hair pulled back in a tight braid. She's eating a protein bar and reviewing Cam's security breakdown on the monitors, her eyes sharp and focused. "You let me sleep," I accuse.
She glances over her shoulder, a small, tired smile playing at her lips. "You looked peaceful. Figured you needed it as much as I did."
"I told you four hours…" I mutter, rubbing my hand over my face as I step closer.
"And I slept for three and a half," she interrupts, smirking like she’s proud of doing the bare minimum. "Then I woke up, showered, ate, and let you have another hour. You're welcome."
I move behind her, wrapping my arms around her waist, pulling her back against my chest. She leans into me automatically like she’s decided I’m safe. "You feeling better?" I ask, my voice low against her ear as I keep my arms wrapped around her waist.
"No," she says honestly, her voice quiet but steady. "But I'm functional. That's enough."
Lila walks in carrying a duffel bag that clanks ominously. "Goody bags are ready,” she announces. “I've got flash-bangs, smoke grenades, and enough C4 to level a city block if this goes sideways."
"Let's hope it doesn't come to that," Cam says from his corner, eyes glued to the monitor. "But if it does…at least we'll have Lila’s signature ‘subtle’ demolition package ready. Nothing says low profile like leveling half the mountain."
I check my watch. 1900 hours. Five hours until we leave. Seven until midnight. "Final gear check," I announce. "Weapons, comms, body armor. Cam, you're moving to the cabin close to the Nesting House to run surveillance?"
He nods in confirmation. "I'll have eyes on every camera, control over their locks and alarms. If anything moves that shouldn't, you'll know about it before they do."
"Lila, you're on the perimeter with the truck?"
"Yep," Lila flashes a quick grin. "Engine running, back doors open, ready to haul ass the second you come out with the kids."
I look at Kiera next. "You and I are going in through the east service entrance. We clear the dormitories first, get the kids out, then we head to the administrative wing for the files."
"And if we run into my mom?" she asks, her voice quiet but steady, the question hanging heavy between us.
"Then we find out if she's really been underground for sixteen years," I reply. "Or if this is another layer of the game."
Kiera's jaw tightens as she stares at the monitor. "She's alive. I know she is."
"I believe you," I say. And I do. The video was too detailed, too recent. But belief doesn't mean I'm walking in blind. Evelyn Hawthornedisappeared for sixteen years. People don't vanish that completely without learning how to lie very, very well.
"What about resistance?" Lila asks, her voice tight. "Guards, staff, whoever's running the place now?"
"We’ll go in quietly," I say. "Suppressed weapons, non-lethal when possible. But if anyone gets between those kids and us..." I didn't finish the sentence. I don't need to.
Kiera steps away from me, moving to the weapons table. She picks up her Glock, checks the magazine, the chamber, and the sight with practiced, efficient movements. When she's satisfied, she holsters it and grabs a tactical vest.
"Seven hours," she says, more to herself than to us. "Seven hours and we find out the truth about everything." She meets my eyes. About whether we were engineered or chosen. About whether her mom is a savior or a monster. About whether the boy in the basement was me or someone else entirely.
I move to my own gear, strapping on body armor, checking weapons, running through the plan one more time in my head. This is what I do. This is what I'm good at. Clean extractions. Precise executions. Getting in and out before anyone knew I was there.
But this isn't a job. This is Kiera's past—and possibly her future. These are seventeen kids living the nightmare we barely survived. These are answers we might not want to find.
