She hoped it wasn't a lie.
Eleven-thirty.
The team assembled at the staging point—a pull-off on a logging road half a mile from the mill. No lights, no sirens, just shadows moving through darkness.
Sam checked the wire taped to Wyatt's chest one final time. "Sound check."
"Testing, one two three." Wyatt's voice came through the earpieces they all wore, tinny but clear.
"Good." Sam stepped back. "Remember—keep them talking. Get something we can use. And if anything feels wrong?—"
"Lucy." Wyatt managed a weak smile. "I remember."
Keller appeared from the darkness, dressed in black, his expression unreadable. "I'm in position whenever you give the word."
Sam nodded. "Go. Stay low. Don't move until we do."
Keller melted into the trees without another word.
"Alright," Sam said quietly. "Everyone to positions. Radio silence unless absolutely necessary."
They dispersed into the night—Kevin to the south, Jo and Sam to the north, Lucy padding silently at Sam's side.
Wyatt stood alone for a moment, the evidence box tucked under his arm, staring at the dark bulk of the mill in the distance.
Then he started walking.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
The mill loomed against the night sky.
Wyatt crossed the overgrown lot slowly, gravel crunching under his boots, the evidence box tucked under his arm. Moonlight filtered through broken clouds, casting shifting shadows across the crumbling facade. Windows gaped like empty eye sockets. The main door hung crooked on rusted hinges.
He paused at the threshold, one hand pressed against his chest where the wire sat taped to his skin. They could hear him. Sam, Jo, Kevin—they were out there in the darkness, listening to every breath, every footstep.
He wasn’t alone.
It didn’t feel that way.
Wyatt pushed through the door and stepped inside.
The interior was vast and hollow, stripped of machinery decades ago. Concrete floors, steel beams, shadows pooling in corners where the moonlight couldn’t reach. The air smelled of rust and old oil and something else—something animal. Decay.
He stopped in the center of the floor, just like Sam had told him. Good acoustics here. The wire would pick up everything.
Wyatt set the evidence box on the floor in front of him and straightened.
Now he waited too.
In the treeline north of the mill, Jo crouched in the darkness, earpiece crackling softly with the sound of Wyatt’s breathing.
Sam was ten feet to her left, Lucy pressed against his leg, the dog’s ears pricked forward. They had a clear view of the mill’s main entrance and the access road beyond. If anyone approached from this direction, they’d see them coming.
Minutes crawled by. The woods were alive with small sounds—wind through branches, the rustle of nocturnal creatures, the distant call of an owl. Normal sounds. Peaceful sounds.
Jo didn’t trust any of them.
Lucy’s head came up suddenly, her body going rigid. A low growl built in her throat.