“A residence?” I ask.
“Two bedrooms. Full bath. Living space.” She clicks again. “One room has thicker wall framing. Could be nothing. Could be where he’s keeping the leverage he doesn’t want anyone to see.”
Kimber.
My chest tightens so fast my breath stutters.
Rowan’s voice comes out low and tight. “Anything on how many people inside?”
I switch to the CCTV feed. “Not enough clarity. Bryce keeps himself just outside most camera angles. We’re lucky we caught his image earlier.” I gesture to the screen. “But there are shadows. Movement. I’d estimate four to six bodies cycling through.”
“Armed?” Ronan asks.
“Most likely. This isn’t a stash house. He’s scared.” I look up from the screen, jaw flexing. “And scared men bring guns.”
I look between them. “What about Kimber? Anything in the messages?”
Her eyes flicker with something fragile and furious all at once.
“They don’t use names. But they call her the package.” She swallows. “Bryce received a text last night that the package is stable. And earlier today something about keeping the package quiet.”
My vision blurs for half a second. I have to grab the desk to steady myself.
Rowan watches me, his face hollowed. “Em…”
“I’m fine,” I lie. “Keep going.”
We dig deeper. Berk runs programs that should not legally exist. Ronan stitches CCTV from dozens of businesses together like some unholy quilt. I intercept more feeds, isolate audio, scrub interference.
And finally—
“Got him.” Ronan slams a finger on a frozen frame.
Bryce’s smug, rat-like face stares back at us through a jittery security feed, caught in the window from across the street. He looks older. Worn down. Slick with sweat. Fear riding his spine, paranoia bent heavy across his shoulders.
Berk leans in. “He’s moving around the upper level. Probably bedding down there.”
“Then we hit the top floor first,” I say, the decision forming without hesitation. “We get him on his back before he even knows we’re inside. Security will presumably be heavier on the ground floor. We’ll make them come to us.”
Ronan nods. “We hit him tonight.”
Rowan tightens his fists. “No more waiting. Kimberly doesn’t get another sunrise in that place.”
Berk looks at each of us—slowly, deeply—something like a promise flickering in her eyes.
“It’s risky,” she says softly. “But it’s the best shot we’ve had since she was taken.”
I step closer to her. Close enough that she feels my breathing. “I’m not failing my sister again.”
Her hand slides into mine. Firm. Certain.
“You won’t. We won’t,” she breathes, like it’s a promise carved into bone.
Ronan closes his screen with finality. “Gear up.”
Rowan grabs his blades without a word.
I study the warehouse blueprint one last time, memorizing every line, every room, every blind corner—every place Kimber could be hiding, hurt, or waiting.