We all echo his sharp nod and move apart to prepare for what could be our first rescue.
I am just strapping on the last of my knives when Atlas steps up behind me. I glance over my shoulder and give him a small smile as his eyes soften and he pulls me into a hug. My chest constricts. Initiation is tomorrow, the warehouse is tonight. Whatever fragile illusion of normality I’ve built over the last three weeks is cracking down the middle like an iceberg and I can’t stop it.
“You don’t have to come,” he mumbles.
The words almost make me laugh. Don’t have to? I want to. I need to. I won’t live with myself if I don’t do everything I can to save the Robyns and the mes of this world. I know he means well, he always does. But I could never sit still knowing there might be girls in a cage somewhere only thirty minutes from me.
“I’m coming,” I say, tilting my head up to meet his eyes and giving him a firm smile. If he needs reassurance, I can give it to him. I know he’s worried. I saw it when I walked in and I feel it in the way he’s holding me now, but for the first time in my lifeI’m not facing the monsters alone. I have never felt more sure of anything.
By the time we reach Breakwater Way, the sky is the colour of bruised skin. Anchor Point Industrial Estate sits on the edge of Clacton like an afterthought, a stretch of corrugated metal units and flickering security lights bordered by scrub and marshland. The sea isn’t visible from here, but I can still smell it, the salt carried on the wind, mixing with oil and damp concrete. We are here for unit 14, but it doesn’t stand out. I think that’s the worst part. Like evil should have a warning sign. Instead, it’s ordinary, just like everything else around it and if you don’t want to look, you will never find out.
The roller shutter is pulled halfway down. There is no signage, no company name. Just a security light above the entrance that hums faintly, casting a weak yellow cone over cracked tarmac. A white transit van is parked two units down, mud covering the back doors like it’s been through the back roads. We continue past, following Atlas’ van towards the edge of the estate where it gives way to scrubland. His van rolls to a halt first, half hidden behind a stack of pallets and a rusted skip like he’s done this a hundred times. Roman eases our car in behind him, killing the lights and engine. The only sound I can hear is our measured breaths, my heartbeat, and the soft tick of cooling metal.
I step out into the wind and it hits me like a wet slap. The salt, cold, and faint tang of diesel mingle in my nostrils. My boots crunch on the grit of the tarmac as I take a deep, centring breath. This is the part that always makes me grin, a sharp edge of satisfaction I never let anyone see. This is the transition. I go from Fae, the girl who can laugh and ache and want things she shouldn’t. To Fae the weapon who is groomed to survive, to compartmentalise, to kill. My fingers flex inside my gloves as I roll my shoulders once, letting my spine settle into that familiaralignment. My headspace isn’t rage anymore. It’s emptiness. A place where emotion is a luxury and mercy is a liability.
Roman’s gaze flicks to me as he shuts the car door silently. I don’t think he will ever get used to this version of me, not when he sees me so weak, so needy, so emotional. His eyes drag over my body as I give him a single nod. We’ve done this dance so many times over the last week that it almost feels natural.
Atlas is already at the back of his van and we make our way over to his portable command centre. The screens glow, painting his face a ghostly blue as he plugs in the receiver. Riggs and Victor hover close, their weapons low and their eyes scanning the estate as if the shadows might get brave.
“The drone is up,” Atlas murmurs, his voice barely more than a breath.
A soft whirr rises into the air, almost swallowed by the wind. On the screen, the industrial estate becomes a greyscale map. The roads look like scars, the alleyways like veins as Atlas’ fingers move over the trackpad.
“Two patrols,” he continues. “There is an extra body by the front gate and one by the main shutter. Another is moving through units 12 and 14 every…” Atlas checks his watch. The wait stretches before he continues, “Ninety seconds.”
“Back entrance?” Victor asks and Atlas presses a few more buttons before zooming in.
“Rear service door has motion sensor lights. Two cameras angled wide and there’s a blind wedge here.” He taps a corner of the building, showing us the angles on his monitors. “Fence line looks intact, but there’s a gap behind the scrub. Maybe someone’s been through recently.”
“Course they have,” Riggs exhales through his nose.
“That could mean anything, Riggs,” I say. “Maybe someone managed to get away.”
He inhales sharply, then nods, pulling his gun out and checking the magazine again.
Felix appears at my side, like a shadow that learned how to walk. His jaw is tense, his eyes hard. He bends down and kisses me on the cheek, and I lean in to hug him. I can see how stressed he is. He has never liked the plan of me going in without him, but he is logistics for a reason. He and Atlas work so well together that without him watching through the camera, this operation could go terribly wrong. I know it hasn’t felt like that before, since all the other places have been empty, but this time it’s different. And he knows it.
Comms click softly in my ear as everyone checks in. A tiny light blinks under jackets and collars, I touch the earpiece hidden beneath my hair. Roman’s voice comes through, low, calm, and threaded with steel.
“Check.”
“Check,” I whisper back.
“Front team ready,” Victor’s voice comes next.
“Try not to get your new shirt ruined, Fae,” Riggs adds, giving me a cheeky wink, which makes the heaviness lift a bit.
When Riggs doesn’t joke it affects us all. It is unfair to put it on him, but it’s true. Without his light-heartedness, we would all be live wires waiting to explode.
“Worry about your own blood, Riggs,” I sass back, matching his wink as a quiet huff comes through my earpiece.
I look at Roman and see a small smirk on his face. When he sees me looking, a brilliant smile breaks free, showcasing those dimples that I love. Love. My breath hitches. Now is not the time to think those sorts of words.
“Let’s roll out,” Roman demands and we get out of the van as I give Atlas and Felix a quick kiss on the cheek while they hold their position, monitoring and calling out movement.
CHAPTER 25
FAE