Jackson sat in the passenger seat, eyes fixed on the road ahead, the words from Riley’s call circling in his mind like a curse. He repeated them to the others, making sure he didn’t miss a single detail.
“Drive down County Road 19 until you reach the old logging gate. Leave the vehicle there. Walk the spur five hundred paces. No flashlights. No radios. Knock three times on the concrete slab, then wait.”
He could still hear the strain in Riley’s voice, that trembling monotone of someone forced to say someone else’s words.
In the back, Noah murmured with Cal and Garrett, their voices low but firm as they went over tactical formations. The sound was steady, measured, but Jackson could feel the tension in it. Every person in that van knew they were walking into a setup.
When the van turned off onto County Road 19, the pavement narrowed to a pair of worn ruts choked by weeds. The trees pressed close on both sides, their branches dripping, whispering against the metal roof as the wind pushed through.
Then the logging gate appeared in the headlights. Rusted, sagging, the chain barely hanging on. A warning sign swung on one hinge, the letters faded almost to nothing. Just beyond it, the washed-out culvert gaped like a wound in the earth, and the narrow spur trail disappeared into the dark beyond it.
“There it is,” Jackson said quietly.
Isla eased her foot off the gas, slowing the van to a crawl.
“Put in your ear comms, everyone,” Noah instructed. “No lights. No radios.” His voice was all command, clipped and cold.
Jackson nodded and slipped in the comm just as the van rolled to a stop. The engine ticked, and rain drummed against the roof in a steady, mocking rhythm.
Five hundred paces. No lights. Three knocks. Then wait.
Every word Riley had said pressed down on Jackson like the weight of a loaded trigger.
Jackson didn’t want Avery anywhere near that concrete slab. The thought of her standing in the open—within range, within sight—made every muscle in his body tighten like a drawn wire.
But he could hear her already checking her weapon and tightening the straps on her vest.
“If they’re close enough to spot Isla and realize it’s not me, I have to be nearby,” Avery insisted. “If they think the bait’s wrong, they’ll bolt. Or worse.”
He hated that she was right. Hated even more that she was calm about it.
Noah crouched over the tactical map spread across his knee. The glow from Cal’s thermal monitor cast everyone in pale green light. “We’ll follow the plan Riley gave,” Noah said. “We go in on foot. Isla goes in first alone, or at least appearing to be. Cal, run thermal. I want to know what’s waiting before she hits that slab.”
Cal lifted the small screen and adjusted the focus, the faint whir of the lens filling the van. “The range is about thirty degrees from the bluff line to the hollow. If there’s anything out there, I’ll see it when I get a little closer.”
Noah nodded, eyes flicking toward Jackson. “You and Avery stay behind Isla’s line. Keep cover between the ridge and the slab. If Isla makes contact, we’ll have a few seconds before anyone knows she’s not alone.”
“A few seconds isn’t long enough,” Jackson murmured.
“It’ll have to be,” Noah said.
Jackson turned to Avery, lowering his voice. “You stay behind me. If they open fire, you don’t move forward. You hear me?”
Her eyes met his, and she was steady, resolute, unyielding. “If Isla’s cover blows, I’ll be the one they recognize. I’ll draw their attention away from her.”
That simple. That deadly.
He wanted to argue, to tell her no, to haul her back into the van and lock the door, but there wasn’t time. He could see it in her eyes. She’d already made the choice.
They all got out, moving quiet and cautious. The forest pressed in around them. Wet leaves, the hiss of drizzle through the pines, the soft thud of boots in mud. Every sound felt magnified in the dark. Isla moved ahead in the narrow beam of ambient light, her silhouette blending with the mist.
Cal crouched near the fallen log where they’d stopped and lifted the thermal detector. The small screen flickered to life, casting a pale orange glow over his face. “Hold up,” he murmured. “I’ve got movement.”
Jackson froze, hand signaling Isla to stay where she was. The team closed ranks, all eyes on Cal’s monitor.
Three heat signatures glowed against the dark outline of the bunker below the ridge. Cal adjusted the focus, the hum of the lens loud in the stillness.
“There,” he said, voice low. “Three sources inside the structure. Two small, close together, sitting or crouched maybe. The third’s upright, pacing.” He zoomed closer, tracking the taller figure. “Judging by the spacing, that’s Megan and Riley. They’re alive.”