"A lab," Leif says, quieter this time, but there is something in his voice that makes me uneasy. "But a lab that is meant for humans, although it is structured for animals."
Ivar's voice comes next, still clear and precise, listing and judging. "No compliance postings. No need for a license. There are no regulatory markers anywhere.”
Rurik kicks another door with his boot, and the lock breaks as it flies inward. "This place was built to make people disappear," he says, and the words hit hard.
To keep people hidden. To make use of them. The goal is to eliminate them. Claire. The idea hits like a blow. My chest hurts, and every breath I take feels like it's getting harder and faster, with something that feels dangerously close to panic if I let it go too far.
I say, "She's here," and it's not a guess or a hope; it's a certainty that has to be said. "I know she is."
And I begin to move faster. The hallway gets narrower and then wider again. At the far end, a door stands. It's locked,secured with a keypad, and noticeably heavier than the rest. Its design is also more deliberate, suggesting a higher level of security.
A concrete stairwell goes down into the darkness beyond it. The smell hits you as soon as it opens.
Disinfectant, sharp and chemical, layered over something metallic and slightly sweet that makes my throat feel tight.
And below it, a noise. The sound, a constant drone, vibrates. I stop. I know that sound… from her.
I hear myself say, "the pump," and the words are rough and dragged up from somewhere too tight to breathe well, recalling the quiet times, the nights, and the way her body would react before she even knew why. "It’s got to be Claire."
Now that I've named the hum, it seems louder, like it's pushing in, threading under my skin, and vibrating through my ribs in a way that feels too close and too familiar.
Bjorn's voice comes from right behind me, steady and grounding. "Calm down, brother."
But I don't have any easy things left in me. Not when it sounds like it's coming from inside my chest. Captain Holt stands next to Detective Ramirez, and both of them look down the stairs. Their expressions harden, a collective realization settling over them.
"A sub-level exists," Captain Holt declares, his tone sharp and commanding. "East end."
Detective Ramirez nods once, but more slowly. "The deeper it goes, the worse it gets."
I don't look at either of them. I don't need them to confirm. "I'm going," I say, already moving past them and onto the concrete stairs before anyone can suggest waiting, protocol, or anything else that would make me wait another second.
I hear them following me from behind. Concrete boots. Halfway down, the space gets smaller; the walls close in a little bit before opening up into a landing. That's where we hit it.
Big doors with extra support. Steel, in this case, is a robust, substantial material engineered to bear significant weight and withstand considerable pressure, rather than merely serving as a barrier.
Captain Holt's hand cuts through the air, and his team immediately moves, falling into formation with practiced ease.
I refuse to retreat, even as the accusations assemble with their usual speed. I move forward. It is close enough that the metal fills my vision. When I lift my hands and press them flat against it, the cold quickly seeps into my skin, biting and unnatural in its intensity.
I lean in so that my forehead almost touches the surface. My voice drops, losing its edge and control, until it becomes something quieter, something that comes straight from the center of me.
"Claire... baby..." The words get stuck, but I push them through. "I'm coming."
Stellan moves next to me, close enough for me to feel his heat even though my body is tense. "We'll get her," he says, calm and sure.
Rurik's palm rests briefly on my back, a solid presence. "Together."
The other men move quickly, and the count starts, felt through movement, timing, and the tightening of every muscle in the room.
Three. My heart beats so hard that it blurs the edges of my vision.
Two. The noise behind the door won't stop. It never ends.
One. The blast feels like a hammer.
The doors break open, the steel bending under the pressure as smoke and debris fly out into the stairwell. The sound is deafening in the small space, and the pressure hits us in a wave of heat and dust, before the smoke even clears, before anyone can see clearly again, before anyone can call it, I'm done already.
Pushing my way through bent metal and broken frames, as if I could rip the rest of the world apart with my bare hands if that's what it takes to get to her…
