* * *
I was halfway down the corridor toward the main service stairs when I heard heavy footsteps echoing up from below.
A second later, Callan appeared, climbing the last few steps from the lower level. His hair was damp with sweat, sleeves rolled up, grease streaked across one forearm as if he’d been wrestling with machinery.
He lookedtired.
His eyes landed on me immediately.
“All the doors are chained shut,” he said, breathing harder than normal. “Garage entrance, too. I found some industrial chains in maintenance. If anything tries to get in, it’s gonna have to work for it.”
“Good,” I said.
Then I lifted the radio.
“I found something.”
His eyes dropped to it. For a second, he didn’t react.
Then his whole expression changed.
“Is that a marine radio?”
“Yeah.” I held it out to him. “It was in the quarantine bay, just sitting there like manna from God.”
He stepped closer and took it from me carefully, turning it over in his hands as if he were afraid it might not be real.
“Do you know how to use one of these?” I asked.
He snorted softly.
“Yeah, Sloane. I know how to use one.”
His fingers moved over the knobs and switches without hesitation. He flipped open the side panel, checked the battery pack, and adjusted the frequency dial with his thumb.
“Battery’s still good,” he murmured.
My pulse raced. “So it might work?”
He didn’t answer right away; his eyes lifted to the ceiling, as if he were running calculations.
Then he exhaled.
“Not down here,” he said. “Too much concrete and steel between us and open air.”
My stomach sank.
“But if we get to the roof—” He lifted the radio again. “Higher elevation, less interference. These things are built toreach miles out over open water.” His voice dropped slightly. “If the Coast Guard is still broadcasting…”
He didn’t finish.
He didn’t need to.
Callan looked at me.
“You did well finding this.”
Something about the way he said it—no performance in it, no inflation—settled warm and unexpected in my chest.